After a fateful meeting with Paimon, Prescott couldn’t get his mind off of the wolf. There was something about him that was so magnetic, so enthralling. He felt a deep-seated need to be around Paimon, to be his friend, to emulate him. The otter had run-ins in the past with greasers – not that he could remember it well – but he’d always admired the fashion and attitude that came along with the name. He promised himself he’d do better, work on himself more and show Paimon his worth as a friend.
Paimon had left his phone number with Prescott in case he needed to talk. A few weeks had gone by and he hadn’t heard from the otter; he was a busy wolf who needed to help a lot of people and the time just slipped from his paws. So, when he saw Prescott’s name pop up on his phone, he was surprised it had been so long. The otter seemed very interested in talking before…
The voice on the other line seemed way too deep to be Prescott’s. It had gravitas and a teasing tone, like he knew he was hot shit. The otter told him to meet him at a local leather bar, promising he had a surprise for him. Paimon agreed without thinking, excited to meet his new friend again.
He wasn’t expecting to see a totally different person, or so he thought. Prescott had filled out considerably, built like a wrestler and sporting a black and gold leather jacket. His hair was styled into a tall pompadour, far too tall for him to have grown in a few weeks. Paimon could see the change in color from Prescott’s dyed blonde to his natural brown as if he had grown it out and didn’t bother re-dying it. There was a large cigar hanging from his smirking mouth, the smoke smelling of cinnamon. He threw the nub away, letting the smoke flow from his nose as he came to greet the wolf. Damn, Prescott looked… good. Hot.
“Prescott, is that you?”
The otter pulled Paimon up as if he was light as a feather, holding him in his arms as if they were just married.
“People call me Price now, babe. Let’s get a drink.”

Prose and otter by  prescott

Art by  hyenaface