The Cathouse

Author's Notes: This one is quite smutty later on, but let's just set up the story for the first chapter, yes? XD

Sorry about the gross use of neko-boys in this story. XD There's quite a few furry characters. I like cats, what can I say?

Hope you enjoy.

~:~:~:~:~



This sucked. Really badly. Rory hated driving at night more than anything. He always thought every shadow was some person trying to walk out in front of him, or that everything that moved at every stop sign was someone trying to mug him.

All because of his stupid sister. If she hadn’t gone to a university overseas against their parents wishes, then showed up, a drop-out, at the airport at one in the morning, he wouldn’t be trying to find the damn thing in the dark.

Why was it his responsibility when his sister screwed up? Why did the blame always somehow fall on him? Everything she did that his parents didn’t like somehow made Rory suffer.

“Was it fifth avenue?” he muttered, “Or fifteenth?”

Even worse. He had absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever. So here he was, lost, in the bad part of the city, paranoid as all hell.

Much to his relief, green and white airport signs with little airplane symbols painted on began to appear and he chose to just follow them. Soon he spotted the blinding airport lights ahead, brightening the sky with their brilliance.

He glanced at the clock. One thirty. He was only a little late and he imagined the plane was delayed anyway. Most overseas flights were.

Rory parked and walked across the cracked blacktop parking lot towards the waiting area. He stepped inside, seeing a few late-night travelers. They all looked tired and jet-lagged. There was a family with a small girl fast asleep on her father’s shoulder, two men who seemed to be engaging in friendly banter, a woman who was tossing a pack of cigarettes back and forth between her hands looking antsy, and in the middle of it all, his sister.

Rory was told that Camelia was beautiful, but he honestly wouldn’t know. She’d always seemed like Camelia to him.

She stood there, looking as awake and vibrant as ever despite the hour. The top half of her red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, little strings of hair falling over her forehead. Wide green eyes ringed by eyeliner and mascara batted by nature and ruby red lips always seemed to be curved into a secretive smile. She was tall and thin, wearing a button up yellow hoodie and a thigh-length pink floral print skirt. She held strappy pearl heels in her hand, along with a small suitcase and a book.

She was talking with one of the airport workers, flirting shamelessly, and he, naively, was pulled under her seductive spell. It was a wonder she didn’t have every geek in the university doing her homework. Rory knew that’s how she’d made it through high school, fucking them when she couldn’t just bat her eyes.

The girl was a slut, plain and simple. Like a female cat, she was always on the prowl for prospective breeders, but the difference was she had had a total of five abortions. Their parents just wouldn’t have any premature grandchildren in their midst and as long as she lived on their income, a brand new bouncing baby wouldn’t.

“Rory!” she said, having tilted her head in just the right way, causing her to spot her brother.

Rory had to smile. He loved her, despite all flaws.

The two of them were of stark contrast to one another. Rory had blonde hair which he’d streaked with black streaks, his bangs falling over his eyebrows until they were just above his green eyes. His slightly tan face was hidden behind thick, black square glasses, and he wore clothes that were baggy, but in an unfashionable, unflattering way. He looked way too skinny underneath the bulk of the black sleeveless sweater, covering a pinstriped dress shirt, the collar poking up and standing at attention around his neck. His pants were too large for him, but were meant to be form-fitting. The frayed jeans covered most of his sandaled feet. He wore sandals during all seasons, not able to stand the constriction of normal shoes.

“Hey, Camelia,” he sighed, “Ready?”

“Yep,” she said, smiling, taking his hand. Rory rolled his eyes. He held no attraction for his sister. Nor did she for him, but she loved to pretend they were a couple.

“Stop it,” he muttered.

“But its fun to see everyone’s expressions,” she replied, “Look at that guy. He’s staring at us like, ‘why would she be with him?’”

“Gee, thanks,” Rory said dryly.

“It makes you look mysterious,” Camelia replied, her lips curving into a brilliant, heart-shattering smile. “People begin to wonder what is it behind those glasses and those clothes that a girl like me would find so appealing…?”

“They’d only be disappointed to find nothing,” Rory replied.

Camelia gave a small huff. “You’re cute, Rory,” she insisted, “But you hide behind your hair, your glasses, your clothes… So who can tell?”

“I’m not one of your underdog boyfriends,” Rory rolled his eyes.

“You would be if you weren’t my brother,” she said simply, causing Rory’s stomach to turn. He figured she was right. He was her type.

Camelia was very picky about the men she slept with or dated. She wouldn’t date anyone that she thought had a good chance of getting a date. In her mind, it was useless to compete with all the girls by going after the guys everyone wanted. Although, it would have been no competition because those boys did, indeed, want her. Instead, she sought out the wallflowers. Those unnoticed, unliked, or a combination of both.

She had told Rory it was because they knew how to treat a girl, but Rory always figured it meant she could boss them around without them getting sick of it.

Rory just got in the car, turning the key in the ignition and driving away as soon as Camelia was settled next to him. They drove in silence for awhile, Rory’s eyes darting around for any would-be pedestrians.

“You’re not exciting,” Camelia said.

“What?” Rory sighed back.

“You don’t do anything exciting,” Camelia commented, “You don’t take chances. You just lock yourself in your room and play your video games.”

“That’s what I like to do,” was the boy’s response.

“You’re a liar is what you are,” Camelia frowned at him. “You’re miserable. You hide away in a shell and are too scared to come out, so you call it comfort.”

“What should I do?” Rory asked, “Go to an expensive, overseas school and get kicked out? Drive up a four-thousand dollar credit card bill? Fuck everyone between here and our house?”

“Why not?” Camelia asked, “Is that what you want to do? Would you like to experiment in something like that? You only live once. Live, love, and die happy.”

“With lots of babies,” Rory rolled his eyes.

“If Mom and Dad had let me have any of them, I would have loved them all a million times over,” Camelia said and Rory believed her. She was quiet a moment. “Which is why I won’t let them know about this one.”

Rory glanced at her sharply, seeing she had a hand placed gently on her own stomach. He quickly looked at the road to avoid hitting anything, but his face portrayed his shock.

“You have to tell them,” Rory hissed.

“No,” she shook her head, “And don’t you either! It’d be misery for you.”

He knew it was true. Whenever they didn’t want Camelia to do something, nothing their parents threatened would make her bat an eye. Except one thing. They threatened to punish Rory in her place and she usually listened.

When it came to the overseas matter, they didn’t fight very hard. But every abortion they’d made her get was because they threatened to do something to Rory.

“They’ll try to make you put it up for adoption,” Rory said.

“I’ve decided I want to work,” Camelia said, as though she’d mentioned a new hobby she was taking up, “So I’ll just support it myself.”

“You could probably have any job you want,” Rory rolled his eyes, knowing her persuasive ways. If she could simply get an interview and the interviewer had some kind of interest in women, she would have the job.

“Yeah,” she smiled, thinking the same thing. “Oh, drop me of at The Loft, all right?”

“You still have that thing?” Rory asked with a sigh. The Loft was a studio apartment that she kept by fucking the landlord. On the plus side, he was sterile so there was no chance of getting pregnant.

“I called him overseas,” Camelia replied, “My stuff is still there and he says I’m welcome to come back.”

Rory shook his head. “Okay, then,” he said.

He drove around for awhile before Camelia remembered how he was with directions and guided him there. She knew he could make it home from there, so she got out, leaned into his open window to kiss him on the cheek and ruffle his hair.

“You’re special, Rory,” she said, “There’s so much personality that you’re hiding, just waiting to burst through. Just let it, okay?”

“Sure, Camelia,” Rory replied.

Camelia rolled her eyes and smiled, walking up to the stoop and ringing a certain doorbell. She said a few words into an intercom system and soon the lanky, geeky landlord answered, greeted by a kiss from her. She turned and waved to let him know she was in and walked inside.

Rory sighed and rolled up the window, driving away. It frustrated him to see her that way. He remembered those childhood days where she would tie him down and play doctor, saying he was a corpse and wasn’t allowed to move. She was an active, if not slightly morbid child, but she had big dreams. Dreams of being a doctor, a lawyer, a marine biologist. With every year the goal was different.

Until she went to high school and decided that life was too important to waste your life studying to do a job you’d be stuck doing the rest of your life. She wanted variety. She wanted excitement. She wanted to just be Camelia.

The worst part was, Rory didn’t know if she frustrated him because she was headed down the wrong path or the path that Rory wished he’d had the guts to choose. Maybe a little of both.

Rory just settled back in the driver’s seat, progressing through the bigger city of his way home. He was just pulling through a green light and onto a rather dark street when it happened.

Rory had always had an inexplicable fear of someone walking out in front of him, but he never actually thought it would happen. So when the bustling frame of a young man stepped out in front of him as he drove down 21st street, he completely panicked, slamming on his brakes.

There was a loud thud, a sickening jerk as Rory was thrown forward, smashing his forehead against the steering wheel as he was forced to a rough stop, and then total silence.

Rory sat there a moment, trying to piece together what had just happened. His breathing picked up and he started struggling to undo his seat belt. He tugged at the door handle frantically, but he couldn’t seem to manage both at the same time.

Finally, the seatbelt snapped out of its holder, hitting Rory across the face, but he barely noticed, shoving the door open and running to the front of the car. He fell onto the pavement and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, telling himself to calm down.

He stood with much better composure, getting to his feet and rushing to the front of the car. However, panic nearly overwhelmed him as he saw who the person he’d hit.

The guy was relatively young. Rory was seventeen years old and the boy looked only a little older. He had longish dark hair that spiked into his eyes. His face was pale and there was a thin line of blood running from his forehead. He wore a striped snow hat and a long black jacket. His shirt was a white button-up and his pants were a baggy dark gray.

No wonder Rory had hit him. Only his shirt was lightly colored.

“What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!” Rory panicked again, running to the boy, then running as if to get in the car, “No, no, no, no hit and runs! It’s not your fault! It was an accident! An accident! No one could ever blame this on you! Oh God… I could be charged with a crime! I could be arrested and put in jail…”

As Rory paced back and forth crazily, trying to figure out what to do, he stepped on something tubular in shape. He lifted his foot off and looked, frowning. Underneath it was something long and furry…

“An anthro?” he asked and glanced at the boy again. He carefully knelt down by him and grabbed the beanie on his head, tugging on it. As he did a pair of cat ears sprang up into place. The fur on them matched his hair color. The insides were a soft pinkish-white shade with long fuzzy sprouts of fur on the edges. The tail was long and sleek, long enough to reach the boy’s ankles if it was all the way down.

Anthropomorphics made up about half of the population of the world. They were termed ‘anthro’ for short and were basically humans with animal characteristics, usually limited to the ears, tail, or wings of the animal, depending on what animal they were.

Now Rory was really nervous. Camelia had always told him that anthros were just like humans. They were highly prejudiced against and weren’t usually allowed to get much of an education, thus why a lot of them were criminals. But some managed to make a decent living.

However, Rory had always heard frightening stories of anthros having animalistic instincts that made them no better than vicious animals, depending on what animal they shared their human characteristics with. And that they weren’t as smart as humans.

However, as he allowed himself to see the person as what he was and not what he’d been told he was, all he saw was a regular person, unconscious and helpless in the middle of the street. He just had ears and a tail is all.

Rory swallowed and tugged on the person’s arms, trying to drag him to the car. Thankfully, no other cars came by, so his own car wasn’t in anyone’s way.

Rory’s eyes still darted around nervously. The streets were a very bad place. Crime was a huge problem here. Being stranded on the streets was all about survival of the fittest. Especially in this city. You could be mugged, shot, brutally beaten, or, in a common case scenario, raped. Neither gender was safe because the average streetwalker wasn’t picky about what they had sex with.

Rory and Camelia had been told all their lives that someone who lived in the lap of luxury like them were perfect targets for victimization. Camelia always had some sort of escort, though, so she was typically safe.

Right now, Rory was exposed and in danger. There was nothing paranoid about this revelation. It was very likely that if someone came along, they would hurt or do worse to him.

That seemed enough motivation to hurry up and pull the boy to the car. Rory opened the back door and tried to get him in. He had just managed to get him laid down across the back seat when he realized something.

What exactly was stopping this guy from being one of those thieves/muggers/rapists? Rory glared at him a moment, not sure if there was some way to tell the difference.

“You hit the dude with your car,” Rory told himself, “You can’t just leave him here… If he’s not bad, you would doom him to being hurt out here, if not killed…”

Rory decided that he’d have to take the chance. He didn’t have the heart to leave someone alone, unconscious in the street. The boy looked like he was going to be unconscious for awhile, so Rory would have the advantage when he did wake up. He’d be in his own home, where they had their own security.

Rory got him settled into the back, then quickly got into the front seat, locking the door as soon as he was in.

Suddenly, he heard a loud sound and turned, screaming, as he saw a red-eyed man tugging on the door handle, pounding a fist on the window.

“Where’re you going?!” he asked, “Motor trouble? Let me help. Come on, let me in kid…” He was grinning like a madman and his eyes were wide and bloodshot.

Rory didn’t even think, just threw the car into drive and peeled away, the man yelling after him. Until the man was far behind, Rory drove well over the speed limit.

Rory’s heart continued to pound long after the ordeal. If he’d taken a split second longer to do all that, he would have been at that man’s mercy. The guy looked like a junkie and the wild, lusty way he’d looked at Rory…

Rory shuddered deeply, trying not to think about it. He drove with a carefulness that was well ahead of his years the rest of the way back, doubly paranoid about pedestrians and terrified to stop, as though scared the man had somehow miraculously followed.

The poor boy’s nerves were shot well before he finally pulled up to the thick black gates of his home. There was a small booth next to the gates where a security guard sat.

“Please be Border…” Rory said to himself.

Something had seen fit to have some kind of mercy on him. Inside the booth was a handsome young man of thirty years. He had short, cropped brown hair and friendly gray eyes. He wore a policeman’s uniform and was watching as Rory pulled to the gate.

“Hey, Rory,” he said as Rory rolled down the window, “I’ll let you right in. Where’s Camelia? She have you drop her off?”

“Border, I need help,” Rory said breathlessly.

Border’s eyes widened, noticing the look on Rory’s face for the first time.

“Are you okay, Rory?” he asked, “You look like you just escaped a herd of ghosts.” He frowned with worry.

“I think so,” Rory said, “But… well…” Rory shifted so Border could see into the backseat. Border leaned over and blinked hard, once.

“You have an anthro in the backseat of your car,” he remarked as though this shouldn’t have been obvious by the fact that there was an anthro in the backseat of Rory’s car.

“You have to help me get him in the house,” Rory said desperately.

“Why is he there at all?” Border demanded to know, flipping the switch to open the gates and ushering Rory through. Rory didn’t answer as he pulled in. Border slipped out of the gates and followed him, closing them manually and locking them for the night.

The guard sat in the passenger seat and gave Rory a pointed look, asking him to start explaining.

“I accidentally hit him!” Rory said, “The street was dark and he just stepped out in front of me! I tried to stop but I couldn’t and… and…”

“I understand,” Border nodded and turned, looking at him, “He is still alive… right?”

Rory paled. “I d-didn’t check, I just assumed he was…” he said, “Oh God, did I kill him?! Tell me I didn’t kill him…”

Border reached into the back and grabbed the anthro’s wrist, checking for a pulse. “No,” he said reassuringly, “I think you just gave him a pretty good sized knock on the head.”

“I wanna go to bed,” Rory said, parking in his place in the garage and killing the car, leaning forward and buried his face in his hands.

“Hey now,” Border said comfortingly, “Let’s just get him up to an extra room. The one next to yours. We’ll let him sleep it off and see how he feels.”

“What if he’s some kind of killer?” Rory asked.

“I’ll stay tonight,” Border said, “Near you guys. If he tries to hurt you and I’m not there, just scream as loud as you can and I’ll come running.”

Rory nodded and pulled himself together, forcing himself to get out of the car. Border was able to lift the boy by himself, slinging him over his shoulder. Rory just lead the way and opened doors for him.

They walked through the red and white hallways and up the carpeted steps until they reached Rory’s room. Rory took him to the room next door, opening it.

The room was exactly like the other three extra rooms in the house. There was a patterned blue wall paper on the top half, covered by a white wood paneling on the lower half. The bed was pushed against the middle of the wall, the four posts tall with a white canvas canopy stretching over the length. Two nightstands sat on either side, one holding a lamp, the other holding a random book. A large dark wood dresser/vanity sat to the side, a huge mirror perched on top of it, and a bookshelf holding books that were written specifically for guest rooms rested on dark blue, plush carpet. Besides the entrance, there were two doors, one to a walk-in closet and the other to the room’s bathroom.

Border laid the anthro boy on the bed, pausing and pulling off his coat and setting it on a nearby sitting chair.

“What’re you doing?” Rory asked.

“Getting him comfortable,” Border replied, stripping him of his shoes and unbuttoning the first two buttons of the dress-up shirt. Rory blushed a little as he recognized a smooth, honed body underneath the shirt that he couldn’t see before.

Border tugged back the covers and moved the anthro underneath them.

“Now let’s have a look at the head wound…” Border said.

“I can do it,” Rory said, figuring he should do something. He walked into the bathroom, grabbing a bathing cloth from the metal ring next to the sink, wetting it down. He caught his reflection in the mirror and pretended he didn’t see it. He looked like he’d gone insane, his hair standing up with small tufts and his green eyes circled with dark worried marks.

He came back in and sat on the bed, moving the boy’s bangs. He blushed without really knowing why, pressing the cloth against his forehead and wiping off the now dried blood. Then he looked for the source of the blood, finding it about a centimeter above his hairline. A huge lump could be felt there and the top of it had been were the skin had split, though not too badly. Rory cleaned that up and sighed.

“I guess that’s all we can do,” Rory said, looking at Border.

“It’ll be all right,” Border patted Rory on the head. Rory didn’t really feel like it would be okay, but he accepted the comfort as all he’d get to make this situation any better.

“The room across from here is empty,” Rory said, “I’m heading to bed.”

“You need to,” Border said, “Try to sleep off some of this stress.”

Rory nodded, feeling a bit numb now, standing. Border walked out ahead of him and Rory took a moment to turn off all the lights. He closed the door behind him and turned, walking like a zombie to his own room. Inside it was quite a bit different from the regular rooms.

He had the same bed, wallpaper, dresser and bookshelf, but the shelf had books of his choosing. Mostly science fiction and fantasy. In the corner was a large TV hooked up to about three different game systems. CD cases lay around a low chair. Some of them were lined up on a very small shelf meant to be reached from the ground. Gaming magazines were piled there, along with a few used dishes.

His bed’s sheets were his own choosing. He loved the feel of the black satin against his skin and he’d always been sensitive to texture so it suited him nicely. The nightstands were crammed with more magazines, a few books, more dishes, his spare glasses and a contacts case that he hadn’t touched since the last banquet he’d been forced to attend. The closet door was open and clothes were spilling out of it, spreading like a plague across the room.

Rory peeled off his shirt and tossed it towards the hamper, missing. There was a pile all around it from similar shots. Rory then pulled off his sandals and his pants until he was just wearing boxers.

He paused and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He was thin, but not near as lanky as he looked in his baggy clothes. His body was smooth and unmarked and pleasant to look at. He frowned as he turned. There was hardly any hair on his body, even on his legs or under his arms. And what hair there was, was fair and invisible. There was only a small line of light brown hair reaching from the bottom of his navel and down underneath his boxers.

It was his nightly ritual to glare at his reflection with pure hatred. Where most people would comment that he was born with a nice body and nice features, he only saw bumps and flaws. Where some people would find his hairless, smooth features pleasant, he found them un-masculine and immature. And where most people would see a handsome face, he saw an ugly person.

Finally he removed his glasses, seeing a blurred version of himself but able to see the green of his eyes, even if the vision was blurred.

Brilliant, huge green eyes that no one else saw behind the frames of his glasses and the deliberate length of his bangs.

Eyes that if he’d learned how to use them and show them off the same way his sister had, he might be able to use to get all sorts of things.

Instead, he just crawled into his unmade bed and shut them. He began to think about the anthro boy. What kind of person was he? Would he be mad? What was he doing so late at night? Was he as horrible as Rory had heard anthros were, or was Camelia right in saying he was a normal person?

Those were the only thoughts he could muster before he dropped off into a deep, exhausted sleep.