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The First Folio was, on Fridays, open until two a.m., a respite from a week's classwork for the busy students of Fellham College. Or, at least, for the humanity students--STEM majors were expected to go to Covalent a block away, while social science students grumbled over being forced to choose between the two.

This Friday night, a young grey fox strolled into the Folio, or, rather, stumbled in. He'd worn his best fitting jeans over a slim yet shapely ass, hoping to attract some hunk to bend him in half, make him forget. But after a look at the crowd of students, he slumped and slunk to the bar, tail between his legs, slouching into his seat like a tragically down-and-out character from a cliché-ridden noir novel.

At least the Folio didn't mirror his mood. Its warm wood-paneled walls were plastered with photos of former students, signed books of alumni authors, and sundry academic adornments. A bust of Shakespeare was perched among the bottles, identical to the one in the head of the English department's office. And the bartender, well, he was a handsome, well-built red wolf with a half-apron cinched around a slender waist and shirt stretched around broad shoulders. His name tag read "Julián," and he took the fox's order: ice, vodka, lime, and a splash of ginger-infused syrup topped off with ginger beer, served in a bonafide copper mug.

The fox took a sip from the Moscow mule. The ginger was sharp and warm on his tongue and down his throat. "So." And the fox looked up slowly, like his reflexes were soaked in syrup. "What's got you looking so down?" Julián's eyes were warm amber, his voice low and smooth with a hint of a growl.

"My boyfriend," said the fox, "broke up with me. Or--well, really I found out he was fucking another guy, when he was the one who had wanted to be monogamous. And he did, but with the other guy."

Julián hissed in sympathy. "Shit. That sucks, uh, dude."

The fox's smile was small, wry, and a little false. "Cale. Short for Caleb. Thanks, Julián."

"Well, Cale." And Julián spread his arms theatrically "I'll keep you nice and distracted tonight, then, yeah?"

Cale eyed the top of Julián's shirt, which stretched around a swell of muscle. "Yeah," he said, "I think that'll work."

For the next couple hours, Julián kept Cale company when he could, conveniently earning a test subject for various mixological experiments, all free of charge, of course, and they eased into conversation. The basics: both juniors, Cale a World Lit major with a focus on contemporary queer male poetry, currently struggling through Professor Maddox's intensive two-semester read through Proust's La Recherche while juggling Dr. Renault's French II; yes he could speak French, je peaux avoir un autre verre, garçon?

The first drink: a dark 'n' stormy with grenadine and bitters, dubbed the "train to Bistritz." Cale's verdict: very good. The bitters kept the grenadine from oversweetening the drink, and he did like a good ginger beer cocktail, obviously. Extra points for the Dracula reference.

"I mean," said Julián, "it is the Folio." He was a classics minor, and Cale squinted at the lack of major until, with a conspiratorial air, Julián leaned in close to be heard over the din, his breath warm on Cale's cheek, and whispered that he was actually a biochem major. Cale put a paw over his heart in a pseudo-swoon, puffy tail and all, like the secret was some salacious tease. And anyway, his cheek still felt warm after Julián leaned away, and a welcome tingle ambled down his spine.

Second drink: a modified martini with ouzo and a Kalamata olive, named the "Sokrates," with a K, thank you. Verdict: "Oh god is this licorice? I'm sorry, I hate licorice. Sorry. Props for repping your minor, though."

That's how Julián got the job, through his minor. The TA for Classical Studies 204 was a lower manager at the Folio, and anyways, did he know any Greek?

"Yes, hode potos sos estin, and if you say 'It's all Greek to me' I'll start charging you for these drinks."

"And would owning a copy of Cavafy excuse me?"

"Hah! Almost, but only if it's in Greek."

"'Fraid not."

"So you can speak French, but not Greek?"

"You can speak Greek, but not French?"

Julián cackled. "Fair. Gives me an idea, though."

Drink three: Mead, crème de cacao, coffee liqueur, cream, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, cardamom. "Technically a Mead Alexander, but we'll call it a Cavafy. How is it?"

A swallow. "Sweet. Good, but it's like drinking a Christmas cookie." Warm too, from the alcohol.

"Yeah, Alexanders are dessert cocktails."

"Well, I am one of those gays who enjoy sugary drinks."

Julián's grin was as sweet as a fruity pink daiquiri. "I thought you deserved something sweet."

Cale's tail wagged, and so did Julián's. His smile this time was real. "Thanks."

And Cale drank and drank, enjoying Julián's company, and the night seemed brighter, until his glee twisted, and a bout of laughter became a break of tears.

"Shit," said Julián, "I gave you too much to drink, didn't I?"

"No, no," said Cale, half-audible through a sob. "I'm fine." His chin quivered.

"Yeah, no, you're not. I'm gonna--I'm gonna take you home. I'm off soon and I . . . I don't think you should be alone right now, yeah? Unless--I can call you an Uber?" Cale sniffed and shook his head. "Yeah, okay, let me tell the manager."

He handed Cale a glass of water and zipped through an employee door; Cale took a sip and looked down into the glass, forlorn and lost in the dim refractions. Julián returned sans apron. He put a hand on his hip. "Finish the glass and we'll go. Don't chug it." Cale stood up, wobbled; Julián rushed from behind the bar and put a paw on his back, steadying him. "Got you. Just drink." Cale took long, slow sips, and put the glass down with a heavy clink. Julián maneuvered them out of the bar, his hands hovering over both of Cale's shoulders as if he were an unsteady tower of books. He did trip over the threshold, and would have fallen if not for Julián's steady paws. Cale looked up; the moon was half-full, set in the starry sky, and the night air was cool and breezy, more refreshing than even the glass of water. Julián led them to his car, a sedate grey sedan, and deposited him into the passenger seat before getting behind the wheel himself. The seats were plush and snug.

As they were turning out of the parking lot, Cale turned to look at Julián. He always thought men were hot while driving, with outstretched arms and twisted neck, focused attention stark in their eyes. "You know," said Cale, "I came to the Folio tonight planning on getting taken home by a cute boy, but this wasn't exactly what I was planning."

Julián's snort was warm and boyish. "Yeah, well . . . your place or mine?" Cale's apartment, where his bed probably still smelled like--

"Yours. If that's all right?"

"Wouldn't have offered if it wasn't. Just relax."

So he did, leaned back into the soft seat as buildings and houses greyed by the night passed by, punctuated by bursts of color from street lamps and lit windows, and maybe he dozed some. And then the car was parked, and Julián was turning to him and saying "We're here," and Cale leaned on him while they went through the glass doors into the student apartments. The lights inside were fluorescent and never turned off. Cale squinted, walked up the stairwell with Julián until they were in the common room of his dorm, and then through of three doors into his room: one bed.

Cale blinked as Julián rummaged and fished a small plastic-wrapped object out of a bag: a small toothbrush, bright green. "Here," he said, "I have an extra, from a dentist visit." Julián's teeth were white and sharp, and Cale wanted them on his neck, biting. He took the toothbrush.

"Thanks." Julián had a small bathroom all to himself. Cale felt a ping of jealousy as he brushed and spit his ethanol breath into the off-white sink. In the mirror, his face drooped from his ears to his mouth.

Julián was sitting on his bed, not an extra-long twin but a full, a college luxury. Cale had a witty comment ready, but he was drunk, and Julián was shirtless, his pecs like pillows, and each nipple had a small gold barbell pierced through it. Cale's dick twitched even through the liquor. Instead, he said: "You've got great tits, has anyone told you that?"

Julián snorted, then laughed, and it was lovely and kind. "I mean, yeah. C'mere," he said, and Cale did, aiming to bury his face in those lush pecs but hitting Julián's shoulder instead. Julián hugged him, and it felt so good. Then he pulled them both back on the bed, scritched a claw through Cale's hair, and Cale fell promptly asleep.

* * *

Light streaming through the window woke him up. He was groggy, but not hungover, and the bed next to him was empty. He put on his jeans and headed to the common area, the kitchen, which was bright and surprisingly clean for being shared by three college boys. At the stove stood Julián sautéing something that smelled like eggs with a touch of piquancy. He was shirtless, and his back muscles were pleasant to look at. "Oh, hey, you're up. I'm making migas; you want some?"

"Oh, please," said Cale, and he slumped into one of the kitchen islands' stools.

Julián laughed. "Hungover?"

"No, not really. I think last night was more from being an emotional wreck than the drinking."

Julián shot him a guilty smile. "Glad to hear it, man. I was worried I'd fed you too much alcohol." He flipped off the stove and portioned out the migas onto two plates, then set them out on the island, one for each of them. Julián stayed on the opposite side, across from Cale; his pecs were at eye level. His nipples were still pierced.

"Oh god," said Cale. "Last night, I--what I said, I'm--"

Julián grinned and stood a little straighter. "It's okay. It was flattering, and you were drunk."

Not that drunk, thought Cale, but he shoved a forkful of migas into his mouth to keep from saying something stupid, then moaned around the bite. The eggs were fluffy, the tortilla chips salty and still crispy, and the grassy heat of the jalapeños neither too much nor too weak. "'Sgooh," he said, then swallowed. "Sorry. It's good."

Another of those white smiles. "Thanks. It's easy enough, just gotta keep the chips crunchy and the eggs moist. And they're a great hangover cure." They dug in, and Cale dutifully did not stare at the muscled chest in front of him, even as the piercings caught the light. The excess saliva pooling in his mouth was from the food, surely.

When they were done, Julián collected the plates, but Cale stopped him. "Please, let me," he said, and busied himself with cleaning; they didn't have a dishwasher, but they did have a garbage disposal, and there was a dish rack next to the sink.

"So," said Julián when he was done, and he put his paw behind his head. Cale tried not to stare at the fluid arc it made of his muscles in his chest, or salivate at the exposed pit of his arm. "You said on the way here that you came to the Folio to find a--uh, 'boy for the night.'"

Cale's ears flattened against his head and his tail swept between his legs. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I was a mess, and--"

"No no," said Julián, splaying his palms forward. "I was just, well . . ." He looked Cale in the eye, ears forward and alert. "You're cute. And I know you just got dumped and this might be a long shot but like--well, you want a rebound fuck?"

Cale blinked. "With me?"

"I mean, yeah. I usually send shit-faced patrons home in an Uber, dude. But you came in with those jeans, and I just--" He mimed grabbing Cale's waist with his paws, and God his paws were big. Cale wanted them on him. He swallowed.

"Sure."

And god, Julián's smile was so big and white, and a little cocky. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Cale walked up to him, and Julián put his hands on his waist. Where they belonged. "A rebound fuck. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Uh-huh," said Julián, and his hands tightened, and they both leaned in; they kissed, open-mouthed, for a moment.

"We taste like jalapeños," said Cale.

Julián laughed and put his face into Cale's shoulder, nipped there lightly with his teeth. His tail was wagging. "So we brush our teeth--"

"And I'll shower."

"Okay, we'll brush our teeth, and you'll shower, and then . . ."

"Then you'll rearrange my guts?"

Julián growled and nipped again. "And then I rearrange your guts, babe." He put a paw on Cale's ass and squeezed, while Cale gasped in want.

They both smushed into the bathroom, brushing their teeth. And then they were done, and Julián pushed Cale against the wall and they made out for a while, minty fresh, until Cale tried to protest. "Julián"--and he was kissed--"Julián if you want--if you want inside me I have to take a--Julián let me take a shower!" They giggled, and Julián show-pouted, but he left, though not before giving Cale's ass a hearty slap, to which Cale tried to look more affronted than aroused.

The shower was small and cramped, but the water was warm, and they had a shower wand. Cale cleaned himself, outside and in, barely resisting the urge to put the shower head to his sheath and just let go, but Julián was waiting. His body wash was sandalwood and lime, rich and masculine with a fruity tang.

After getting out and drying himself in the mirror, where he had a post-shower poofiness he did his best to pat away. Be bold, go out in just a towel, or . . . ? No, a better idea. He shrugged on his jeans--no underwear--and ventured into Julián's bedroom.

On the bed, Julián lounged, one knee up, his thighs gorgeous and thick, and a book in his paws: Ancient Greek lyric. His eyes flicked over Cale hungrily; his nostrils flared. He threw the book aside, rose and strode over, put his hands on Cale's hips where they belonged. "Fuck, Cale," he said, "those jeans."

"You did say you liked them." Cale bowed his head, did his best to look up through his eyelashes.

"I did." Julián put his nose to Cale's neck and inhaled deeply. "Shit, and you smell like me."

"I mean, it's not like I brought my own--mmph!" And he was silenced with a kiss that went wet and deep. Julián was a good kisser, confident, in control but still tender, even as his tongue fucked into Cale's mouth. Then he put his paws behind Cale's thighs and lifted him up and, oh, Cale felt a pulse of blood heat from his belly to his cock; he put his legs around Julián's waist and moaned. Julián carried him to the bed and put him down, still kissing, and pressed Cale into the mattress, his weight a welcome pressure. Cale moaned again and lost himself in the throes of the open, wet joining of their mouths, at the jerking of their pelvises together. Cale could tell they were both already hard, even through the denim. Julián pulled away, drooling like he was hungry and Cale's body was his feast. With deft paws he undid Cale's jeans, and his cock sprung from the opened fly, red and almost entirely slipped from its sheath. A heady, salty musk filled the room. Julián moaned a little, like it was painful, and fell into Cale's groin. His nose tickled where it pressed into sensitive skin, a long, savoring inhale, and the exhale tickled too. He licked up the side of Cale's belly, leaving a wet trail of slicked over fur, then lifted Cale's slender hips and peeled the jeans off, exposing inch after inch of soft fur, red on the inside, salt-and-pepper on the outside. He threw the jeans onto the floor and held up Cale's legs. Each paw went fully around an ankle. Cale gulped, a spark of heat shivering down his spine.

"I'm clean," he said. "I think. I got tested at health services a couple weeks ago. I can show you the email. And that was--my boyfriend had already been--"

Julián shushed him and pressed a gentle kiss to his ankle. "It's okay. I was clean, uh, four weeks ago? I haven't gone bare since. And I'm on PrEP. So I'm good to go."

A mutual held breath, then: "You gonna eat me up, big guy?" asked Cale.

Their eyes locked, and Julián's paws tightened. A tension hung, held tight in their stomachs, then--"Yeah." He hitched Cale's legs over his shoulders, opening him up. "Yeah, I am. And call me 'Julián.'" And he put his tongue on Cale's ass.

"Fuck!" It was like being kissed, but--"Fuck, Julián!" Like being kissed, but wetter and inescapable. A shudder of shaking desire flexed through him, tightened up his muscles before exiting as a whimper from his throat. His cock, bright red, bobbed; he reached for it, but Julián grabbed his arm and held it to the bed. "Julián, please," he whined, but the wolf's eyes said 'Submit,' so he did. He fell into the feeling of Julián's tongue, nimble and wet, and crooned his pleasure, while his cock, needy and purpling with hot blood, drooled uselessly on his belly.

Satisfied, Julián lifted from Cale, his snout slick and dripping with spit, and licked his chops. He grinned, pleased at the panting, shivering mess he'd made of him. Cale's mouth hung open, his tongue lolled like a ripe fruit. Pre-come leaked from the bulge in Julián's briefs. "Can I fuck your face?" he asked.

Cale's mouth filled with saliva. "Fuck, fuck yes. Let me." Cale got on his back, his muscles quivering, his head slightly over the edge of the mattress. Julián stripped quickly; his freed cock sprang up and slapped his belly. It was big, thick and of a good length, hard and pulsing, and below it were a pair of heavy, full balls. He put the tip of it against Cale's snout. It smelled salty sweet.

"Open," said Julián. Cale did, and Julián put his fingers into his open maw, pressed into Cale's tongue, caressed his teeth. "Don't bite." And then, slow and careful, but steady, Julián fed Cale his cock. It had been big in his vision, but past his lips was even larger, and it was warm in the hot give of his mouth, salty and earthy and: he was full, hilted. Julián's balls rested against his nose. Fuck, the smell, the deep, tanged musk of clean male wolf. Julián caressed his full throat. "Fuck, Cale. You took all of me." Cale moaned, piteous. "Fuck." He drew the word out into a boyish drawled growl. "I'm gonna start now, 'kay?" Cale gave a thumbs up. Julián extracted his cock, then pushed it in again. Cale kept his mouth, tongue, throat: all relaxed. He curled his paw into a fist around his thumb, an old trick. Still, as Julián began to fuck his mouth, as the cock began to piston in and out, as his balls began to strike a quickening beat, Cale gagged once, twice. Each time, Julián slowed down and gently stroked his face and throat, cooing praise, before returning to the pace. Eventually, the gagging stopped, and Cale slipped under a liquid threshold, warm and all-embracing. His mouth was a hole, his throat a sleeve: he existed to take cock, to smell its musk and hear the groans and curses of its owner as he mounted, each thrust closer and closer to release until--

One final slammed thrust, and Cale was kissing Julián's knot, and salt-bitter spend filled his mouth, warm and plentiful. He swallowed one gulp, but Julián, groaning through his orgasm, said "No, no, wait," and extracted himself, striping a few spurts of come on Cale's ruined mouth. He manhandled Cale upright, then kissed him, took his own seed into his mouth, and moaned. They parted. "Fuck, you took me so well, Cale." Julián licked up the come--part grooming, part lewd hunger--before kissing him again, mouths full of it. Cale was limp, still submerged in the warm pool of fucked-out. "Such a good throat, a good boy," said Julián. Cale drooled. He wanted a cock back in his mouth, but Julián pushed him back onto the bed, fucking his mouth with tongue instead.

Julián pulled away, and they shared a breath, eyes hungry with want. The air smelled of come and musk and sweat. "Want me to fuck you?" asked Julián; Cale gave a sleepy "Yeah," and Cale reached over with his gorgeous long arms and took a bottle of lube from the bedside table. He coated two fingers, opened up Cale's legs, pressing a quick, affectionate peck to his ankle, and pushed in. Cale's hole gave way; he groaned as the fingers slipped in with minimal burn, a tender glide. Julián fingered him for a few moments, keeping him submerged in his warm, foggy comfort, before crooking his fingers just so.

Cale's prostate sang, a bright, juicy note that left him as a whining keen. Those thick fingers fucked him, arched against his gland and lit his nerves up in a crackling, electric shimmer. He cried in higher and louder whines. His hard cock ached with need, spurted pre onto his belly, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate, and besides: Julián had yet to rescind his order. "Please, fuck, Jul--Julián, please," he cried.

"Good?" asked Julián, and Cale couldn't look at him, couldn't open his eyes for the pleasure, but he could hear the smug grin in his voice.

"Yes, yes, fuck!"

A snort. "Good. You in the bar with those jeans, I knew exactly what you wanted. You were so cute and so fucking sad, I just"--he pressed again into the gland, and Cale teared up with want--"I wanted to make it all better, baby, fuck the sad right out of you. I'd have taken you on the bar if I could've gotten away with it."

"Please, please."

"Yeah, you'd've liked that, huh? Get you screaming and messy in front of all those people. Forget what-his-name, the asshole, forget all your troubles, just you and me and our orgasms, yeah?"

"Yes, yes, please, Julián, fuck." All those people seeing him, hearing him, that he was wanted, that he was fuckable, even if--even if . . . Julián's fingers arched again, and Cale's spine curled to match it: a gorgeous, obscene curve.

"Fuck, you're a sight, Cale." Julián kissed tenderly against the sweet tension of his abdomen. Another curl of his fingers, another scream wrung from Cale's needy body. "I want you to come on my fingers this first time, okay? Can you do that? I think you can."

A line of effervescent pleasure pulsed like a live wire threaded from his prostate to the tip of his cock, and it sang, louder and louder, bubbling under his skin--and with a whimpered cry, he came.

"That's it, baby," cooed Julián, as Cale's knot blew and his cock spurted warm onto his belly, the smell again rich and bitter. Julián kissed him and put a paw on his cock, stroking the orgasm out, milking him. Then he pulled his fingers out.

Cale lay there panting, Julián half-caging him in, warm and comfortable as a blanket. And abruptly, his breath caught in a sob. "Fuck." He curled in, covered his eyes. "Christ." His voice was wet and broken, and to his horror tears trailed down his cheeks.

"Oh, baby, hey--"

"I'm sorry--"

"Nope, no reason for 'sorry.' Orgasms release a whole lotta hormones and neurotransmitters, and that can make anyone emotional. Trust me, I'm a--"

"Biochem major, I know." Cale tried to smile, but his chin wobbled it out of place.

Julián reached a paw out, but--"You need space, some water? A hug?"

Another shaky breath. "A hug?"

"Okay"--and Julián wrapped him up; Cale whimpered. "Yeah, you're all right, I've got you. You came so hard, baby, it was so hot. I'm not surprised it fucked you up a bit. Just let it out."

So Cale lay there, wrapped up in Julián, and shuddered into a relaxed, emptied out bliss while Julián stroked his back, as the steady cycle of his breath lulled him into quiet. A few minutes passed, and Julián broke it with a whisper: "So, uh, cuddling is great, but can I go get something to clean our come up before it dries ? I don't know about you, but I hate the way it mats in my fur."

Cale sniffed. "Yeah. And . . . bring an extra, because you're gonna fuck me when you get back. If that, uh, if that's all right."

"Fuck." And Julián pulled back to look at him; his amber eyes were lit with hunger. "Yeah, if you're sure?" Cale nodded. "Fuck, you're a gift, baby." Cale warmed all over; he reached up and pulled Julián into a kiss, deep and good and tender.

Then, Julián left, walked into his bathroom. He had a nice ass and the slope of his back above it. Cale wanted to put his tongue on his spine, lick down and down and down. When Julián came back with the washcloths, Cale wanted to do the same with his chest and flat stomach, to his heavy sheath and scrotum.

He didn't let Cale take them. "Let me." He cleaned Cale's stomach, discarded the cloth, then Cale's face; he was gentle, methodical. He kissed under Cale's eye, then under the other, then his mouth, then pushed him down back onto the bed. They made out, holding one another, until arousal stirred again.

Julián got on up his knees, his cock red and dripping. He fetched the lube after a moment of sheepish searching--it had fallen and rolled under the bed--he slicked up his cock; the sheen of it made it redder, like the skin of a ripe fruit full of juice and sweetness. "You wanna get fucked, or ride me?" he asked.

Cale took a shaky, heady breath and gulped. "Fuck me."

"Yeah, baby. Yeah." And Julián took Cale's legs and parted them, and he slipped into him.

Cale hissed; it burnt, but then a fulfilling pleasure. "Oh, oh fuck," he moaned, his vowels drawled to a whine. His legs shook as he took the entire length of Julián's cock.

"Jesus, Cale." Julián looked down at him with lustful, open awe. "You took--shit, you took my whole dick."

Cale panted. "'S a lot of dick."

"And you took it so well, Christ." Julián drew his hips out, then pushed in; they groaned in tandem. "Yeah, so good, so open for me." And he began, pistoning steadily, striking again and again, pressing into Cale, against his prostate, an even rhythm that lit through Cale's body: again that bright, sparkling arousal. "God, the noises you make," said Julián, grunting as he fucked, his nostrils flaring. "So hot, so cute, I just"--he leaned down, put his jaw on Cale's shoulder, and bit: not enough to draw blood, but enough to smart.

"Oh fuck, fuck!" Cale keened into a low scream, and Julián's thrusts hurried; he growled, a low vibration into Cale's shoulder, like he was desperate, aching, like Cale made him need to come. And his rhythm grew erratic, and then, with a palpable pop, he thrust in to a hilt, and came, and knotted. His growl twisted into a snarl as he emptied into Cale, as he filled Cale with warmth.

He pushed Julián off him, saw his lips pulled back, his teeth sharp and bared, and said his name--"Julián"--and an order: "Make me come." A toothy smirk, and Julián put his paw on Cale's cock, and Cale arched from neck to spine, his eyes closed against overwhelming sensate pleasure, but Julián gripped the back of his skull.

"No," he said, near a growl, "You want to come, you look at me; you let me see you." Cale looked: Julián's eyes were piercing, liquid amber, his ears forward and alert, his nostrils flaring .

"Julián." His voice was a pathetic whine; his whole body shivered with need. "Julián, please."

A grin. "No need to beg, baby. I've got you. Just keep your eyes on me." Cale obeyed. Even on Julián's knot, he obeyed, kept his eyes open, even as his muscles twitched, as his diaphragm fluttered with moans and gasped whimpers.

And he matched Julián's stare, and the pleasure in him hitched, and--"Oh"--and the tightness cut, and he came with a high, reedy cry.

"Good, so good," said Julián, "fuck, come on my knot." His cock jerked once, a bit of come striking Julián's chin, and then it twitched, dribbling over itself and Julián's paw as he kept pulling, kept drawing out the come and noises from Cale's overfull need. And then he let go, and Cale fell into the pillow, lay there in the afterglow; he dimly registered Julián cleaning them up, licking the come off his paw and his chin before grabbing the washcloth to get the rest. Then he put his arms under Cale--"C'mon"--and he flipped them so Cale was resting on his shoulder. They were tied together and comfortable. Cale could hear Julián's heart beat.

"Whew, that was--wow." Julián was out of breath, and he patted Cale's thigh affectionately. "A good fuck." Cale looked at him, sleepily amused. "Oh, are you one of those boys who conk out after a hard come?"

"Mmm." He fell back onto Julián's shoulder, onto the soft warm fur.

Julián chuckled, put a paw up to stroke the back of Cale's skull. "Okay. Sleep then, baby." And he did.

And when they woke, they would talk: this was a rebound fuck, but how about full-time fuck buddies? The sex had been great, but it was so soon. Cale still had a bruised heart, and it would stupid to jump into anything new so quickly. Maybe after a few months, they could talk about it.

It took one.