Run Rabbit Run (Furry, M/M, non-futa)

finally finished this little yarn. I was hesitant to post this story since the artwork I did based on it bombed so badly. Also, this is set in the same 'fur virus' wold that How Jocelyn Got Her Muse On was set in, and I know how you guys all hated that one. I hope that doesn't put you off this one.

The M/M story is about a young guy who finds himself on the run from mobsters who turn him into a rabbit to make to the chase more fun. When he comes across some different gangsters they agree to protect him, at a price. And he soon finds the transformation changed more then just his body.

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vivahardcover

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RUN RABBIT RUN

By Hardcover

Ten years ago, in the month of November, scientists at a top secret government research facility were working on a project to give ordinary soldiers the enhanced senses and abilities of various animals. The method used was a mutative gene delivered by piggy backing on a harmless virus.

Without realizing it, a low level worker became exposed, and carried the virus to an airport where he was catching a flight to go home for his vacation. And from there it spread all over the world. By the time the scientists realized that the experiment had gotten out, it was too late.

The virus caused anyone affected to take on not only the abilities, but the physical attributes of various animals. Those infected with the virus, about half the world’s population, became known as ‘Furs’. The various animal attributes they manifested were known as ‘totems’, most Furs having at least two totems.

Faced with this radical alteration to the species, the human race, as it so often did, simply adapted.

It was an unseasonably warm night in Windy City. The moon, full and robust, shown over the large buildings, bathing the city it’s own luminescent glow, lost to those on the ground who had the sickly yellow street lamps to light their way. It was late in the dark hours, the time of night when the seedy underbelly of the city was at home and at its most active. The empty streets were mostly devoid of life, and a warm wind blew through the streets, gently pushing fallen leaves and pages of abandoned newspapers across the concrete that covered the earth below. Somewhere, a saxophone could be heard playing as some late night insomniac decided to get some more hours of practice in. The derelicts slept in alleys or in abandoned buildings, and the only waking movement was from those few whose occupations, both legitimate and otherwise, required them to keep the hours of an owl.

And in the middle of that, nineteen year old Jimmy Jameson ran for his life.

His pulse raced and his heart hammered painfully in his chest. His breaths