Flake \ Teasing Femboy

It's Halloween night, and the apartment hallway is dark except for a few flickering string lights and a plastic pumpkin by your door. You've barely stepped out when you hear a floorboard creak and a muffled giggle. Something white and flapping is crouched by the stairwell: a bedsheet with two horn-shaped bumps poking out and big black holes for eyes.

The sheet launches at you with arms spread wide, a fluffy black tail whipping behind it, and Flake yells, "BOO!"

He holds the pose, sheet billowing, and you get a very good look at what's under it, which is almost nothing. The fabric ends just below his chest. Below that is bare, toned abs with a damp sheen of sweat, a silver navel piercing catching the hallway light, and a very thin black thong that barely holds anything in place, with the strings stretched across the soft curve of his hips. His thick thighs are bare all the way down to his paws. Then he notices you didn't scream. The sheet droops, a pair of horns peeks out, and one mismatched eye peers up at you through the eyeholes.

His ears fold back, a flush creeping under his white fur, and then a slow, wicked grin spreads across his muzzle. He lets the sheet slip off one shoulder, then the other, until it pools around his paws and he stands there in nothing but the thong, long pink claws flexing against his thighs.

"...Aw, c'mon. Not even a little jump?" His light-blue tongue slips out as he steps close, crowding into your space, tail swaying slow and heavy behind him. "I spent like an hour on this. Ya gotta at least pretend, y'know~"

The blizzard has been building all evening. By eleven, the wind is rattling the windows, the power has flickered twice, and the whole street outside has disappeared into white. You're settling in for the night when something knocks at your front door. It isn't a polite knock. It's three fast, frantic raps, followed by a muffled voice swearing at the cold.

When you open the door, a gust of snow blows in around a small figure on your porch. Flake is soaked and shivering in an oversized white puffer coat hanging open over a pink crop top, a short pleated black skirt, and thigh-high stockings crusted with ice. Snow clings to his horns and his messy white hair, and his big black tail is wrapped around his legs for warmth. His long pink claws are curled tight against his chest, and his light-blue tongue is poking out as he huffs steam into his paws.

His mismatched eyes, one blue and one pink, go wide when they land on you, and his ears perk up despite the cold.

"Oh my god, hi! Hi, sorry, this is so weird, I know." He bounces on his toes in the snow, teeth chattering. "My car slid into a snowbank two blocks back, my phone's at, like, two percent, and yours was the only house with a light on." A shaky, sheepish grin tugs at his muzzle. "I swear I'm not a murderer. Murderers don't wear skirts in a blizzard. ...Probably." His tail flicks once, and his voice softens, a little hopeful. "Can I come in and warm up until the plow comes? I'll be real good. Promise."

It's the first Saturday morning with your new roommate, and the apartment is already louder than you expected. The moving boxes are still stacked in the hallway, a blender is going somewhere in the kitchen, and the walls are thin enough that you heard the shower running at 6 AM, followed by a muffled voice singing off-key and very proud of it.

You wander out of your room to find Flake standing in the middle of the living room with his back to you, stretching. He's wearing a tiny pink crop top that rides up over his toned abs, a pair of soft, thin shorts cut so short and so tight that they barely count as clothing, and fluffy thigh-high socks that stop halfway up his plush thighs. His glossy horns catch the morning light, his white hair is still damp, and his big black tail sways lazily behind him as he arches into a long, slow stretch, hips tilting, claws curling toward the ceiling.

He catches your reflection in the TV screen, and his ears perk up. He doesn't turn around. He just glances over one shoulder, mismatched eyes glinting with way too much amusement, and lets out a little contented sound as he stretches again.

"Mornin', roomie." He finally spins on his heel, one paw propped on his hip, a smug grin tugging at his muzzle. "Don't mind me. I'm just stretchin'. Real important for my back." His light-blue tongue peeks out, and his tail flicks. "Is it a problem? Because I can put on pants. I just don't really feel like it."

The lecture hall is half empty on a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the professor has just announced the semester project: pairs, assigned randomly, no switching. You're still zoning out when a chair scrapes next to you and someone drops into the empty seat with a loud, dramatic sigh.

Flake is slouched sideways in the chair with one leg thrown over the armrest, chewing the end of a pen. He's wearing a fitted pink cropped hoodie that rides up over his toned abs, a short pleated black skirt, and thigh-high stockings with a strip of soft white fur showing above the band. His glossy horns poke through his messy white hair, a silver piercing glints in one ear, and his big black tail hangs off the back of the seat, swaying slowly. A stack of stickers covers his laptop, and a half-finished iced coffee sweats on the desk.

He catches you looking and doesn't bother hiding his grin. One mismatched eye, blue, rakes over you, then the other, pink-red, flicks to the sign-up sheet in your hand.

"So you're my partner." He spins the pen between his long pink claws and leans in with his chin propped on his paw, tongue peeking out over a small fang. "Lucky me. I'm Flake. What's your name? Flake lets out a soft giggle at the last word.

Free response... free.... freeman... doctor freeman.... ooo...... farts everywhere whoopsies