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Hey all...well...this has certainly been far too long in the coming! I'm deeply sorry about how long it took me to get this chapter out, life got rather hectic and what not, but that doesn't quite matter, because Family Days is back! Yay? Either way, hope the delay wasn't quite so bad, and I'll try to make it up...perhaps get some new chapters out rather quickly! Thanks for sticking with it, and a Happy Easter to everyone!

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"Let me get that for you honeybutt,"

Ben smiled at the rather silly pet-name but accepted it regardless and handed the wolf the soap. He let out a small huff of approval and relaxed his shoulders, a bit curious of what was going to take place now. Now that they had dealt with the flaky bits of evidence left in their fur from last night they could just relax. The morning remains had simply washed away--from when the wolf had stroked them both to completion while in a heated morning kiss; he had really enjoyed the feeling of both their members pressed against one another. He didn't exactly know what Marion had in mind, but he had a really good idea. The wolf was full of good ideas too.

Marion lathered up his paws and began to work over Ben's back. He kneaded at the bear's shoulders and didn't bother rushing a single moment of it. A few weeks ago he might have mistaken the grunts and growl from Ben as signs he was aggravating the bear but now he knew better. Those small grunts and the tenor of the low growl were just an affirmation that Ben was enjoying himself--that he could continue and go on with his act.

Ben could hear the rumble from his chest reverberating throughout the small shower. He shifted and readjusted his weight, putting an arm on the tiled wall and leaning on it. He let his head rest on his arm and closed his eyes, fully enjoying the sensation while allowing Marion more access to him. Happy, low grunts escaped him each time the wolf would squeeze him in just the right spots.

"Grab the shower handle for me," Marion told the bear.

Ben reached up and fumbled around for the attachment before pulling it down and stopping the spray of hot water. It wasn't bad though. They had built up enough heat in the small area that it was more like a steam bath right now anyway. He heard the shower head thump against the floor and guessed Marion had just wanted it out of the way. After a moment he understood why. Without the water constantly flowing over him the shampoo and soap lathered up his fur and made it easier for the wolf to glide his paws through his fur.

Marion washed over the bear's back, scratching at his skin and giving the bear's back the best wash you could get from a person. The small grunts didn't ever stop and he was glad to see Ben enjoying this so much. He couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of Ben's muscled back; the natural strength he knew people would kill for. To think that if Ben wanted, the bear could easily pick up probably his own weight was always something Marion found amazing. He kneaded over Ben's body, whispering small praises as he did so and the occasional grope. After a few minutes he leaned down and grabbed the shower head again. He twisted the nozzle a few times till it was at the option he wanted. He pressed the nozzle gently over the bear's back and began to rinse his back.

Ben's growl became a bit louder and he found himself relishing in a shower for the first time since he was a cub. It felt like he was doing more than just cleaning himself. The water came in small spurts from the head. At one moment it would give a gentle beat then at the next it did a circling spray and would finish with three bursts of water then finally it would repeat itself. He was beginning to fall in love with the wolf's shower head; it felt amazing.

Marion smiled and stepped closer to the bear pressing himself against Ben. His sheath pressed between the bear's cheeks and he felt Ben press back against him a bit. It was arousing already but right now he just wanted to touch the bear with his paws. He moved a paw down and groped the bear's rump, enjoying the way Ben's growl got just a bit louder when he rubbed him.

Ben pressed himself into the wolf. The paw gave one last squeeze to his butt and then he heard the showerhead being put back down. The sound of the shampoo bottle popping open registered to his ears along with the sound of Marion lathering his paws up. A gentle grunt fell out of his muzzle when the wolf began to run his paws over his lower back--not being afraid to go down and play with his offered rump. He pushed back again onto his boyfriend, "I'm yours if you want me Babe," he said with a low growl.

The offer was tempting. Marion licked his lips and couldn't help but enjoy how it felt to have his hips pressed against the bear's rump and his sheath nestled between the soft buns. "Maybe later Honey-butt...this is just about feeling you. I want you to enjoy this--I want to hold you for a bit,"

Marion could feel his sheath swelling a bit but he had no intentions of getting into another love session with Ben right now--at least not that type of love session. He just wanted to massage the bear--they could do more rough things later. The growl became a bit rougher when he played with Ben's rump. He wasn't much of an 'ass guy' but he had to say Ben's was pretty nice. He'd never liked the whole bubble butt thing--or iron cheeks. The bear had the type of rump you could just play with; it wasn't flabby or anything, it was simply plump. Ben had the type of butt you could let your paws grope and play with for hours, or that you could push against and have a very fun session.

Ben's grunts were quiet and slightly muffled by the sound of the water pounding onto the floor. He let the wolf run his paws all over him, enjoying the gropes and sliding touches.

When it came to the ass, Ben was a solid ten. He was plump, soft, gropeable, and just everything you'd want when you're pressing up against someone. The bear had a rump you could just grab and touch--honestly he'd never thought about till he was doing the very thing. Now Marion knew that everytime Ben turned around his eyes would be just a bit below the tail. Marion patted the bear's cheeks and began to rinse him off. He made the entire thing last for about seven minutes before finally handing the shower head back to Ben, "OK...here you go,"

Ben leaned up from where he'd made his spot and sighed. He turned around and smiled at the wolf, "Thanks...that felt nice,"

Marion smiled and kissed the bear on the lips, "Anytime honeybutt,"

After a few more minutes of groping and playing in the shower they both got out. They both took turns drying the other and taking their time.

"Do you think it'd be OK if I cook a good breakfast for Chris?"

"No," Marion replied.

Ben frowned but didn't say anything. He just nodded and put on his best face.

"Chris always sleeps in on weekends Ben. How about you make a good lunch or brunch?" Marion suggested, not wanting to sadden the bear. Of course, at the same time he couldn't help but wonder just how far Ben's cooking skills went. They weren't extravagant from what he'd seen from their breakfast in bed--eggs, toast, milk, but nothing that really screamed 'kiss the cook' either. He put his arms around him and smiled, "We got up for an eight o'clock shower. Chris doesn't usually get up till about eleven. That means you and me have two hours together,"

"Did we really spend an hour in the shower?"

"Yeah," Marion replied with a chuckle. He pulled the bear slowly out of the bathroom and led them to the edge of the bed.

Ben smiled and looked down at the wolf, "Two hours...well, that's a long time to do nothing,"

Marion nodded and put his paws through the elastic of Ben's boxers, "I was thinking we might not do nothing...you know?"

"Well...I mean, are you sure?" Ben asked, noticing just how slowly the wolf was edging his boxers down, revealing the fur near his sheath. The pink tip of his flesh was there to greet the wolf, and he was quite sure in a bit the rest of his member would be exposed.

"I'm still not done with you Ben," Marion replied with a chuckle. He couldn't stop one paw from running to the sheath and rubbing his paw over the bear's cock and sheath, a groan escaping the male above him. After a bit he simply let his paw rest there, gently massaging the bear's sheath and watching as more and more inches of mutual pleasure slipped out. "Still have a lot of your body that I have to familiarize myself with,"

"We just got a shower," Ben told the wolf with a small grin, not bothering to hide a moan of pleasure.

Marion pulled down the boxers a bit more and chuckled, "Then we'll just have to be careful where we make our mess, won't we?"

Ben leaned forward and pressed his lips against Marion's, "Seems so..." he said and wrapped his arms around the wolf before letting them fall onto the bed. "If I can...well, I'd like to recommend my muzzle,"

Marion chuckled, "Well, I've yet to sample the final results of this labor," Marion said, gripping around the bear's shaft and smirking, "And honestly...my poor muzzle has felt a bit neglected you know,"

"Poor poor wolf...I can make it up to you...."

"Well, I can't deprive my bear either....how about a sixty-nine?" Marion inquired, already wondering just what he'd be doing. Of course he knew the general idea of it all, but there were so many things to do in that single category.

"Mhm," Ben replied and kissed the wolf quickly. He pulled back and smiled, "I have a craving for some doggy seed anyway," he admitted before planting their muzzles together to stop the conversation at his confession.

*The Night Before*

"Mom..." Chris sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He found himself back in the bed--and occasionally wondering if the light that was trickling in through his curtains was the rising sun, though he couldn't imagine such. No, it was very likely nothing more than a passing car or a streetlight's glow. The sun wouldn't be up for hours--he had slept a little but the night was still going on very strongly.

Slept.

That might've been a polite term. He wished he'd slept most of the night. Instead he had just tossed and turned. He hadn't been conscious, but he hadn't been resting, he knew that much; even if it didn't make much sense. Perhaps it wasn't entirely explainable. He didn't care though; perhaps if he were at school he would've day-dreamed about the differences between a regular night's rest and what it was he was currently experiencing.

Even the thought of school was sour. Not that he enjoyed it all that much to begin with.

Why did he feel this way? He didn't want to feel this way. It was all his own fault. If he was stronger, better, something-er then it wouldn't be like this. He hated it. Hated the random spouts of depression: he hated himself for them. They came out of nowhere: a nowhere that could be found--another thought that didn't quite make much sense but he knew was true regardless. He didn't to know where the thoughts came from. Perhaps it was that he didn't want to feel entirely better, that when he felt this way it made things easier. How he didn't know though--it felt terrible.

Everyone else always felt sorry for him--the looks he got from his friends when they found out his mom was dead; like he was entirely different now. They all pitied him. A small growl fell from his muzzle at the thought; as if every sad glance as an insult. He didn't want to be pitied; he didn't pity himself at all. All he ever felt was an anger at himself about how he was in the way; that perhaps his mother would be alive if she hadn't had him, or that his dad would've been with Ben much sooner. Or maybe his mom and dad would've stayed together if he hadn't been in the equation. It couldn't be, but it was all his fault.

It wasn't all encompassing, even if it could feel like such at the moment. No, truthfully this was the largest anger he ever felt, and it ebbed like the tides; sometimes close to the surface and other times buried far away and out of memory. He wasn't an angry person; he didn't wear it on his sleeve; at least he tried not to. This only happened certain times--twice a month, once every few months? He didn't know; the frequency didn't matter.

His heart wouldn't stop beating, and he couldn't stop thinking about life. What was his life right now? He knew he had a father that loved him, but he didn't have a mother--he'd never have a mother again. Everyone else had mothers.

Perhaps that wasn't true.

Most people had mothers though. Some furs at the school didn't listen to their parents, and yet they still got full parents. It didn't make sense. The thought pattern itself didn't make sense, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know why they got parents and yet one of his own had been stolen away from him. He'd loved her, he had obeyed her--why did he get punished?

He hadn't done something wrong had he? And was he just punishing his father, what would his dad's life be like if he wasn't around? Surely Ben would've been around more--perhaps.

Bringing a shaky paw up to his neck Chris held it there for a few moments, feeling the pulse, how it should've been so many beats lower than it was. He was in bed, he wasn't moving, he was resting, so why did his heart beat like he was running the mile in gym?

He wasn't different; not in a bad way, at least he didn't think so. It had nothing to do with the fact he'd been raised by a single mother, but the fact that he lost her. He was more than happy to be with his dad. That didn't make everything magically better, not always at least. Being near his dad did make him feel better though. Even that first day they had met; not knowing one another, thinking a mirror to the past or future was there instead.

A part of him wondered if he'd ever told his dad what he thougth that day. It had been so odd, so nice, so...hopeful. He had known he had his family--that perhaps he'd go to live with an uncle or his grandparents, but that wasn't family. Well, not entirely at least. His mother was family, so very much family. And then she'd been ripped away from him. In the middle of all the sorrow and pain his dad had been the first glimpse of light.

No, he'd never told his dad that, it was rather funny in some ways. It was far too much to say, how could he say that, bring it up? And besides, those first few months it wasn't like they had operated like a family; he'd called his dad 'Mr. Judith' something that would feel foreign and strange to his tongue now. Even in those odd months though, he felt he had more of a family than he would've living with anyone else.

He'd feel better in the morning he knew that much. This happened at times. He'd just be staring up at the ceiling thinking and something would hit him--like there was something just waiting to drop down on his spirit, or perhaps to leap out of his heart. But it was more like this feeling was ever present. Sure, he didn't think about it when he was at school, or when he was with friends, or when he got up most mornings, but it had to be caused by something. Why else would he feel this way on more than one occasion?

The feelings came from somewhere. Sure he could've dismissed them, but that wouldn't have done anything, he wanted to know where they came from. With a jolt he sat up in the bed, throwing off some of his covers and untangling himself from the warm webbing of his covers. The ceiling fan was nice and cool, and the added fan on the nightstand gave a cool breeze through his furs, even if the fan's true purpose was solely for noise.

In the winter, like right now he still felt rather chilled by getting up from under the covers, but he liked that. His dad sometimes got annoyed that he turned off the heat in the house, but his mother had never minded--or at least never let on that she minded. Not that his dad ever showed any real anger or annoyance; just a happy snicker at his expense or something like that. After a few moments of letting the room cool him off he slung his feet off the edge of the bed.

He didn't quite mean to do it, but he had--at some point--reached and grabbed onto the book; a source of solace most times. He still remember Janice giving it to him, how she'd said it was just a simple gift to remember his mother by, and many times he could remember his own mother reading it. He'd read it too. Perhaps more times than his mother had, and he was sure he'd read it more times still. Perhaps in the years to come he'd even be able to recite it.

Stroking along the binding Chris let out a sigh at the feeling of how worn it was; not terribly so, but still rather worn for a young book. He would need to get a different copy; perhaps put this one somewhere safe and special, he didn't want to ever have to throw it away.

For a few minutes he just stroked along the book's binding, thinking about some of the stories and tales within; some bad, some good, some memorable, and some not so memorable. The book itself wasn't really special, but more so were the thoughts that were with it. A piece of memorabilia, like a link to the past he could always hold onto.

Slowly the book found its way back to his nightstand; its home. He was well adjusted to the dark, he could make out all the shapes of his room; the piano, the desk, his bookbag, even the spinning of the ceiling fan. The one thing he couldn't quite note was his reflection in the mirror, but that wasn't a surprise. He was good a hide and seek if he hid in a dark room--that was one advantage of having black fur.

But no pleasant thoughts were coming right now--no happy memories or times of laughing. He just felt frustrated. Angry. Sad. Sometimes he even felt apathetic, like so much was flying around in his head at the speed of light and he could only have a glimpse of each emotion for a brief second.

"This sucks..." Chris spat out after a moment, not caring about any of the emotions, he just wanted to go back to sleep now. He plopped back down into the bed and jerked the covers over himself, telling himself he'd be asleep by the end of the minute; that he'd force all the unpleasant things away.

The minute passed and his ears flickered uncomfortably on his head. He shot a paw out from the covers and reached for the clock, "Stupid clock," he grumbled, turning it away; that was why he couldn't sleep. It was the clock's thought surely.

It wasn't the fact that he'd had a bad dream about his mother, that she was in his mind and he couldn't stop thinking about how much he missed her, about how his life was so different now than from before. Not worse though; he had his dad now. His dad.

Chris sat back up in the bed and got to his feet. Without quite realizing it--even if he knew what he was doing--he was moving up the stairs to where his dad's room was. He always felt better when he was near his dad, right? What was it that made it better though? Was it just that his dad was always there for him--that when he was with him everything seemed like things would work out?

Did it matter though? Not really. Chris let out a sigh as he moved down the hallway, watching how his legs were basked in shadow and light from the outside--the curtains forcing the lights into odd waves as he moved. Soon enough his odd journey was over though. And perhaps soon enough he'd feel better too. He gave another small sigh before balling up his paw to knock and raised it to the door.

And he stopped.

Ben was here.

Ben was in his father's room. It didn't matter that he'd been invited, it now seemed like an intrusion to him. How come the bear got to be in there without having to knock? Chris knew that was a rather odd and silly thought, it was just him trying to justify it--try as he might. His paw fell back down to his side.

Chris stood at the door for a few moments, scowling and realizing he couldn't go in. Not like he'd used to. With the bear here what could he do? How much of his movement was now restricted? So far it felt like just a little, and he knew that wasn't entirely terrible. The problem was that it was 'a little' less freedom when it came to seeing his father; any restriction was unwelcome.

So Ben was unwelcome.

Chris shook his head at the jump in logic and rolled his eyes.

It wasn't Ben that was unwelcome: it was himself. He was the odd one out.

Once more Chris shook his head, dismissing the odd and stupid thought; his dad loved him and would've wanted him to bring his troubles to him. Or at least he'd used to. Now what? His ears picked up a light mumbling from inside the room--Ben's no doubt because his father was a silent sleeper. No matter what way he looked at it, if he wanted to see his dad right now it would be an intrusion. Could he no longer bring himself into the room at those odd times at night? Would his dad really want to hear about how he was upset and had had a bad dream?

And Ben would probably think it was stupid that he still wanted/needed to see his father at anytime in the night: he was nearly sixteen for lord's sake. But what did it matter what the bear thought? It didn't. It shouldn't have.

Chris brought his paw up to the door handle, just about to touch it before jerking it back at the last second with a larger scowl. It wasn't fair to his own dad to come and get him in the middle of the night. Especially because of why.

Why?

Because he'd had a bad dream?

Because he was a pup who missed his mommy? Because he felt better when he was near his dad? Because he didn't want to feel this way the rest of the night and usually just a minute of seeing his dad--talking with him--made everything better?

But he couldn't do that. His dad was enjoying his time with Ben. And even if they were asleep, well, he was still 'with' Ben in the way that he wasn't meant to intrude. His dad was always there for him, and was strong. Why wasn't he like his dad? He looked like him--why wasn't he strong too?

He could at least not bother his dad now. He owed him that much, right?

"Come-on...don't be such a pup," Chris mumbled to himself, walking back down the hallway to the stairs. He was as silent as he could be, strategically skipping the middle step that had a bad habit of creaking loudly as he moved down. Normally if he was out of his room right now it would be for a mid-night snack, perhaps some chicken-salad and pretzels, but food held less appeal than school at the moment.

By the end of the minute he had his door closed and locked behind him. He traversed the small space to his bed and fell in with a sigh, grabbing his blankets and rolling into them--trapping himself inside. He could be this strong.

He could be strong.

Couldn't he?

A whine escaped his muzzle and he pulled a stray pillow closer, pretending it was something--someone--something to let him seep his problems into. The morning would be better. In the morning things were always better. In the morning he wouldn't think of all these things. He'd smile, laugh, play games, and enjoy life. The quiet of the night would pass and everything would be better.

He didn't feel like this all the time, it was a rare feeling most of the time, not some all-encompassing sorrow of his life. It was just the night, just the quiet of life when he was utterly alone in the dark. Tomorrow he might not even remember staying up till the late hours feeling terribly alone and sad. He wouldn't remember these emotions until they knocked back against his door. He'd be OK again. When he was taking notes in class he wouldn't notice these things. When he just hang out with Jake he wouldn't' notice. When he could just talk nonsense and laugh; then everything would be OK.

The night was wrong. He would be fine in the morning when the noise of the busy cars on the street outside overtook the disquiet in his heart, when the voice in his head would be drowned out by furs yelling on the TV and so much more that would make the night miles away. If only for a few hours...