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The next morning, Nico would not find himself waking alone. Rather, it was still dark out when his grandfather's hands were on his chest, whispering "rise and shine, polecat, we're gonna try our hand at hunting."

The young fox squinted and opened his eyes to see almost nothing around him but the silhouette of Tros, cast by moonlight behind him, the chill still heavy in the air in the dead stillness of the early cold. It felt like every sound the pair made was so incredibly loud, especially with Tros whispering, so as Nico sat up and the plastic crinkled around from his sleeping bag and the tent, it felt like they'd wake up the entire world if they weren't careful.

"Today's a big day, polecat. Only a couple'a my kids ever bagged a deer with me, but I know you're gonna nail one." Tros said as crawled backward out of the tent, Nico following behind, finding the outside world still just as dark as the inside of the tent. There was fog hanging on the pond and the land around them, and Nico swore he could see his breath, though it wasn't all that cold.

"I'm gonna kill a feral? For real?" Nico would ask. He, of course, perfectly understood how hunting worked, morally and logically, but he wholly doubted his ability to do so himself. He'd shot guns with his family before, and he wasn't the best shot but he wasn't terrible either, but aiming for targets out in the woods felt entirely different than shooting a moving feral. Tros was already in the process of dressing, having covered himself in head-to-toe camouflage, forested camouflage and boots, a hat as well. There was a second set of clothes folded in Nico's chair, and as he approached them he realized they still had tags on them.

"Your daddy was fat at your age and half a foot taller'n you, so I couldn't give you his old clothes. Coulda given you one'a the other boys' clothes, but...I felt like it was gonna be a special day so I got y' some of your own before the trip." Tros said as he was slathering some sort of substance on his palms, rubbing it on his clothes. How special Nico felt, in that moment, as he held up his own hunting gear to inspect in the dark, starting to dress himself in it and finding that it was comfortable, a waterproof texture of some sort on the outside with a snug-feeling wool interior, yet light, breathable. The fox would tug on his boots and his brand new hat as Tros tossed him the bottle of whatever he'd just rubbed on himself, Nico catching it as Tros explained what it was.

"Scent concealer. We sure as shit can't hide from deer smellin' like foxes, especially you. Can't wash the smell off, so we gotta cover it up. Rub it on your clothes real good, don't worry 'bout usin' too much. Hit your hot spots especially" Tros would say as Nico followed. It had a familiar consistency, like lotion, but was clear like some sort of sanitizer, and as Nico slapped it around on his clothes, Tros would stand there in the dark and light a cigarette that illuminated his face a bit, adding tobacco once more to his repertoire of scents.

"Y' gotta be ready today, bud. It can be a long day when y' hunt, might go hours without seein' something, might go all day and not see a thing, but y' gotta be quiet and y' gotta keep still. Your daddy and some'a his brothers really struggled with it. We can whisper a little but we need t' stay mostly silent. Think you can handle it?"

Whatever Nico was rubbing on himself had an herbal smell, like trees or some sort of floral fragrance, mild in nature but it did seem to hang heavier than his fox fragrance, which was still somewhat lingering in his nose. It would've been impossible for him to entirely conceal his smell, especially with him being in heat, but he would use the substance generously, especially under his arms and between his legs. After that, it was time for a quick breakfast of granola bars, coffee and more peanut butter, light snacks that Tros explained would hold them for a while. The world still felt entirely unprepared for them as Tros swung a rifle bag over his shoulder and locked up the Raider, the two starting out on their hike to his hunting spot. It was so quiet, even the birds weren't ready to start chirping, and with Tros close to Nico, he'd continue to speak quietly.

"My daughter and one'a my sons got a deer on their first go. Your uncle Rufus got one later. Your daddy and his brother, Rudy, they never got one. Rudy just hated bein' in the woods and your daddy just...is your daddy."

"What if I gotta pee or somethin'?" Nico asked.

"Y' can piss nearby, that's fine, urine don't bother the deer too much. The other stuff, well, you're on your own." Tros said, giving Nico a playful elbow, not much to the younger fox's comfort. Nico didn't understand at all what that meant.

"We'll sit together and i'll help y' aim and all that. The area we're goin' is a good spot for deer, and I'll set some stuff up beforehand that should make 'em curious. After that, it's just sittin' still and tryin' to stay awake."

The pair would trek along a beaten path for some time, the night sky having turned from it's deep inky blue to something more vibrant, the sun clearly stirring to life as the lower edge of the sky saturated with light. It was around that time that they would find a spot, a space between the clearing and the deeper parts of the woods, tall grass as good concealer and a fallen tree to rest against, the upper branches almost acting as a curve of camouflage around the pair. It wasn't professional, but nothing Tros planned ever was. This was about an honest hunt, though the fox would pull from his pocket some baggies of attractant, fruit-flavored dry corn and a few baggies of some sort of strange dust that Tros explained was nutritious and flavorful, like the feral would get any time to really appreciate that.

The two Sionnachs would eventually take their positions a bit away from the bait, backs to the trees, fully concealed amidst their camouflage and the grass. It was not the most glamorous of setups, but it had apparently worked for Tros before, who was now pressed up close beside Nico as his voice dropped to a low whisper.

"I ain't hunt like this when y'all aren't around, but I think it's good y' get an honest experience. Nothin' but food t' get em walkin' our way and us layin' low. When y' get older, we'll go a little more professional, but this is a good start."

The two of them were sitting with their knees drawn up slightly, Tros having removed the rifle and prepared, loading the rounds and keeping it sideways across his lap, facing away from Nico. All they had to do now was wait.

An hour would pass with very idle occasional whispers, Nico talking about how his butt was cold, Tros talking about how he'd fallen asleep out in the field before and woken up to his corn eaten, Nico asking if the deer have families, Tros telling him it's best not to think about that. The sun was fully rising now, and it was probably somewhere around 7 in the morning, and the birds had began to sing amidst the trees. The wind was light, comfortable, but the cold ground and the fading chill of the night had the young Nico shivering, and Tros would eventually notice that and shift his position a bit.

"Here," Tros began, "let's do it like this." The older fox would set down his rifle and straighten up a bit, spreading his legs apart, making a space between them for Nico to sit as he patted the ground, coaxing the younger fox to scoot up to him. Nico would happily follow, his back leaning against his grandfather's chest as he drew his knees up close to him, Tros' knees drawing in to give his grandson a light squeeze as his arms wrapped around Nico's chest and shoulders, a warm embrace the young boy very much needed. Tros had such an unmistakeable constant aroma to him, the lingering stale smell of tobacco on practically every article of clothing he owned, hanging fresh off his breath as well as he asked Nico "s'that any better?"

Better, Nico thought? It couldn't be better if he tried. Tros was so warm, his scent so soothing, it was hard to imagine anything better than how Nico felt in that moment, Tros' arms squeezing him close to him, his grandfather's snout hovering just to the left of him, the scent of Tallahassee red 100s peppered on the words he spoke quietly to his grandson. For Nico, this was an entirely different experience than it probably was for Tros, but it was also something entirely different for Nico at his current age than it would've been for a younger age. His stomach felt funny, as Tros hugged him, fluttery, warm, and as Tros drew the rifle up to sit across both he and Nico's laps now, Nico could barely focus on Tros' explanation as he found himself lost in the gravel of his grandfather's voice that rumbled slightly in his throat as he whispered to Nico.

"When we see our deer, I'll help y' aim, and you can pull the trigger. I'll have y' look down the scope and hold the rifle, and i'll hold y' steady so it don't get flung off target. This things got a kick to it," Tros began. His voice was almost silent, whispered at the lowest audible level possible right into Nico's ear, like sweet paternal nothings quiet enough to hopefully not be heard by any potential prey in the area, so soft and comforting in the large spired ears his grandson sported, a Sionnach family trait, "plus y' got me here behind y' to brace against. You'll do great."

With the gun laying across their laps now, Tros would draw his hands up to Nico's shoulders, thin and sharpening with age, and would give them a paternal rub, a brief reassuring squeeze of the muscle and bone structure before giving a few soft pats. For Nico, the moment was an interstice between childhood and adulthood, an inexplicable unity of both the childlike desire to be embraced and loved by the parent, and the adult desire for physical body contact, to be touched, and it seemed to light up various areas of the boy's brain as he found his heartrate suddenly rose, an excited confusion in his mind as he found himself snuggling back into the refuge that was his grandfather's body in quite a tender way, the purgatory that was his pubescent mind finding multiple layers of comfort from the warmth.

Tros, on the other hand, received the tenderness quite parentally for the most part, feeling his grandson nestle into the security of his body to share his warmth, to don some of his scent. It was something his children had done in their younger years, of course, but raising a lot of boys and a tomboy of a daughter meant that lap sitting and familial cuddles stopped early on. Tros had long since forgotten what it was like to have his own flesh and blood so close to him, neither of his two local sons being the affectionate type. In similar regard, though, Tros had long since become unfamiliar with physical contact of any sort, having lost his wife over a decade earlier and never remarried, and having had little interest in trying his hand at dating since then. Intimacy had been scarce for the older fox, and having a warm body so lovingly snuggling up to him did what it would do to just about any man, and it gave him a stirring between his legs that became quite noticeable to Nico rather quickly, the firm shape running down Tros' right pants leg and pressing against Nico's behind. He was rather generously endowed, not that Nico would have any means to measure that, but his own rising adult desires would lead him to squirm with a definite awareness to it, pushing his butt into the tight spot in Tros' pants, causing his grandfather to tense up and pull air in through his nose rather suddenly.

Tros couldn't deny that it felt nice, but he also couldn't deny that Nico had definitely pushed against it intentionally, and it left him with a cloudy confusion in his head about just how deep his grandson's curiousity ran. The way Nico had admired him nude the day before was one thing entirely, but having his grandson decidedly grind against him was something entirely different. He could feel that Nico was breathing a bit harder but trying to stifle it from being obvious, his breathing pattern slightly trembling, large inhales and very carefully contained exhales. Tros, indeed, also had his own struggles, grappling with how a very small but very real part of him wanted to give an approving push back, to let his grandson have his fun, and yet he found himself thinking it better to instead shift a bit himself and coax Nico in another direction with a whispered "try t' sit still, buddy."

Indeed, Nico would try his best, though for quite some time he sat with Tros' stiffness occasionally stirring with life against him, while Tros did the best to think about anything other than the physical contact he was having with his aromatic offspring, the two of them close and barely speaking for what felt like nearly another hour before there was a sound, a nearby sound of rustling, of the grass being moved about by a large body. Nico would feel a few pats on his arms before Tros' hands would move to the rifle, holding it steady in their lap in case it was something other than a deer. Within a moment, though, antlers were visible amidst the tall grass in the distance, a head rising up to reveal itself as a buck, six points. Tros was wordless, silent, only tapping Nico's arms a few times as the boy below him would join him in near total silence, raising the rifle and easing it into position, as he had been taught. The small fox sat with his back braced against Tros, who had his back braced against the fallen tree, and as Nico lined up his shot through the scope, Tros had nothing to offer but silent encouragement, the young boy seeming to have it under control.

Nico could see the crosshairs now lined up with the neck of the beast, who was moving slowly through the field with a sense of purpose, like perhaps there were doe just out of view of the foxes. Nico steadied himself the best he could, and as he felt he had as clear a shot as ever, he'd pull the trigger. A blast would ring out that left both of them temporarily deaf as smoke plumed from the rifle, which had arced upwards and thrust back against the two of them, the energy knocked through the two of them and into the tree. Though it seemed sure a shot as ever, the buck seemed unphased, though he would indeed break into a run off into the field, the silence quickly settling back onto the pair as Nico felt the crushing weight of failure settle through him. A perfect opportunity, he'd thought, was right in his sights and he'd somehow faltered in the last moment. Tros could even feel it in the fox, the way his posture seemed to slouch as he whispered an admission of defeat, a rather pathetic sounding "I missed" from the young boy's mouth as his ears folded back, his shoulders sinking as he lowered the rifle to his lap once more.

Tros understood, then, that this was probably going to be the end of the hunting excursion for the day, and that his grandson was going to need some sort of other form of hobby to bolster a defeated ego, but the old fox was quick to reassure Nico as he rubbed his upper arms lovingly and told him "lotsa guys miss shots, Nico, it ain't nothin' to feel down about! I've missed plenty'a shots. We can't get 'em all."

"But y' said I was gonna be different..." came pitifully from little Nico, who seemed to be almost on the verge of tears as Tros jumped in to soothe him from a potential downward spiral.

"T'ain't the only time we can do it! We got the rest'a the week! You were SO close, polecat! I thought sure as you did that that shot was gonna hit! Musta been the damn wind or somethin'," Tros began, the breeze still in the air, barely windy at all, "these things happen buddy. Ain't no reason' to let it ruin your mood."

It did seem to be ruining Nico's mood, though, as Tros would look over his grandson's shoulder to see his mouth was trembling a bit, his eyes blinking wet, watering up a bit, his voice sounding tiny and insecure as he tried audibly to hold himself together, admitting to Tros "I wanted t' be better'n daddy was for you..."

It was hard for Tros to explain to Nico just how much more proud he was of him than he'd been of his father without essentially dragging Ganymede's name through the mud, so Tros would comfort the boy instead by gently moving the rifle off his grandson's lap before giving him a tight hug, his head in Nico's neck as he squeezed the daylights out of the boy, the kind of hug where he couldn't resist rocking the boy playfully back and forth as he insisted "Nico, y' make me SO proud. Y' don't gotta measure up to your daddy or anyone else."

Before Nico could even speak, Tros would continue, "your daddy never even made it this far. Barely paid attention t' me, didn't wanna sit down. You, y' listen, y' were patient, you tried and I know you're gonna try again. That's already so big'a you, buddy. Don't let it getcha down."

Nico took a moment, and there were some sniffles to endure as he collected himself, but he'd eventually give an understanding nod.

"You're right," the younger fox said, "I can always try again."

"Besides," Tros said, "I ain't really think'a this sooner, but what the hell would we'a done with a whole-ass deer on the third day of our trip? We woulda had t' field dress him and take his ass back home and cut our trip short! We still got four more days!"

The two would pack things up before starting on a trek back to camp, and Tros would keep close to Nico while they walked, making sure the boy was doing alright. His ego still seemed defeated, though he'd come around to cheering up a little, and Tros tried to keep Nico's spirits high by telling him stories about mistakes he'd made in his younger years, which there were plenty to admit.

"The thing is, bud, s'part of bein' a man. We don't hit the target every time. We try our best and fall flat on our face. Lord knows I'm familiar with it. This one time," Tros began, launching into a story about his own shortcomings in his younger years, how he'd embarrassed himself in front of a girl he'd admired. It was barely even noon as they trekked along and Tros rambled on about his old days racing cars recreationally. Both in his teenage years and after he returned from war he'd floor the gas on damn near every car he got inside, from the sound of his stories, and there were many times that driving like a bat out of hell impressed the ladies, but there were a few times when it didn't, and Tros told a tale about before he'd met his wife. It had been a while after he returned from war.

"One night, I was ridin' this gal around, right? Real nice fox, she looked like a pinup girl. Couldn't believe how gorgeous she was, man, and those legs'a hers went all the way up to this cute skirt she used t' wear. Anyway, I was showin' off one evenin', taking her out for a spin, and she's fussin' at me about how I need t' slow down, right? And a lotta the girls, they say that, but then y' jump the train tracks or drift on a curvy back road and the next thing y' know they wanna hop on your lap right there. This one, though, I took a curve too fast. It'd been rainin' and the parts'a the road that'd seen the sun were dry but the parts under the trees, they were still wet, and I caught one wrong and fuckin' slid!"

Tros had stopped, at this point, to take a leak he'd been desperately holding since shortly before the deer had shown himself earlier, and as he faced the tree he continued. "So we're on this mountain road, right? And I slide and we go off the edge. On the side'a the mountain. Thankfully, those mountain roads got all them trees so we get stopped by a buncha trees but before I could blink my eyes she'd done got out of the car and was screamin' at me. My door's stuck shut, there's a tree branch through my windshield, and my date's takin' off her heels and is usin' em to bang on my car, dentin' it up even more. 'Course, I guess I almost died, too, but frankly that ain't feel as bad as havin' a gal with yellow eyes and big naturals callin' you everything but a good Christian man and dentin' up your car."

He'd zip up, then turn to Nico to say "point is, bud, sometimes things don't work out. I still drove after that. Drove that ol' dinged up ride for a while with the window taped up 'til I could afford t' get it fixed."

"Did you ever go on a date with that girl again?" Nico asked.

"Nope! She wouldn't talk t' me after that. But look at how it turned out! I met your grandmama and had five kids with her, and one'a them made you. Life always works out, even when y' feel like y' don't get it right the first time." Tros said. They arrived back to camp shortly after, getting changed out of their hunting gear. The morning blue sky had developed clouds, and while Nico was undressing to go for a swim, Tros was looking at the sky.

"Bet it's gonna start rainin' later. Gonna get t' sleep during a thunderstorm tonight, I'm callin' it." He said as he went about preparing lunch.

Nico, hearing this, would look up as well, having not even noticed that the clear blue sky they'd seen this morning had been painted with cumulus clouds, fluffy and large. What would they do tomorrow, he wondered, if it rained all day? Or worse, what would they do if it rained for the rest of the week? The fox was dunking himself under the water to soak his entire body before returning to camp, having left his towel over near his chair. Tros, meanwhile, was busy rolling hot dogs on a hot makeshift grill as Nico found his towel and stood near Tros, drying off his hair and letting himself stand shamelessly nude nearby. It was the first Tros had gotten an uninterrupted, direct look at his grandson's developing body since they'd left for the trip.

"Hot dogs smell good," Nico remarked as he held his head bent forward, scrubbing his messy black hair as Tros sat, letting a dog burn on the grill as he looked at Nico. The boy's body had indeed lost that childlike softness to it that Tros had remembered from Nico's younger days. The boy truly looked a teenager now, his ribby torso slendering down only slightly before angular hip bones jutted out, a near flat curve from those bones down his legs, very little sign of fat on the developing fox. While he'd yet to have developed any body hair on his stomach, there was a small amount on his chest, under his arms and right above his sex, a sketchy little trail starting at his navel, visibly mostly because the hair was solid black against his brick red fur, thickening slightly as it went down. He'd started to get sparse strays on his legs, Tros had noticed.

"When'd y' start gettin' hairy, eh?" Tros asked with a playfully curious tone in his voice.

"Uhhh, I just noticed it startin' 'round the start'a this year. Dr. Lemont called it. I went in January for my checkup and he even said t' expect hair t' start growin' on me this year. Won't a month later I started gettin' my whiskers." Nico replied. Oddly enough, even as he moved his towel from his hair to his back, he made no effort to hide himself.

The boy, however, didn't dress at all after he'd finished drying himself off, instead taking a seat fully in the nude near his grandpa, leaning back in his chair and letting his posture slouch, his legs spread apart, the boy's eyes closed as he sat there basking in the sunlight on his scrawny body. Odd as it was, it was nice to see that his grandson was enjoying the freedoms of camping while he had them to enjoy, and Tros would try not to get caught looking at his boy as he went about cooking lunch. Still, he couldn't resist not addressing it a little.

"Feel nice airin' it all out, don't it?" he'd ask.

"Oh yeah. I ain't never even gone out in my undies since I was little, sure as hell never sat outside naked. Feels great, the sun on parts'a me that ain't never seen the sun before." the boy responded.

"S'good for you. Our ancestors prolly ain't stay cooped up in clothes all day neither." Tros had one hand reaching for paper plates while the other kept the dogs moving about in the pan.

"You should join me. S'like you said, no one's round to judge." Nico replied. His voice had a quiet uncertainty to it, though, that made Tros wonder what his grandson's intentions were with that idea. His hand had frozen just before finding the plate, hanging in the air as the older fox's gaze unfocused, his mind losing it's train of thought. He was finding it harder and harder to deny how much Nico seemed to desire him in some way. The question Tros wondered, though, was whether that desire was specific to him, the boy's own grandfather, or whether it was purely for another male in general. Surely, he thought, it must've been the latter, the boy's pubescent desires simply latching onto their nearest potential target. Any other man would be getting the same treatment, Tros thought as he shook the wonder from his head and plucked piping hot weiners from the skillet onto a plate.

"Yeah? Think I should?" Tros asked in return as he divvied up dogs onto plates with buns and handed Nico his portion, "maybe I should stay in my skivvies, though. Don't wanna go traumatizin' you goin' full nude."

The old fox thought, surely, that was a safe dodge of the idea. He did usually go fully nude when he camped alone, but with his grandson's desires rather evident at this point, he wondered how good of an idea that would be, and as he was squirting a stream of mustard down his dog, he'd find Nico's honesty was unabashedly forward when his grandson replied a coaxing "oh, c'mon."

"What," Tros asked, "y' wanna see my pecker that bad?"

The moment Tros said that though, he regretted it. What a crass thing to essentially accuse his grandson of, he thought. The boy was merely trying to bond with him as the men in his stories had done, he thought, nothing more, and just as Tros was about to follow up with a "just kidding", Nico would answer him with more honesty, a quiet "kinda" in reply to that question.

No part of Tros had expected his grandson to answer him like that, but no part of him wanted to react with any sort of shock either, lest he come across as disgusted and risk embarrassing the boy after spending all week so far trying to build up his confidence and self-assertion. Still, it was an undeniably weird scenario for the older fox to be in, and he let himself ruminate a moment as he stuffed hot dog in his mouth. Never in all his years as a father did any of his children have any interest in him like Nico seemed to. On the other hand, none of his sons had been interested in boys. Also, it was something he'd heard of here and there throughout his life, though mainly in siblings exploring their sexuality together. He'd known, also, that far back in his family tree, there had been a few cousin relationships, so as he sat there chewing on his lunch he'd try to decide how to answer Nico, who also seemed unperturbed, chowing down on his own lunch. Certainly, it wasn't normal, but was it all that horrible to humor the boy?

Tros would wash a gulp down with water before tossing a bottle to his grandson, who nearly spilled his plate trying to catch his bottle as the older fox replied "maybe after lunch". He figured, if nothing else, that would give Nico time to change his mind if he was just having an impulsive itch. For now, he'd steer the conversation in a different direction to keep it from getting awkward, the old fox asking Nico "didja see that old dock a little down the shoreline when we were out swimmin' yesterday?"

Nico, having not seen it, shook his head, and as Tros took another bite of hot dog, he'd gesture with his hands off to the side a bit, past where the brush got thicker, eventually able to say "there's a dock a little ways down. I brought poles, we oughtta see if'n we can't catch ourselves a fish."

Tros felt it was a good opportunity for Nico to still feel some sense of accomplishment after the shortcomings of the early morning, and it also was a good excuse to get the two up and moving again. The old fox's usual camping trips could be repetitive, which he didn't personally mind, but he didn't want to risk his grandson getting too bored on his first trip away, especially with this one having gone so well up until today. As lunch was finished, Nico would help Tros clean up before the old fox told his grandson "put some britches on, 'til we get there at least", and as the young fox dressed himself, Tros would get the poles from the old raider and the two made their way down the shoreline.

Whereas the camping spot had been carved out of overgrowth and greenery, there was nothing but thick forest right up to the rocky water's edge for a good few minutes, the pair rolling up their pants legs and walking in ankle deep water down to a dock that looked long forgetten, yet surprisingly still in halfway decent shape, no sign of it collapsing any time soon. The old fox would then take a seat at the shoreline where the dock met the dirt, setting poles to the side as he dug his fingers into the damp soil, digging until he found worms writhing about in the dark earth, scooping around in the soil until he had collected a good handful of them that he'd dump into a cup and carry with him to the dock's edge, taking a seat as he prepared a line.

"Fishin's like hunting. There's a lotta things y' can do t' make it easier but you can also just head out to the water with a line and a worm and you'll prolly still catch somethin'" he said, the young fox following as the two sat shirtless together, Tros showing Nico how to prepare his own line as the fox apprehensively speared fishing hook through worm body. Tros was his first to cast a line, followed by Nico, who'd been fishing before and knew well enough how to handle himself.

"Do we gotta be quiet here too?" Nico asked.

"Nah, fish can't hear us talkin'. Just don't go bumpin' around too much, don't disturb the water." the old fox replied. The two sat with their feet hanging off the edge of the dock, neither of them quite touching the water's edge, though Tros' were closer than Nico's. This would draw Nico's attention to his grandpa's feet in a way he hadn't before, noticing how much longer and ganglier they were than his own. His toes were elongated, with black and silver hairs on the toe knuckles and on the tops of his feet, which had gotten veiny and thin-skinned in his older age. He would idly curl and uncurl his toes at points, watching his line sit patiently in the water next to his grandson's as he turned to Nico, asking him "what made y' realize you like boys?"

The younger fox had to think about that for a minute. He'd not been born liking boys, he remembered that much. He didn't like much of either sex for most of his youth, though he found himself strongly drawn to certain women in his younger years, neighbor mothers that had sometimes let him come over to play or teachers at school, never girls his own age though. As he got older, though, he found that there were far more boys that made him feel funny in his stomach than there were girls.

"Uh," Nico finally remembered, "it's kinda weird. Promise you won't judge?" the young boy asked.

Good God, Tros thought, so long as he doesn't say it was his dad or grandpa, the old fox nodding and reassuring him "a' course."

"There's a janitor at my school. He's really nice. He's around your age, I think, his hair's silver and black like yours. He's always been cool t' me, sometimes lets me hang out in the janitor closet with him and have snacks. I really like him." the younger fox confessed, Tros' eyes bugging out at the words 'hang out in the janitor closet' but relaxing when Nico finished the sentence.

"What makes y' say you like him?"

"Iuno. When he looks at me, it makes my stomach feel hot. It makes me get all excited. And sometimes when he's not lookin' i'll just look at him. I like his beard and his big bushy tail. He's a skunk. I like how he smells a lot too," Nico confessed, "especially after he's been workin' all day."

"Makes sense, skunks and foxes got real similar scents. Ours is better, though, if y' ask me, but a skunk ain't bad. You said he's my age?"

"Yeah. I guess. He's got a lotta grey hair."

"Y' like that?" Tros asked.

"Yeah," Nico said, not sure how much more honest he should be.

"You ever done anything inappropriate with him? I'm not judgin'" Tros asked, just to be sure.

"No...but I think about it."

"Y' do, huh?" Tros asked. Nico nodded.

"He's the first person I, uh...I ever thought about like...that..." the kid's voice trailed off with an embarrassed tension, his gaze wandering away from his line off to the water. Tros could sense Nico was embarrassed to tell him that, and he would reach over and place a reassuring hand on the boy's bare back, petting downward along the grain of his fur a few times.

"Nothin' wrong with thinkin' those kinda things about people. That's normal for boys your age. Do y' think he likes you back?" Tros asked. Not that he wanted an old janitor to have a thing for his freshly teenage son, but he'd rather know than not know.

"I don't think so. He talks about having an ex-wife but he don't ever talk about boys or anything like that. He's never acted like he likes me as more than a friend".

It comforted Tros to hear that, though he could hear the grief in Nico's voice that there was clearly some sense of unreciprocated affection. The boy clearly longed for some sort of intimate connection, strange as it was that he seemed so drawn to men three times his age. Tros would scoot a bit closer to his grandson, to where they were almost touching bodies, and his arm would wrap around Nico's side and give him a loving squeeze in close.

"That happens sometimes. Y' really like someone as more than a friend, and they just don't feel the same. Hurts, don't it?" Tros asked, Nico nodding along.

"Yeah. Don't even gotta date me or nothin', I know he's way older and it'd be weird and all that. But I really like him."

Nico had a surprisingly realistic understanding of his attraction, evident by the way he rambled on a bit, about how he'd wanted to kiss this old janitor but didn't want him to get in trouble if anyone found out, about how he'd tried to find himself liking boys his age but hadn't found anyone that made him feel the way the old skunk did. Boys his age just got on his nerves, he said, and Tros nodded understandingly along with that.

"S'your first year a high school though, bud. Y' got years more to find you a buddy that can be more than a friend to you. They're out there! I'm sure you'll find one." Tros said as that reassuring squeeze came to an end, the two still sitting close together.

"I thought about tellin' him I like him and seein' what he says, but i'm scared he won't like hearin' that and he won't wanna hang out with me no more."

"That's a possibility, bud," Tros replied, "s'the scary thing about tellin' someone how you feel."

"Or what if he likes me back and wants t' do stuff and I'm no good at it?"

Again, Nico's honestly would completely catch Tros by surprise, the old fox much preferring Nico not do stuff with men in their 50s but struggling to find the means to explain how he should save it for someone his own age when he seemed to be deeply struggling with even befriending people his age, let alone romantically connecting with them. Tros remembered, too, being a teenager and having the hots for some of his teachers, and he knew well he would've slept with them in a heartbeat if they'd given him the time of day. Would that have been wrong? He wasn't sure. He found it hard to admonish Nico for how he felt, especially when it sounded like his desires seemed to be far more intense than the skunk's.

"Oh, Nico, y' don't gotta worry about that. Men are easy t' please. That much y' lucked out on, being into boys. They're way easier t' make happy than girls." the old fox smiled as he said it, recalling fondly his first times with a girl, how he'd fumbled through the whole ordeal.

"Whattaya mean?" Nico asked, a question Tros was not prepared to answer, obvious by how he looked down at the water, his brow furrowing up a bit.

"Well, like, you know, guys, we uh...s'real easy to, uh...as opposed to, uh...other parts that girls got, like..." Tros wore it on his face that he was fumbling over how to talk about this, dodging it by closing with "ain't you say you already learned this stuff in health class?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I just still feel like i'm gonna mess it up when the time comes." the young boy admitted. Just as Tros felt he was conversationally backed into a corner and was going to have to have 'the talk' with his grandson, luck would strike, as it often did, and Nico's line would suddenly dip below the water, a fish having taken the bite. Tros would jolt up as Nico yanked it quickly, hooking the fish as he started to tug back, reeling it in and finding a largemouth bass hooked on his line, Tros belting a loud "hot damn!" as Nico scooted back away from the edge of the dock, holding the line in his hand as the fish hung there, his success on display as the older fox staggered to his feet and helped Nico stand with him, the young fox beaming with pride as he used his back hand to hold his fish up for Tros to see. It was the expected size for a pond bass, but it was a catch nonetheless, and Tros would give Nico a firm pat on the shoulder as he barked praise at the boy, enthralled Nico had been the one to catch a fish.

"See! Y' did it! Just like that!" Tros praised him, helping Nico to unhook the fish, giving Nico a moment to hold the creature before his grandpa would pat his head lovingly, bringing the boy in for another side hug as he pointed out "and! it's a lucky day for this fella, seein' as we ate lunch not all that long ago. What say we toss 'im back?"

Tros would give the young boy the go-ahead, assuming Nico would simply plop the bass back in the water, but Nico seemed to have thought catch-and-release went a bit more like baseball, the young boy's stance wide as he wound up and, before Tros could stop him, pitched the bass as hard as he could through the air, the creature flailing around before making a splash a good distance away, Nico turning around excited and practically hopping on his feet as he shouted "didja SEE the distance I made?!"

"Well," Tros put one hand on his hip, the other acting as a visor from the sun as he looked out at the ripples on the pond, "I ain't never seen someone release a fish like that, but good job! He's sure gonna have a story t' tell his buddies tonight."

Later that afternoon, the sun was on it's way down for the evening, and Tros had rolled up his dirty clothes to use for a pillow as he reclined on his back in the dirt, drinking a beer while Nico played around in the water, alternating between practicing his swimming and just splashing around, having really seemed to take to the pond. Tros was back in his underwear, his face slouching a bit as he realized he was actually fairly tired from having gotten up so early. It was about three hours before he'd planned to go to bed, though, so while a youthful Nico could handle a few extra hours of daylight, Tros found that getting up early had his body ready to sleep early as well, and as he looked up at the deepening blue of the sky, hued in pinks and oranges from the setting sun, he'd find his eyelids heavy. The old fox would let himself close them for a moment, and only a short while he'd be asleep. His beer sitting at his side, his hands folded across his belly, Tros had began to snore by the time Nico found him, wading out of the water to see his grandfather fast asleep.

Instead of waking him, Nico would go about his business drying off, but just as the young fox was about to dress himself, he'd find his eyes wandering to his grandfather, his peaceful body so shamelessly on display in the setting sun, clearly comfortable. Nico approach him slowly, quietly, and would sit cross-legged beside his grandfather as he slept, his chest peacefully rising and falling as he snored away, his glasses sitting awkwardly on his face. He was such a gorgeous man, the young fox thought, all that silver hair on his torso, legs and face, the bushiest part on his belly billowing out close to the line of his boxer briefs, the flaccid shape of a piece beneath the fabric undisturbed, tempting to Nico. The boy was filled with urges he'd never had before, perverse urges to pull down the waistband and see Tros in his entirety, to touch him and feel him stir with life as he had when they sat together in camouflage, and though there was a real part of his body urging him to pursue these urges, he knew them to be wrong, to be predatory. His morals didn't stop him, after all, from being painfully erect in that moment. He wanted Tros badly, he couldn't deny it, but he wanted him awake, he wanted to see his grandfather's expressions if anything like that ever happened.

What Nico did find harmless, though, was in how he sat there admiring Tros, watching his sleeping body exist, tranquil, his snoring rising and lowering in volume, his fingertips and toes occasionally twitching a bit as it seemed he was dreaming. He was mostly a calm man in his waking life, but in his sleep, there was something so charming about how still he laid, his breathing slow, his aged body free of worry. Nico found his hand apprehensively reaching out, to pet Tros' hairy chest, to feel the wirey silver pelt amidst his fading fur and to brush it with the palms of his fingers, but just as his body hovered over it, he would find his hand traveling lower, to the older fox's wrinkled hands, resting together on his belly. The younger fox couldn't explain why, but as badly as he wanted to sniff his grandfather's most private parts, as badly as he wanted to see him fully exposed, as badly as he wanted to kiss him, more than all of those he wanted to hold his hand, which is exactly what the boy ended up doing, taking one of his wrinkled hands in his own and holding it, squeezing it slightly as Tros continued to snore, undisturbed by the affection his grandson was giving him.

Tros' hands were bigger than Nico's, but not nearly as big or as meaty as Ganymede's. Tros had a man's hands, but they had grown old, they were thin, bonier, wrinkled, with some liver spots on the backs of his hands and silver hair on his knuckles, Nico carefully kneading the wrinkled, soft skin with his thumb as he held hands with Tros, a strange heat in his face as he looked at Tros' slightly open mouth, the old fox's smile missing a few teeth but still mostly full, albeit yellowed from all the coffee he drank. As the fox sat there, admiring his sleeping grandfather, the feelings he experienced felt similar to the way he felt when he'd see Tros driving with his arm out the window, how he felt seeing him lean over the porch banister with a cigarette in his mouth, or when Tros was on his back under a car, reparing it, this strange fluttery admiration that just thought Tros was the coolest person in the entire world.

He also didn't understand why those feelings lead him, in his pubescent confusion, to eventually plant both hands on the sides of Tros' head and lean towards his grandfather, their mouths barely a half-inch away from connecting, Nico wanting so badly to kiss him but knowing it was wrong to do while Tros was asleep. Instead, fighting his intense urges, he would bring their faces just close enough that the wirey bristles of Tros' mustache would rub his upper lip, Nico wanting so badly to experience what it would be like to have that beard and mustache brush his face so much more assertively but accepting that this was the best he could--and should--have. Tros' breath smelled like beer, and Nico was in disbelief that he didn't stir from his slumber as he laid there with his mustache being tickled by his grandson's face. Nico hung there, held up by his twiggy arms, until they trembled, tired of supporting him. Only then would he return to holding Tros' hand, finally thinking it best to wake him, whispering "granddaddy" as his hands moved from Tros' hands to his chest, palms down on that wirey pelt as he'd desired earlier, though in a way meant to stir Tros to life.

The old fox would blink a few times before jumping a bit, his hands adjusting his glasses as he stammered out a dazed "wh-whuh--" and looked around, the sun disappearing behind the treeline as he asked "how long was I sleepin'?"

"Dunno," Nico replied, "I was swimmin' around when I saw y' had fallen asleep. Thought i'd come getcha up to get ready for bed."

Tros, unaware to anything that had transpired prior to this moment, agreed it was time for bed. The two would brush their teeth and find themselves in their respective sleeping bags, as they had the night before, the two fast asleep shortly after the night blue blanketed the sky.