I stepped into the smell of sweat and other people, clogging my nose like a thick pillow being pressed against my face. The air hummed with energy, thick with the scent of freshly polished wood. It was a large playing court where every squeak of sneakers and every thud of a ball echoed and amplified itself across the field, building into a large, syncopated symphony of competition. The floor was shiny, as bright as the sun, burning right into my eyes. I was right at home. Occasional grunts and calls accompanied the tracks of squeaks and thwacks.
Players darted across the court, a blur of colorful fur in motion.
"Here!" a dog howled, "Man on!" a bear boomed, "Pass the ball!" a fox yipped, clapping his paws.
The commands were a chaotic chorus, all instantly interrupted by the coach's whistle that shut everything into absolute silence.
The paly froze. All eyes turned to the sideline.
A tall, powerfully built hyena stood there, one hand on her hip, the other holding the whistle up to her maw. Her spotted fur was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her expression was pure, unamused intensity. "What was that, Leo?" her voice was a low rasping growl that carried effortlessly across the silent court. "You see a gap that wide and you take the shot. You don't hesitate to make the pretty pass. This isn't an art exhibition. Score."
The tiger, Leo just nodded along, his ears flattening slightly. "Yes, coach."
"Again!" She barked, and the symphone of chaos erupted once more. I stood there, mesmerized, watching the drill repeat. Coach didn't just watch from the sidelines, her eyes followed the ball with precision, at times even predicting the passes the players were about to make, and if that wasn't enough, she was also spotting and correcting micro-adjustments, invisible to the untrained eye.
"Drop your hips on defense, Mika!", "Communicate, guys! I shouldn't be the loudest one here!"
After a couple minutes, she blew the whistle again. "Everyone! Water break! You did well, take five! We'll be back right after."
As the coach dismissed the team, the court dissolved into noise again, the deep sound of footsteps, water bottles opening, teammates laughing. I was frozen where I stood. Coach's eyes had already locked on me.
She emanated a fierce, dominating aura that overwhelmed all my senses. Everyone has the right to be scared the moment a tall, strong hyena approached you.
"You..." Her eyes seemed to look right into my soul, her casual voice has raspy like a constant growl, and her eyes were prisons.
"Mr. Tilic, right?" She asked, crossing her arms, looking on me to make eye contact. I almost opened my mouth to correct her as she mispronounced my last name, but I backed out of it.
"Y-yes. I'm Ilhan Tılıç." I stammered, my voice came out softer than usual, and my tail had tucked in from the nerves.
Her stern expression held for a heartbeat longer before it melted as the coach let out a sigh, and her face morphed into a grin. "I'm so glad you've arrived, it's a pleasure to meet you!" She reached out to shake my paw, her grip was so strong, I could swear if she held it any longer, my bones would break.
She was rapidly shaking it up and down. "The name's Alice Becker! But you can just call me Beck."
Her sudden kindness weirded me out, but I'd much rather have this, than the control-freak of a coach I used to have during my high school years.
"Oh, I've heard so much about you, MVP of the 2016 national competition, we've been overwhelmed with recommendations letters from your team manager, your record is astonishing, it'll be a pleasure to have you on the team!"
I fact I was already known and respect made me feel uneasy, but it also fed my ever-growing ego. I don't deserve such high admiration for just playing a silly sport I happen to enjoy.
"Th-thanks Beck, uh, I won't disappoint!"
"Perfect! The showers and changing rooms are over there," She signaled towards a bright blue door near the corner of the court.
I walked to the door and took a deep breath before walking in, mentally preparing for one specific, reocurring issue that has been bothering me since I got into handball back when I was a young 15 year old. I pushed the door open and was immediately met with a harsh wave of sounds and smells.
The door swung shut behind me with a heavy thud, trapping me inside. The noise felt almost like a physical push, pressing in on me from all sides. A bear's booming laugh echoed off the tiles, a wolf has humming some pop song, horribly off-key, "hm hm hm hm hmm" he hummed, that's not how it goes, it's supposed to be "hmm hm hm hmm".
And everywhere around me was the sharp metallic slam of locker doors. Accompanied by the foul combination of smells. God. It wasn't just a single thing. It was layers of odor, a lasagna of sweat, cheap deodorant and 'masculine' perfumes that made me almost gag every time they reached my nose.
The view I was met with didn't help me. Countless jocks in various states of undress. Some shirtless, their arm muscles glistening under the harsh bright lights. My eyes, against my will, locked on a droplet of water tracing a path down the defined back of our team's center. Don't you date stare. But it was not to stare at anything. The team's pivot was messing around with their friends, showing off the way his defined back as he flexed it, and the lats that made him look like he was about to glide using nothing but his muscles.
I could feel my cheeks burning, the skin below my fur getting even more red than the mane that covered it. My ears continously twitched, and my tail puffed out in a nervous reflex. I quickly reached back to smooth it down, hoping no one had noticed. Even after years of playing, I could never get used to the feeling of being surrounded by handsome men. It was like walking through a museum of sexy male Greek sculpture, and being told you can't even look at them for more than a couple seconds at a time, and if you do, all the sculptures come to life and laugh at you, calling you a creep.
My eyes flicked to the body of a lean otter pulling a shirt over his head, the sleek muscles of his abdomen contracting, said muscles so tough, you could probably use them as a cutting board without causing any damage. Then to a seriously massive buffalo. How tall was he? 2 meters tall? His horns almost scraped the changing room's ceiling, his sheer size and power made him look like an absolute monument. It was a gallery of impossible physiques, the type of physiques that would make a TikTok looksmaxxer cry to sleep. I felt like an overwhelmed tourist trying not to get kicked out of the museum, while still trying to appreciate the beauty of everything around me.
I'm just appreciating the aesthetic of it, right? I mean, every physique here has taken years of rough training and intense discipline to achieve, consistency, diets. I lied to myself, fumbling with my locker combination. My mind was fogged up with pictures of every dude around me, I imagined how they would feel if I just ran my paw along their bodies, just to cop a small feel of it, right? Nothing wrong with thinking about it. As I said, I just like the aesthetic of it! I could feel my mouth almost watering. The center is so hot. My brain couldn't think of anything else. It was anatomy. Very, very nice anatomy, and I need to study it. I was a mess.
My movements were shaky and robotic at the same time, my cheeks were so flushed, if someone touched them, they'd tell me to go back to my dorm as I might have flu. Yes... oh no, I'm feeling so ill, if only a big jock could pick me up gently, and place me down on my comfy bed, maybe tuck me in and take care of me too... The usual fear of being caught staring began to set in. The fear of being caught thirsting over someone else.
I finally managed to sneak my way into a corner after I opened my locker, my back facing the rest of the room. I can't thirst over bathroom tiles, after all. I changed with the frantic speed of a bian lian artist, nearly tripping over my own tail as I tried to get my shorts on.
I had just gotten one leg into my shorts when a deep, rumbling voice spoke right next to me. "Hey. You're Ilhan, right?"
I froze, one foot on the ground, one stuck in my shorts, and my heart attempted to escape from my chest. I knew that voice. I'd heard it yelling plays on the court when I first entered the court. I slowly, turned my head towards him.
It was the tiger guy. His stripes looked on by an artist, and his shoulders were broad, with arms large enough to bench press a small car. He was tall, the top of my head was barely above the lowest point of his jaw. I had to crane my neck up to speak with him. Of course, he was shirtless. If any of us got pushed frontwards, his chest would be on my face, an ideal situation for my heart, but the worst case scenario for my brain and everyone else. A towel was slung over one of his shoulders, he was using it to dry off his damp mane. His smell was the one of lavender, probably due to the showers' soap, with a hint of earthy sweat to it.
He was one of the most handsome dudes to ever exist, and I was standing there, with my shorts around one ankle and half of my underwear exposed.
"Uh," I said, intelligently as always. Always good to stutter when you're trying to make a good first impression, right?
"Beck says you're our new secret weapon," he said, an easy, confident grin spreading across his muzzle. His eyes, a cool amber, shining brightly with the ceiling lights, crinkled at the corners. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact he was causing my brain systems to short circuit and melt down. He reached out his large paw. "Name's Leo, I'm center."
"I- yeah. Ilhan. I'm wing." I somehow managed to get my paw free from my shorts to shake his. His grip was firm and warm, seriously what's with these people and gripping your paw like they want to break it. I tried not to think about how big paws here and how tough the skin felt behind his fur and pads. But before I could avoid the thoughts they had already intruded into my mind.
"Beck has been talking non-stop about you for the past week. I'm looking forward to playing along with you."
"Yep! Me too! I mean I- I also look forward to that." I was babbling. My face felt like it was about to melt from how warm it was. I could feel my tail starting to puff out again, and I prayed to every god I knew that he wouldn't notice.
Leo's grin didn't falter. He gave a friendly nod. "Cool, don't be shy, yeah? We don't bite." He winked. "Well, most of us don't."
And with that, he turned and walked away back to his locker, leaving me standing there, half-dressed, my mind completely and utterly blank except for the single, screaming though. He winked at me, a feline winked at me. I will die.
I yanked my jersey over my head, momentarily getting lost in the fabric, a dark relief from the visual overload outside.
Finally dressed, I leaned my forehead against the cool metal of the locker. I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," I whispered to myself. "Survived another one." I slammed the locker shut, a little too hard, and headed out to the court, ready to channel all that panicked energy into the one thing I was an expert at. Throwing a ball, really hard.