Deconstructing Channing

By BA Tortuga

When they were young together back in their werecat pride, Bowie and Channing experimented with love and sex, as well as flirting with a threesome with their best friend Andy. Channing and Andy both ran from their needs, leaving Bowie to break away and fi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Aug 16, 2018

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again.

Chapter One

Bowie took the train to L.A. There was something so decadent about the Coast Starlight, especially when he got a private sleeper. The steady bub-bub-bub of the wheels on the track was oddly musical and he found himself nodding along with it at the oddest times. He only ventured out to eat in the dining car at first, before boredom took him, and he wandered around and played solitaire in the club car.

The trip was designed to give him time. Time to figure out what he was going to say to Channing Lanier when he saw the sorry son of a bitch again.

He could start with Hey, you rat bastard. Amazing how you came out after you dropped me like a hot rock. That would be fun. Or maybe, I thought you weren’t into spanking and bondage, and your precious asshole was sacrosanct, but now you’re a bottom in the underground BDSM scene, would work better.

Bowie wouldn’t even be going to see said bottoming asshole if it wasn’t for the flyer tucked neatly away in his briefcase.

Tommy Catnip.

Seriously?

Their Andy was a fucking stripper?

A Vegas stripper? The revue was touted as a classy burlesque show at a topless nightclub called Catnip Crazy.

Hell, the crazy thing was that both of his ex-lovers had called him a goddamn perv. Him. Because he’d wanted them both. Because he’d wanted Andy over his lap. Because he’d wanted to see Channing bound and on his knees between the both of them.

Fuckers.

Bowie guessed he’d been lucky, to be so damn young and know what he wanted, who he was. Andy had been the spark that set him alight, his beta, the one who would stand beside him forever and love him. And Channing -- their omega male -- was caring and real and nurturing and…

Right.

He’d bared his soul one night after an evening of beer and firelight and awkward, desperate kisses, wild humping under rough blankets, Andy caught between them. He’d told them what he’d seen in the depths of the flames during his initiation into the pride, what his heart had told him. Channing had been the first to go, shifting into the lean golden cougar that Bowie had loved since he was a child, spitting and hissing, refusing them.

Andy had left next, in the dull gray of early morning, tears streaking his face.

A triad couldn’t survive with just two, Andy had said. Better to be alone than fight. He wasn’t into kink anyway. He wanted his own life.

Bowie groaned, the pain from that night still fresh and raw.

He should have followed them both, but he hadn’t. He’d roared and screamed and then spent an entire summer in a bottle until the pride’s dominant male had run him off.

He’d gone north, found a life, found wealth and pleasure and control. Even a kind of happiness.

The thought dulled the anger, put out the fire of fury as if water on a candle. They’d been kids and scared, and he’d been sure that he could fix everything he didn’t understand with a paddle and a pair of cuffs. He’d been just as stupid as they had. Maybe more.

He wasn’t going to be stupid this time though. He was going to get his omega, and then, once he’d torn up that sweet little ass, they were going to see Andy. He could take off his clothes for other folks as much as he wanted, but he belonged with them.

He knew it, nose to tail.

After all, wolves weren’t the only beasts that mated for life.

He stretched, pleased with the little sleeper cabin. He’d been able to spread out and groom himself once he’d locked the door. You could never do that on a plane. His paws deserved special attention. He lapped at his claws, carefully groomed his whiskers. Soon they would bring him warm milk, and he’d have to be human then and wear a robe.

For now, though, he could let his tail go wherever it wanted.

He let his mind wander, let his imagination remember the information he’d seen on the Internet. Channing, lean and blond and lovely, bound in leather, bare ass crisscrossed with evidence of blows. He’d had to fight a fit of anger and hurt the first time he’d seen it. That was supposed to be his job after all, beating that ass rosy.

Then Bowie had decided he was grateful. Now he could find Channing and show the man what a really good beating felt like.

His cock filled, and he groaned, his toes curling at the thought. Yes. His body shivered, his tail disappeared, and he let his human form come. That was so much better when he was having daydreams like this one.

Bowie would hear Channing yowl for him, would have that tiny little hole. He’d make Channing beg for it though, first, beg to be taken. He’d remind the man how damn wrong he’d been to leave, make him crazy with need, maybe bind that fine cock and plug that tight, tight ass.

His cock ached, and he wrapped his hand around it, moaning as he imagined it was Andy’s hand. Channing’s.

It had been so long. Oh he had plenty of subs who would do whatever he asked, but that was training -- something he got paid for. He missed having lovers.

Having his mates.

Andy’s scent… By the stars, Bowie longed for that. Andy had this spicy, deep, yet utterly masculine smell, which made him hard as a rock. His nipples were sensitive too. He’d made Andy come once, manipulating those hard pink buds alone.

Then there was Channing. That skin was such a pale gold, so wonderfully pliant. Long, perfectly sized prick, lips meant for cock sucking, and an ass… He growled. That ass made him want to write odes, and he was way more an action man than a word-slinger.

He stroked himself, base to tip, tugging his cock. His belly tightened,