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"Discrete Details: Part 9"

By S. K. Gwinne

September 2018

School was quieter than before, Wes noticed; maybe not as it pertained to volume, but there were invisible barriers between him and many of those he had been close to. Shana and her friends kept their distance, said less to him; his classmates always looked like they were at the edge of knowing what to say to him, but never quite made it that far; and his teammates gave him a wide berth in the locker room and on the field.

That was the hardest part. Football had always been the even playing field, the neutral territory. There were simple rules and everyone was part of a team. They took out their aggression on that field against and with each other. But now his part seemed somehow diminished. The other guys didn't tackle as hard, were uncharacteristically... reserved.

He hadn't made an announcement over the PA or anything, so who really knew he was gay remained a mystery. But he could see it in their faces and the way they covered themselves with a towel where before they wouldn't have. It hurt more that he was the only one treated this way, or so he perceived, when there were two other gay guys on the team. They didn't act that way for Ben or David, so why act that way for him?

Of course, Patrick acted differently, but that was an entirely different story. Patrick followed him around as usual, but had gone from acting like a peer to behaving as his solemn protector. He would never have said it out loud, Wes was confident, but he could sense it in the wolf's demeanor. His hackles were always partially raised, he looked around like ninjas might be around any corner, and he made a subtle point of standing just ahead of Wes wherever they went. Wes wanted to think it was charming, but it ended up being more annoying than anything. He caught himself muttering, "I didn't sign up for this," but had to admit he had been the one to let their relationship get sexual... now he had a guard dog.

He tried to think it wasn't a big deal and to just keep on like nothing had changed, but the emotional weight of the breakup and the social weight of being 'out' fell on him heavily. In just a few days he realized he almost felt worse than before he had come out to his dad.

"Wes."

He turned from his locked to see Julio, a Pantherine mountain lion and the team's best lineman, standing several feet away. The lion boy regarded him with feet set evenly, dead on, and Wes suspected this confrontation might have too much energy behind it.

"What?" he asked plainly.

"The guys on the team want to know," Julio answered, gesturing with his free hand, the other holding his helmet by the mask, "are you actually gay, or did you just say that to run off Shana?"

Wes blinked and raised an eyebrow.

"I would never be that cruel."

"Then you are gay," Julio clarified. Wes measured the situation. Several dozen of his teammates stood by, listening intently. Julio didn't seem hostile, but his questioning and tone were very forward and had no softness.

"I am," Wes replied, swallowing instinctively.

"You didn't think that's something we would want to know?" he asked.

"I didn't think it was anyone's business but my own," Wes shot back testily, wishing he had taken off his shoulder pads... if this became a fight they would greatly limit his mobility.

"You were wrong," Julio answered, tossing his helmet aside and stepping forward. "We play together, fall together, get up together, and shower together. It's team business."

Wes closed his locker door behind him and glanced left and right. He was surrounded, with no way to leave in any direction. He was confident whatever was about to happen would be painful with Julio's next steps when he heard rustling and Patrick stepped between them.

"You got a problem with it?" Patrick asked loudly, hackles raised, teeth bared.

Julio's eyebrows shot up and he raised his hands, but he didn't take a step back or give any sign of retreating. Wes blinked in shock and kept his mouth shut.

"Hey, bro--" Julio began, but Patrick cut him off.

"Back off!" Patrick shouted. "Nobody better touch him, or they'll have me to answer through!"

"To?" someone in the back corrected quietly and a low chuckle rippled through the crowd.

"Shut up! Wes is the same to us as he always has been, and... and I'm fine with him just the way he is, and... and I'll prove it!"

Wes frowned uncertainly as Patrick continued his dramatic threat, but flinched in surprise when his Lupine friend suddenly spun around, grabbed the neck of his jersey, and pulled him forward into a long, passionate, 'tonguey' kiss. Wes was horrified, but didn't know what to do, so he stood there in shock while a chorus of peanut-gallery commentary heralded the unexpected show of affection.

"Ho-lee shit."

"Hahah! What the fuck, dude."

"Daaaamn!"

"Did I miss something?"

"Welp! There it is!"

"JEE-zus, is Pat eating him?!"

When Patrick finally pulled away he did it with such force that Wes fell back against the lockers and had to steady himself. He wiped the slobber from his mouth and tried to suppress the profound blush making its way into his cheeks.

"So, yeah!" Patrick shouted at Julio again, who stared disinterestedly with his arms crossed. "Everyone can just leave him the hell alone or I'll straight up fuck you all up!"

As Patrick stopped yelling and resorted to huffing excitedly while standing with his back hunched and arms bowed for attack, the room echoed giggles and chuckles and hushed commentary. Wes looked back and forth between Julio and Patrick, unsure of what to expect, when Juli started shaking his head and threw his hands wide.

"What's your problem, man?" he asked Patrick. "Did you think we were gonna beat up Wes for being gay? What fucking year do you think it is?"

"It's fucking twenty-eighteen, dude," Brad, a sleek feline boy said from the left.

"Yeah, man, nobody fucking cares," someone in the back agreed.

"I, uh..." Patrick stammered uncertainly, and Wes raised his eyebrows in surprise. To be truthful, he had expected something along the lines of being jumped as well. "Uh, well, what were you doing with the whole surrounding him and closing in business?" Patrick asked pointedly.

"I was gonna shake his hand and tell him he could trust us with who he is," Julio explained with a wry grin, then looked back to Wes. "Dude, we waited for you to come out to us, but you never did. Don't you trust us?"

"I, uh..." Wes began, standing straight and stepping next to Patrick, "I... guess I didn't. I'm sorry."

"No need to be," Julio said with a shrug, "but you don't need to hide it either, my friend. We got your back."

The group rang out with a crescendo of agreement, and Wes had to swallow past the lump in his throat. He nodded appreciatively.

"Thanks, guys," he said as loudly as he dared, still a little shaken by the ordeal, "that means a lot."

"May I approach the witness?" Julio asked Patrick with a joking smile.

"Yeah, my bad," Patrick said quietly, and Wes could only guess at how embarrassed he felt.

"Hey, man," Julio said warmly with his arms wide, "it's good to meet the real Wes." With that he wrapped Wes in a stout hug that Wes returned as everyone in the locker room clapped and cheered. When he stepped away, and before Wes could say anything, the lion boy targeted Patrick. "And you," he continued, "you're the real MVP here. I hope we all have at least half the guts you did if it ever comes to defending our own. You're a champ in my book, Pat."

Wes joined everyone in clapping and watched the wolf boy blush and shrug it off like it was nothing. When the noise died down Wes touched his friend's arm to get his attention.

"Hey, I'm fine with you too, my friend," Wes said. The young tiger leaned forward and took Patrick's face in his hands, pressing their lips together and rewarding him with a slower, more romantic kiss, with a little less tongue and much more meaning. Another round of playful jeering, joking and laughing erupted around them before he stepped back and licked his lips, noting the sincere appreciation and energy in his fiend's eyes.

"Well, when are you gonna come out to us, Pat?" Julio asked, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm not gay," Patrick defended staunchly, raising his hands for emphasis, "just for Wes."

"Hah! Whatever," the mountain lion replied, and turned to walk back to his locker. The rest of the crowd dispersed as well, jabbing each other and making inappropriate comments. Wes watched them go about their business and waited until there weren't any onlookers. He touched Patrick on the arm as the Lupine boy opened his own locker.

"Hey, thanks for defending me, Pat," he said, and he had to admit to himself that his heart had softened for the pup with that genuine display of caring. If that had been what they thought it was, doing what he did might have cost him dearly.

"Yeah, man," Patrick offered, then adopted a more vulnerable, sensitive expression before adding, "thanks for kissing me and meaning it."

"What do you mean?" Wes asked uncertainly.

"I could tell," Patrick answered honestly, pausing to pull off the top of his uniform, "that you really loved me when you kissed me."

Patrick failed to suppress a smile and blushed at his friend's brazen sincerity. He returned to his locker and undressed as well, trying to avoid any further contact from those intense, yellow eyes. Inside, he could feel his disappointment dislodge, and found himself entertaining an idea he had been sure he might never reconsider. He could never convince Patrick that he wasn't in love, but... maybe that didn't matter so much anyway.

"You wanna come over after this?" Wes asked, glancing sideways at his Lupine friend. Patrick stood resolute, shoulders squared and back straight. His eyes lidded in calculating consideration. Then he nodded.

"I'll follow you home."

"I'm not promising anything," Wes quickly added, stepping out of his trousers and grabbing a towel. Patrick walked next to him, towel over his shoulder and striding in full glory. As they found their shower stalls he shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Don't be trying to get into my pants, buddy," Patrick warned. Wes chuckled and lathered up under the water. "It's like I keep telling you," Patrick continued, "I just want to be with you. I don't need any more than that."

Wes smiled appreciatively and nodded his head.

"Thanks, Pat."

* * *

The bar seemed busier than usual, Friday night or not. It looked like a pack of college students had decided to act the fool in his choice watering hole for the evening. He grimaced and scoffed, but pressed his way through the meandering throng and signalled Mikayla, the other bartender, on his way to the usual place. He was surprised to find Dennis sitting at their usual table with a hefty stein of amber ale.

"I didn't know if you'd be here," Anton said, gesturing to the open seat. "May I?"

"It's yours," Dennis assured with a nod.

"I promise I haven't been avoiding you at work," Anton grunted, taking his seat and leaning back as Mikayla set his pint of lager in front of him. He smiled politely at her as she quickly returned to her other patrons. "It's been a crazy week."

"Nothing got done over the holiday, naturally," Dennis agreed, spinning his glass and shaking his head. "They act all casual about a four-day weekend, but behind curtains they expect everything to still get done."

"In _their_defense," Anton began with a wry smile, indicating that he had been part of that decision-making process, "we planned production in advance six weeks, so... it should have worked out."

"Maybe it's just getting back into a routine then," Dennis mused.

"That's probably a big part of it," Anton admitted, taking a long drink from his lager. The crisp, semi-bitter liquid poured over his tongue with practiced ease, never foaming on its way down. He traced his lips with his tongue, testing for residual even though he knew there wouldn't be any.

He stared at Dennis blankly, and the Cervine male back at him, neither hostile nor expectant... a testament to where they stood with each other. He didn't have to ask, but he wanted to, and he knew it would mean something to Dennis that it mattered to him.

"Are things good between us?" he asked, squinting slightly.

"I... want them to be," Dennis replied. "Do you think they are?"

"I do. I hope we can continue being friends. I want you to know I don't think any less of you."

"Nor I you," Dennis added with a sigh. Anton noticed an almost imperceptible relaxing of his shoulders. "Maybe someday soon I can even talk to Wes again without there being too much hurt. My therapist suggested I should give it time though."

"You're seeing a therapist," Anton observed, eyebrows raised.

"It's time," Dennis said, nodding his head, "past time, really. I realized after this that I'm really good at putting up a facade... but not all that good at actually processing my issues."

"Well, that makes two of us," Anton assured, raising his glass in mock toast.

"I find it hard to believe that The Great Anton doesn't have his shit together," Dennis joked, tipping his stein back.

"Well," Anton mumbled with a shrug, "I am divorced, and I did set my son up with my coworker, so..."

"Well, there's that," Dennis humored, licking a thin layer of foam from his lips. Anton tapped his foot to the admittedly annoying choice of music in the background and scanned the area for a good game, but nothing interesting was on. He caught movement and looked down to see Dennis checking his phone with a scowl.

"Something wrong?"

"Ah... not really," Dennis groaned. "I invited my sister to meet us--well, me, but she said she had a date of sorts with a guy she just met."

"Coincidentally I invited a young woman to join me tonight," Anton added, "but she suddenly got held late at work."

"Unfortunate," Dennis commented with a curious frown, then smiled, "but that's neat that you're seeing someone."

"Yeah, I thought we were going to spend more time together last weekend, but..." he trailed off as he recalled that Dennis had something to do with that change of plans.

"I... apologize," Dennis offered, wincing at the unspoken accusation.

"It's probably best," Anton assured, waving his hand. "Things were moving quickly, it might have ended abruptly if we hadn't had to separate before Saturday."

"So you think it could be serious then," Dennis commented with some surprise.

"Uh... maybe," he said, "I mean, I hope so. She's... something else."

"Well," Dennis began raising his stein in toast, "I hope that works out."

Anton raised his glass as well and they drank simultaneously. Like a shoulder-angel in those old cartoons, he felt the nagging of a question that had been on his mind for a few days... something he had almost asked Wes several times, but given his unusual and disturbing thoughts it had seemed like a bad idea. He knew given the circumstances it would be inappropriate, but Dennis was really the only other person he was comfortable enough talking to about it, short of resorting to an endless string of disappointing Google searches. After a moment he decided to ask.

"Actually, if you're alright with it I do want to pick your brain about something."

He watched a distrusting darkness shadow Dennis' features.

"Don't tell me you have another acquaintance that needs my mentorship, please."

"No," he replied quietly, "nothing like that."

"Well, alright then."

"Have you ever been with a woman?" he asked, then quickly added, "This question has several parts."

"I... yes," Dennis replied suspiciously. "Yeah, several times, actually."

"But you consider yourself gay and not, uh... bi?" Anton tried his best to not be awkward about it, though inside it felt like his stomach did somersaults every time he said the words 'gay' and 'bi.'

"I guess if you want to split hairs I'm bi," Dennis allowed, spreading his hands to emphasize his dispassionate stance with the label, "but I've known pretty much forever that any long-term relationship was going to be with a guy, so I usually just say 'gay'."

"Hm... okay, then... well, let me ask you this," Anton shifted in his seat and popped his neck before continuing, "what are the... or rather, what factors into your preference? I mean, is there something that guys have that a woman doesn't or something?"

"Uh, well, I guess for me the big thing is that guys are typically pretty easy to please," Dennis replied, "simply because I'm a guy and I know what makes us tick. We want the same things. Another big thing for me is that sex isn't a huge deal."

"It's not?" Anton asked, dipping his chin and swallowing.

"Not that it isn't important, it just doesn't necessarily come with a promise. You know, you have sex with a girl and she wants you to call her later, and she thinks there's more going on than there often is. With a guy, if you don't lay out the expectations first, sex is just sex, it's transactional, you do it and you may do it again later or not." Dennis shrugged and rolled his eyes. "There are always exceptions, but my first experience was with a guy and most of my experience has been with guys, so I'm much more comfortable navigating those kinds of relationships."

"But let's say someone doesn't bend that way, and yet they find themselves considering, uh... considering something..."

Dennis frowned and then his eyebrows went up.

"Are you saying you're interested in a guy?" Dennis asked.

"No," Anton replied, shaking his head, "I'm just trying to understand something and I'm not communicating it effectively. I don't know how to get it across, so we can just... forget I said anything."

A long pause passed between them in which Anton downed the rest of his lager and signaled for another. He could feel Dennis eyeing him periodically, pondering, mulling it over.

"You know," Dennis mused aloud after a while, "I only ever had sex with one girl."

Anton considered that for a moment.

"One girl," he repeated.

"Yeah, just one," Dennis answered, "and she was very special to me. You know, I can recognize the sex appeal in a woman, but she's the only one I was ever tempted to be with, and we were together for a long time."

"Hm," Anton thrummed thoughtfully.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is: It's possible to be attracted to someone of a particular sex, and it be just that person... I don't think it changes your identity, it just... it's like an anomaly, I guess, a brilliant and awesome anomaly."

"For just _that_person," Anton clarified, leaning back in his seat.

"Yeah," Dennis offered. "It's not common, but it happens." He chuckled. "I guess that means I really am gay if I only like one girl, huh?"

"I guess," Anton replied quietly, weighing the results of the conversation. It hadn't been what he expected to hear. It should have been what he had hoped to hear, but he found himself lost in the significance of a possibility, that something could come of what he was considering when he had hushed his internal voices for being foolish and... and wrong.

"Oh, this is about Patrick," Dennis exclaimed.

"What?" Anton asked.

"The non-gay guy that is gay, but for one person, for Wes," Dennis explained emphatically. Anton's mouth hung open as he tried to piece together what Dennis was trying to get at, then it clicked and he quickly tried to recover.

"Oh, uh, yes," he said, "Patrick. I was just... confused about how that worked and stuff. You know."

"Yeah, of course," Dennis nodded, "I can see what's confusing about that, for sure."

"Well," Anton offered, taking his fresh lager from Mikayla, "you cleared it up for me."

"Good, glad I could."

"Oh, look," Anton commented quickly, gesturing at a TV screen, "Baltimore's game is on."

He knew Dennis didn't care. He didn't care either. He had the answer he wanted. His nagging shoulder-angel was satisfied. He knew a few things now, that if something were to happen between him and Wes... he winced at the thought... it might not be a life-changing deal, and he also knew that it didn't change him to have those thoughts, to feel that way, never minding that he hadn't had those thoughts once in his life before. Then again, he realized, he had never loved another male with a tenth the passion he held for Wes.

It was at the same time liberating and horrifying. On the one hand he was relieved, but with that relief came a revelation. It was like the many strands of his life held tightly for so long had become hot and slick, and one by one they slipped from his fingers. It was like wading into deeper water and letting it rise above his head. His gut cried to step back, purge the thoughts, retain the status quo... but everything else ignored that inner voice, the core. Everything else painted a picture of possibility, and between the angled frames of that picture he saw himself holding his son, bringing him close, closer than he had ever been... and letting go of his inhibitions.

* * *

Dennis tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to an imaginary beat, no particular song in his head. He thought over his conversation with Anton, replaying the tiger's facial expressions and body language. It didn't matter to him what had been said, but he felt compelled to admit his great relief that they could continue being friends despite the heartache stretched between them.

He blinked several times to try and fight back against the fuzzying effects of the beers he'd consumed. It only occurred to him partway down the road that they hadn't ordered an appetizer or entree to share like they usually did, so two large beers went a lot farther than he had expected. Still, it wasn't affecting him too badly... he just felt really chill.

A light flashed on his gauge panel, catching his attention, and he squinted down at it carefully while barreling down the highway.

"Uh... temp?" he mumbled to himself, then looked over at the engine temperature gauge and saw the needle slowly climbing toward the red zone... which he figured was bad. "Ah, shit," he muttered, glancing around wildly in an attempt to locate the next exit. "Shit, shit, shit..."

It took him a few seconds to get over and coast down the off-ramp, but he made it before anything crazy happened. He wasn't sure what happened when a car overheated, but he imagined explosions and loud noises and death and carnage... admittedly dramatic, but then again he didn't know anything about cars.

"Oh, please don't die on me," he whined, scanning the street for any hopeful places to park. He had only intended to pull over and call a tow truck or something like that when his eye caught a red and white sign that read, 'Terry's Auto Shop.' It was a little farther down the road, but... Dennis gritted his teeth and decided it was attainable. He bit his lip hopefully as he applied pressure to the gas pedal and watched the gauge pensively.

Not even a minute later and before his little SUV fell apart around him, he turned into the small parking lot and rolled up to the closed bay doors. He threw it in park, turned off the engine, and stepped out, then peered at the office door, noting the 'open' sign that was markedly off.

"Bummer," he muttered, checking his watch. "Well, it is late." He glanced around and licked his lip, trying to figure out how best to handle this. He supposed he could leave it overnight and just check in the following morning. At least he wouldn't be paying for towing. "I'll have to leave a note," he told himself, patting his jacket pockets until he found a gas-station receipt and a black pen. He started to write a note that he intended to stick under the windshield wiper when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned with wide eyes.

"Trouble?" A tall, Canine male asked, wiping his hands with an oily rag and walking closer. Dennis squinted in the evening darkness and thought he seemed tall for a Canine, but couldn't be sure.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, jamming his thumb over his shoulder at the SUV, "the temperature gauge was climbing and the, uh... alarm light went off... or on, rather."

"Any steam under the hood?" the male asked, helping himself to the driver side front seat and popping the hood latch. Dennis stepped back and watched what he hoped was a mechanic circle around and lift the hood. "Wow," the Canine exclaimed.

"Bad?" Dennis asked, flinching in advance.

"Your coolant is boiling," he explained, "I can hear it. Come on over."

Dennis plucked his hands from his pockets and walked to the front of the vehicle next to the petroleum-smelling dog. Sure enough, he could hear liquid of some kind bubbling furiously.

"Jesus..."

"Ah, it's probably not critical," the mechanic said, stepping back and waiting for Denis to get out of the way before dropping the hood closed. Dennis still couldn't see him that well in the poor lighting, but saw him turn to face him. "I can get it in the bay tonight and take a look first thing tomorrow. It looks like you caught it before anything serious. Should be out of here pretty cheaply."

"Okay," Dennis mumbled, patting his back pocket to assure himself his wallet was still there. He only hoped he had enough to cover the cost.

"Let's go to the office so we can get the paperwork done and you can be on your way," the Canine male said, stepping past him at a quick pace. Dennis followed dutifully, casting a backward glance at his vehicle as the mechanic continued. "Nothing like car trouble to ruin the evening, huh?"

"Oh, my evening was already over anyway," Dennis answered honestly.

"Nah, it's too early," the Canine exclaimed.

"I'm afraid I'm kinda boring like that," Dennis chuckled.

The mechanic unlocked the office door and held it open for Dennis, who stepped into the dark room and waited while his escort flipped a light switch and trotted around to the other side of the counter. Dennis looked down to collect his wallet and sucked in a breath of surprise when he saw the other male in the light for the first time.

The Canine was actually Lupine, a tall wolf, but stout rather than lean like most. His eyes were a bright, cornflower blue and his wolfish markings accented by the genetic contrast in his primary colors. White fur jutted from the opening below his collar and faded suddenly to an Earthy tan and highlighted in deep, warm brown. Dennis caught himself staring and looked away while the mechanic finished filling out the top portion of the form.

"Here," the Lupine/Canine said, spinning the paper around and placing the pen on top of it, "fill out your contact information and make sure to put down your address."

"You need my address?" Dennis asked, lifting the pen and scribbling in the blank spaces.

"So we can deliver your vehicle to you when it's fixed."

"Oh, wow," Dennis marveled suspiciously, tapping the pen on the page a few times before dropping it in place. "How much does that cost, uh..." The Cervine male blinked when he noticed the name patch. "Oh, Tanner."

"Included," Tanner assured with a half-smile, "assuming you agree to let us work on the old gal... Dennis." Something about the way he said it, lifting his eyebrows for emphasis on the name, made Dennis blush and look away. "Keys?"

"Oh, right," Dennis mumbled, taking the car key off his keychain and handing it over.

"Do you have a ride back home tonight?" Tanner asked, placing the form and key into a clear envelope and slotting it in a receptacle on the wall. He blinked those hypnotically-beautiful blue eyes. "I can take you back to... Friendswood, was it?"

"It is," Dennis answered, biting his lip, "but I can catch a ride from the sharing service here in town."

"Fair enough," Tanner said, then held up an oil-stained hand to halt Dennis from leaving, "but before you go, can I ask where you're from?"

Dennis blinked uncertainly.

"Friendswood," he replied, "just South of here a bit."

"I mean originally," Tanner clarified, leaning on the counter and hunching his shoulders lazily. "Like... Northern California? I'm guessing. Portland area, maybe?"

"Washington," Dennis answered, suppressing a slight smile. "But not Seattle."

"Not Seattle," Tanner agreed with a smirk, and Dennis couldn't help but smile with interest.

"How'd you know?" Dennis asked.

"I get around," Tanner replied, shrugging. "That's one of my favorite areas of the world. Something about you reminds me of that place."

"What specifically?" Dennis pressed. It was a cheeky, impish question, but the Canine had his interest.

"Can't say," Tanner sighed, stepping back from the counter. "Maybe I just haven't spent enough time in your company to figure it out. Who knows?"

"Uh..."

"I'll tell you what," Tanner began, mocking consideration... he knew what he was getting at and Dennis could tell. "Why don't I think about it tonight and while I'm working on your vehicle tomorrow morning. Maybe it'll come to me."

What is this guy getting at? Dennis wondered, shaking his head and grinning.

"I'll expect your call," Dennis stated, turning and stepping out the door. Tanner shut off the lights and locked the door behind them.

"You're sure you don't want a ride?" he asked.

"I can handle it," Dennis assured, then shrugged, "but I may have trouble sleeping if I don't know how I remind you of Oregon."

"Have a beer and turn the TV to the golf channel," Tanner instructed playfully, throwing his hands wide as he walked away, "that always works for me."

Dennis chuckled, then plucked the phone from his pocket and queued up a ride request. He watched the wolfdog get in a little red Camaro and carefully drive away. He didn't look back or turn and wave, nothing like that. It definitely ranked as one of the strangest chance encounters he had ever experienced, but it hadn't seemed weird or anything., not bizarre or disconcerting anyway.

"Strange," Dennis commented to himself quietly, folding his hands behind his neck with a smile on his face. He stared in the direction of the red Camaro until his ride arrived, and shook the strange, chance encounter from his thoughts as he called Diana to see if she had plans for Saturday.

* * *

Anton called Diana on his way home from the bar, stopping at the grocery store to grab a few essentials for the weekend so he wouldn't have to make any trips until Tuesday or Wednesday.

"It's you!" he heard her exclaim into the receiver.

"It is!" he replied, pushing his cart down the aisles slowly. "How's work?"

"Ugh, too busy for Friday evening," she answered. "Sorry I couldn't make it to dinner and drinks."

"Well, what are you doing this weekend?" he asked. "Can I see you again?"

"Um... I--maybe, I don't know."

"You have work this weekend, too?" he asked sadly.

"No," she replied carefully, "I... have someone I need to check i on."

"Right," Anton allowed with a small sigh. "How is this not-husband doing?"

"Better, I hope," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I hope you know I'm not avoiding you."

"No," he assured, plucking a few cans from the shelf and dropping them in the cart. "I understand."

"Thank you."

"I do, uh... have a question for you, though."

"Okay..."

"If... well, I guess I'm having trouble making a decision about something."

"What kind of decision?"

"I, uh... I'm trying to choose between, uh... alternatives. Choices, options."

She giggled.

"Is this a two different life insurance policies decision or a 'strawberry or chocolate milkshake' kind of decision?"

"The milkshakes," Anton answered, then hesitated before adding, "but... pretend the milkshakes are, uh... people."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Well, who doesn't like a milkshake?" Diana asked jokingly. "What's the dilemma?"

"I just... I feel like I could be perfectly happy enjoying either," he explained. "I'm sorry if this bothers you."

"Anton, just have both."

Anton stopped in the middle of the aisle.

"Both?"

"Yeah, have both."

The tiger pushed his cart to the side and stood by.

"You do know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Of course, I do. But, you know, if the milkshakes can share... why can't you?"

"Can, uh... I mean... is that--"

"Anton," Diana interjected sweetly, "we're going to get our chance, and I'm not going to drag you along for a ride. I intend to sleep with you, to be with you. Do you want me like that?"

"I do," Anton whispered loudly, eyes wide. He hadn't thought it would be appropriate to just say it like that.

"Well, I also want to enjoy two milkshakes," she said. Anton's heart skipped a beat, but he let her continue. "I like you a lot, Anton, but I don't want to prevent either of us from living our lives. I think I really like you. If it comes to a point where we feel like it should be one or the other, well... we'll cross that bridge then. No need to draw hard lines now."

"Wow, uh... alright," Anton agreed, nodding his head, a little overwhelmed. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"So go enjoy a chocolate shake for now," Diana instructed.

"Well, who said_you_ were strawberry?" Anton asked playfully.

"Trust me, sweetie," Diana giggled, "I'm strawberry."

Anton wondered if they were talking in code and he didn't know it, but he tried not to overthink it. He did, however, have just one more thing to bring up.

"Before you hang up," he began, "I do have one question."

"Sure."

"When the time comes to choose one or the other... how can I ensure I'm the one to win you over?"

There was another silence, a pregnant pause, in which Anton listened with painful care. Then she answered.

"You will, Anton. I promise."

Then she hung up. Anton stared at his phone with a wide smile, swimming in a sea of strange emotions and feelings. He had expected that bringing up the decision he was being forced to make would drive a wedge between them. He had thought about it, though... no matter how much he had loved Sophia, no matter how much he was attracted to Diana, he couldn't let anyone get between him and his son. But he had laid it out there, and she had surprised him. He had his doubts about whether or not it would work, but there was potential that it would.

He took one look at his basket with four cans of food and rolled his eyes, pushing it out of the way. He could shop for groceries later. He needed to get home and talk to Wes. His heart beat powerfully in his chest as he exited the store and he suspected it would all the way home.

When he got home, Wes' and Patrick's cars were parked out front. Anton hoped he wouldn't accidentally walk in on them again... and he hoped Patrick didn't have any designs on the evening. He needed to talk to his son alone, and he didn't want to mull it over any longer.

As he approached the front door he felt his hand shaking. His breaths were shallow and he swallowed instinctively.

Pull it together.

He opened the door and stepped into the foyer, and found the boys playing a video game in the living room... fully clothed.

"Hey, Dad," Wes greeted, and Patrick grunted what Anton guessed was agreement.

"Hey, guys," Anton replied, depositing the contents of his pockets on the table in the foyer and hanging his jacket on the rack. "Who's winning?"

"Patrick," Wes mumbled, clearly focusing.

"Hah," Patrick exclaimed, moving around a lot more than Wes, angling his controller and making sound effects as he hammered away at the buttons. Anton squinted at the screen--a football game, naturally. Patrick's team was leading by fourteen points.

"Ouch, Wes," Anton sympathized.

"I know," Wes replied, "this mother--uh, tucker, am I right?"

"Nice recovery," Anton offered, raising an eyebrow.

"Ready to lose?" Patrick asked loudly.

"You're not--"

"Touchdown!" Patrick shouted, and Anton flinched, but smiled as the wolf boy raised his hands in triumph and Wes stared at the screen in disbelief.

"How the crap do you do that every time?" Wes asked.

"Natural talent," Patrick announced, and Wes shoved him off the couch, eliciting a thudding sound.

"You some more poundage to go with that talent, broski."

"How dare you," Patrick groaned, picking himself up from the floor. Wes turned off the TV and turned to look at Anton, who smiled curtly.

"Is Patrick staying the night?" Anton asked.

"Can't," Patrick interjected, grabbing his phone and keys off the coffee table, "I have to go help my older brother tomorrow morning, stupid early, too."

"Thanks for coming by," Wes offered, setting the controllers on the table as his friend trotted to the front door.

"Don't worry about me, I can see myself out!" Patrick called out, waving over his shoulder.

"I know, dude," Wes groaned, annoyed.

Anton chuckled at their antics and watched the Lupine boy close the door behind him. When he returned his attention to Wes, his son was leaning over the sofa with both arms, tail swishing behind him, ears forward and attentive.

"How was your date?" Wes asked.

"Oh, she... couldn't make it," Anton answered, walking around and flopping into the cushions at the other end of the mattress. "Work stuff."

"Man," Wes groaned with a look of disappointment, "that sucks."

"Yeah," Anton agreed, roping his hand under his chin and leaning against the back of the sofa. "We talked on the phone for a little bit, but... we're like two ships that pass in the night lately."

"Is she... avoiding you?" Wes asked carefully, mirroring his father's position.

"No," Anton replied, shaking his head slowly, "I don't think so."

Wes nodded and looked away, and the conversation passed into silence. Anton tried to think of how to approach his son about the feelings he had, unsure of how he felt about them himself, unsure of what they really meant at the end of the day. He explored it all inwardly, as he had these past few weeks, noting the neat little details. The way the longer fur on his forehead swept forward, how the muscle in his neck connected to his rounded shoulder. His markings were paler like his mother's, and his features leaner. He was a beautiful boy, even to an older tiger who had never once felt a moderately sexual feeling for another male.

"I guess it's too cold for a swim," Wes offered with a shrug, "too dark, too."

"I think so," Anton replied, scratching the back of his neck and then cradling his head again. "Did you have a good day at school?"

"It was... interesting," Wes answered with a smile. "The team told me they were fine with me being gay. They're didn't mind at all."

"Wow," Anton exclaimed, "that's big."

"And a little unexpected," Wes added. "What about work? Good?"

"Work," Anton replied with a little shrug. "Just so."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Wes asked. "Going to see the girl?"

"Diana," Anton clarified. "No, she has obligations with a friend. I was hoping that you and I could hang out."

"Really?" Wes asked, eyebrows raised. His tail swished. "I'd like that. What do you want to do?"

Anton's lips parted as he thought of what to say. He could tell in Wes' expression that his son had picked up on the hesitation, the heaviness.

"Is something wrong?" Wes asked with concern, sitting up and leaning forward just a bit.

"I don't think so," Anton began, shifting in his seat and sitting up straight. He licked his lips in contemplation, then launched into it. "You know the other night when we were talking in the pool?" Wes nodded. "I've wanted but been unable to say what I said for so long. It's hard to put into words for me, because my feelings for you are so strong."

"I feel the same way, Dad," Wes added, and his tail swished with renewed fervor.

"Well, I don't know if you do," Anton alleged carefully. "You see... this... this is going to sound strange, but... Well, here it is." He took a deep breath. "You _are_my favorite person in this world. If they paraded everyone by me and offered me all the riches I could spend, I would still only need you. We're a team, you know? We go together with everything. I love you like my son and my best friend, but there's something more there, too." As he explained, he was surprised to note how even his emotions were, how sure he felt. Wes regarded him with big eyes, intent and listening, a slight smile creeping into the corner of his mouth. "And... there was a point when we were in that pool, when I held you against me, that I felt closer to you than I've ever felt before. Not since you were born and I held your flesh against mine, when I felt your heartbeat and you felt mind." He paused uncertainly and he could see Wes thinking. "Do you... do you know what I'm saying?"

"We're... like soul mates," Wes described. "At least, that's the best way I can think to say it. And if you're asking me what I think you're asking me, the answer is yes... I want to be close to you, too, closer than I've ever been."

"You do?" Anton breathed hopefully. "Are you sure?"

In response, Wes took his shirt by the hem and lifted it over his head, exposing his soft, white belly and striped ribs. Anton watched him lean sideways and push his pants down, exposing himself, relegating himself to complete nakedness. Then his son slid forward across the cushions and took his lap in both hands, pulling the buttons through their holes, pulling the fabric away from his father's chest and abdomen. Anton let him push the shirt back off his arms, closing the distance between them to do so, pressing their chests together. He felt the smaller tiger's shoulder rub against his, his thigh glide across his knee, the telltale pressure of his flaccid manhood draping across Anton's bare ankle.

Anton turned just enough that he could grip the waistband of his slacks and force them down over his hips. Wes rose to his knees, applying as much of his front as he could to Anton's back and side. He relished his son's warmth, the way his Feline body gyrated, massaging him all over. The boy rubbed his cheeks, the side of his face, his neck over as much of Anton as he could, holding his shoulders for support. Anton kicked the slacks off his feet and spun gracefully, taking Wes in his arms. They rubbed their cheeks together, over and under the other's face. He kneaded his son's head with his chin and licked between his ears affectionately. His hands explored the boy's back and sides, stroked his long, Pantherine tail, traced the curvature of his buttock with a finger.

Wes gasped and swung his leg over Anton's lap, straddling the larger tiger. Anton wrapped his arms around Wes' waist and pulled him close, squashing their fur and flesh together as tightly as he dared. He buried his face in the boy's chest and ran his nose over his son's nipple. Wes shivered at the sensation and ran his fingers through the fur on his father's cheeks and jawline, massaging his neck and ears.

Anton raked his teeth gently over his son's breast, drawing out a moan of mixed ecstasy and fear. The boy returned the favor by nibbling his father's ear and gyrating seductively, dragging his semi-hard cock over his father's abdomen. He then pushed Anton back against the couch cushions and nibbled the older tiger's neck and shoulder. Anton caressed his son's thighs with his fingers, following their muscled curvature, stopping just before getting to the inner parts.

Then they were together again, lying against each other on the sofa, sliding across, up and down in small motions while Anton returned to licking between his son's ears and on the sides of his face. He relished his son's needy, ecstatic gasps, the way his surprisingly strong hands grabbed his father's buttocks so he could grind his pelvis against his father's. Their warm, firm erections glided against each other, side by side and pressed between them. Anton nuzzled his son's neck, nipping at his skin, and placed both hands on Wes' buttocks, pulling him close and forcing greater friction with the next grind. Wes gasped and released his hold, raking his claws on the couch cushion and dragging himself up and across his father's pelvis and cock. Then Anton rolled over, spilling them onto the floor, and their intimate dance continued.

Anton lay against his son and Wes wrapped his legs around his father's waist. The older tiger then paused for the first time in what felt like an eternity to look his son in the eyes. He knew then there was no barrier between them, no secret, no reservation or hesitation. He lowered his face slowly, purposely, until their lips touched. He watched Wes' eyes close in blissful concentration as they kissed, tongues dancing over and around each other, glossy black lips skimming each other. Their breath mingled and Anton trembled lightly, feeling the last vestiges of the unknown evaporate between them as Wes wrapped his arms around his father's neck and made sure their kissing continued.

Anton lowered himself the rest of the way, grinding against the boy needily, drawing out the younger tigers moans and squirming reactions. Then he anchored himself with one fist in the carpet and the other arm he wrapped around his son's waist, drawing them up into a sitting position. Wes' legs angled over his and behind his back and the tiger boy kept a hand on his father's arm for support and position. They kissed again, long and passionate, needy and hot and sacrificial. When they stopped for breath, pressing their foreheads together, looking downward naturally, it was Wes who first took his father's long, thick erection into his hand and began stroking dutifully. Anton returned the favor in kind, cradling the virile flesh in his palm with reverence, sliding the loose, erectile foreskin over its glans over and again. Their hips rocked gently with the motions, instinctual and predatory. They were breathing heavily, each approaching a heady climax along a crescendo of passion, love and stimulation.

"I love you," Wes whispered hoarsely, his higher, younger voice pure and honest.

"I love you, too," Anton whispered back, low and strong, deep and seasoned.

Then Anton felt it, the sudden rise, the tightening sensation, and with a surge of exploding release his orgasm tok over. A thick, hot string of semen splattered over each of their chins in a single spray, and the intensity of it caused Anton to squeeze harder as he serviced his son's admirable flesh. Wes cried out as his own orgasm took over. They spasmed together, painting each other in hot seed and holding the other close. Anton tasted a shot of his son's semen as it found its way onto his hanging tongue and drew it into his mouth without another thought, swallowing the small sample and returning to his cries of ecstasy. As their ejaculations tapered off the shuddering aftershocks of a tremendous mutual orgasm rocked them. They let go of each other's spent member and embraced, Anton with his strong arms around Wes' waist, and Wes with his arms around his father's neck.

They sat like that for a while, gasping and panting, drooling from mouths hung open and dripping sweat from their exertion. When Anton, trembling from the labor of their passionate lovemaking, had recovered enough, he leaned back and took Wes with him, then deposited the boy beside him on the floor. They lay there, arms draped over each other, staring into each other's hooded, exhausted eyes. Anton stroked his son's face affectionately several times, wanting to say something, anything, feeling like it was the right thing to do.

But he decided nothing needed to be said. They had done it instead, and if a picture was worth a thousand words, what they had shared must merit a library of love poetry. He didn't say it, but it was the most intense, special, and genuine sexual experience of his life. Anton fell asleep intertwined with the most unlikely soulmate he could have ever anticipated, completed in a way he never thought possible, regretting nothing and hoping for everything.