Browning, a male rabbit, with a compulsion to please

He could never describe the feeling, or why it happens. Once it comes over him, there's no stopping him.

Browning could recall the first day it occurred. A budding tracklete at his former college; and, though with never enough wind in his ears to take flight on the field, he was the star in the eyes of his fellow classmates - his teachers, too. A cloud of kicked-up dirt was his calling card wherever he'd go, emerging from the camouflaging haze with a steadfast grin. All the popularity he could've gained, he had. At his point, it was hard to stay unnoticed.

One of the campus jocks had certainly noticed too. A twinge of jealousy behind his twitching gaze - or was it something more insincere?
He couldn't be sure, though there were the occasional rumors that the jock had it out for him; blatant lies by one of the underclassmen, but you never know. All the steps to the locker room could not prepare Browning for the sudden effect that would take hold.

"Yo! Hat-trick!" a voice barks from around one of the changing lockers, perking the rabbit's ears. Browning recalls the familiar voice to be that of one of his former teammates, Canaveral. He could recall the two of them used to run track together, though they never had gotten close enough to become friends before he switched to be a quarterback - The rabbit could never reconcile his uneasiness towards the wolf's hungry eyes.

"Oh, hello." Browning winces, though behind confidence, "Wrapping up for the day?

Grey in appearance as well as demeanor, Canaveral gives a faceless grin, "Yup... I bet you've still got some miles in ya' - planning on jogging home?

Browning laughs nervously, "Actually, I was going to take a shower before heading home... Dirt and fur; not a good combo."

"Sure, sure..." Canaveral replies impersonally, nodding along as he eyes the rabbit's tapping foot, "Hey, uh, I wanted to ask you something..."

Already the conversation had turned strange, entering into uncharted territory the minute he engaged conversation. Canaveral's attitude had Browning expecting the worst - a stray rumor, a threat - what could the wolf ask that he wasn't already privy to?

The wolf's presence looms above the smaller rabbit, placing a hand on the locker overhead...

It's still a blur. The next moment, Browning is on his back, belt around his ankles. A wet dog leering temptuously over the rabbit's naked body, but he's not struggling.

No, something supernatural under his skin aches deeply. The minute before, had he known, he could ask himself endlessly as to why he might put to that position, why they'd assume he was free for the taking - but in the moment, during? In the moment, he is lightning. He could show no sign of duress, no reason to stop prostrating himself towards the man, woman, or other who asks for a simple pleasure he is perfectly capable of fulfilling. He couldn't want it any more than in that moment.

The wolf had his way with him. Viscerally, like a meal, but not at all painful to the rabbit. He assumed at every point, every insertion to an unassuming hole would be too great a feat despite his athletically inclined body. Even as the wolf was splitting hares in the locker room, all he felt was immense satisfaction, like this was where he was supposed to be. Not running on the track. Not studying in class. Not at home making dinner. Here, beneath 250 lbs of canine jock.

He could only bring his hands forward, his initiative determined; grabbing the scruff of the wolf's neck to bring him closer, sidling their bodies under the hot water of the communal shower, wrapping his grip around both their cocks in what felt at the time to be the ultimate romantic design. Like it was all leading up to something, to be explained at the end of their little fling. The wolf winces, the rabbit cries for all the world to hear.

And then it ends.

And the two of them turn to each other, sprawled on the shower floor; one with a visage of intense satisfaction, the other with absolute confusion.

"Work on your handjobs," the wolf simply says, and then he leaves.

And what the two of them just did looms over the rabbit's mind. Why didn't he stop? What **** came over him? Why did they even initiate? There was no sense to be found, and further, as he would become more aware to it, no one treated it as something obscene, even in public, even with witnesses. By tomorrow, it would happen again, and every time the rabbit could only ask himself one question afterwards.

Why did he do that?