Rescue Dogs: Chapter Seventeen

Valorous’ Uncle Heinous picks him up from work.

Johannes T. Evans

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Photo by Viktoria Goda via Pexels.

Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker.

A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen

When Valorous finished up at the office on Saturday morning, he felt like there was a subtle vibration under his skin, his clothes feeling too tight and too heavy, his hands twitching. There was a thickness in the air that had nothing to do with the weather or the actual air pressure and everything to do with the tension woven through his own body.

It had been a long fucking day. He’d gone along to Regents Drive to pick up a statement from a witness in a murder a few months back — she was sick, the old lady, and she didn’t leave her house much, had seen the whole thing through her window, but subsequently wasn’t much up for the trip down to the station, and in any event, didn’t want to be a witness anyway.

Valorous didn’t have any illusions about the fact that they sent him there so that people on the street would see him walk in and be appropriately intimidated, maybe — maybe that she’d be intimidated herself, although she wasn’t actually.

Ursus Hound lived on Regents Drive, and Valorous had seen him as he’d come down from the lady’s front door, descending the ramp she’d had put in — the young lad had seen Valorous and blanched, and Valorous had thought about what his piss had smelled like when Valorous had caught him the other day like a frightened rabbit, how he’d shook and cried.

He’d wanted to say something — he’d meant to say something.

He’d meant to hold up his hands and say something about peace or that he was safe or that it was fine, but the kid had taken one look at Valorous and fucking…

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Johannes T. Evans

Gay trans man writing fantasy fiction, romance, and erotica. Big on LGBTQ and disability themes, plus occasional essays and analysis. He/him.