FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Vivienne rings the doorbell, being the one with any feeling left in her fingers. Lilou waits beside her, below her, mostly staring into the abyss and hoping it looks back to swallow her whole. She's smoothed down her skirt so many times this morning that she's had to poof it back up half as often. Vivienne fiddles with her phone again, sure, grinning at some message she's tapping out—and back in just a ponytail, ready for just some casual day at the office without worry of what someone else might really think of her.

It's slow footfalls that echo from inside, paced steps, before Nicolas opens the door without a smile and steadies himself at the threshold. He stands with one hand already in his pocket—in sweatpants again, but it's a sweater he wears on top today. Covering himself up. The green and brown swirls mixing in his eyes, at least—

Lilou doesn't reach those before she looks to the floor.

“Hey," he says. “Come on in."

“Nicolas, I really owe you one," Vivienne says, slipping her phone down into her purse. “Seriously—if you ever need a favor, just let me know, okay? You really got our backs again and I hope you know how much we both appreciate it."

A hand behind Lilou's shoulder guides her forward. Lilou's feet move the only direction they're allowed, but every step into Nicolas's apartment feels less welcome. She keeps her back tight and straight like some prim little lady, but her head hangs no matter her effort against the weight over it. Her paws—well, no change. She's been clutching them at each other this whole time.

“Yeah, I get it. I got you," Nicolas says above her to Vivienne. “You, um—?"

“Yes, I've got to get to work," Vivienne says, hand tugging away from Lilou. “Here's her—wait, where—oh, there it is—here's her lunch again, and you know the drill, so she can eat whenever. You know what—you can let her have a snack today, too. I don't mind. And my phone'll be on me, so just call me if you need anything."

A plastic baggy crinkles between Vivienne and Nicolas, followed by a familiar smack over the counter.

“Gotcha. Have fun, I guess."

“Right? Thanks again, Nicolas, seriously. You be good for him, Lilou, okay? I'll be back tonight. You two have a great day!"

The handle rattles firm behind Lilou before a tiny rusty creak joins the door in clicking shut. The miniature clopping of wedge shoes barely echoes back up from the stairwell as Vivienne goes. Nicolas keeps as still as Lilou while she hesitates, gathers what air is scattered around her lungs, focuses on breathing.

That focus breaks as soon as even the echoes just out the door die off. Lilou looks up long and high at Nicolas, tired already of her own gaze, but she doesn't hide that broken longing within it. She doesn't have much of anything left to hide.

Nicolas looks back to her with something like a nervous frown he's trying to contain, but he wants to show. One hand rubbing behind his neck, the other still in his pocket and all too still. Wearing his lazy clothes, but he hasn't gotten sloppy—he's been to the hairdresser. His hair is natural and curly again, laid from the bottom of his scalp into neat cornrows, then coalescing loose across the top of his head into a flowery bundle of kinks and spirals.

And his eyes still beckon anything that drifts into their wake.

Lilou thought it would be harder to stare so long into them again, but it's so easy.

Nicolas pulls away from his neck and hangs his thumb back, saying, “You want to sit down? Or, um—you hungry? Want something to drink?"

Lilou hangs her paw forward, pointing small toward his sofa. Cheeks still burning but hidden under her grooming. She looks down again only to shuffle one foot over the other.

“Actually, I was thinking we could sit up here."

It's just the bar counter Nicolas points his thumb to. Just the two stools sitting out front of it.

Lilou's step falters.

“Oh," Nicolas says, looking them over. He shuffles in socks around the counter and takes one stool, lifting it to his chest and scootching back around to clatter it on the kitchen side. He sits, clutching his hands down over the hem of his seat. His gaze falters, too, before he looks over to the opposite stool and says, “Just to talk."

It smells like harsh chemicals near the kitchen. Faint, literally watered down, but it's an easy scent to pick up over the lack of anything else immediate. Lemon fresh. Like effort? Like cleaning up for a guest instead of babysitting.

It reminds Lilou of the even fainter hope she has to push back down.

She sets her feet both on the floor again, pulls her arms back to her sides. Her gaze grazes the carpet, but she pads over to the other side of the counter and tugs her paws up onto her stool. The smell of cleaner rustles through her nostrils from the granite surface, but as she climbs higher toward Nicolas's level, more or less, she finds it easiest to keep looking down.

Where she finds a deck of little rainbow cards stacked up neat, but with words instead of pictures or numbers. A computer tablet lies to the side, but Lilou's gaze drifts over the top card.

'What's your favorite color?'

“Don't know if these are any good," Nicolas says, leaning back. “Picked them up at the dollar store, so… I mean, they're just some get-to-know-each-other stuff. I just figured they could… facilitate."

He leans back forward a second and pulls away the card on top, flipping it into a little discard pile and muttering, “Guess that's a dumb one. Can skip that."

Lilou slips her paw over that card next, pulling it closer to her side, keeping it flipped.

“Or—yeah," Nicolas says, nodding a little, pulling back. He shifts his hand over the tablet, sliding it in Lilou's direction. He says, “And you can use a keyboard, right? Will this work?"

He taps the screen brighter to a notepad application, the alphabet already laid out in a scramble underneath. Lilou peers closer over it, shiny and black and polished, but her gaze flickers quicker back to Nicolas. She stretches her fingers over the first card and flips it around toward him, hiding her face behind it, pointing across the counter.

“Mine?" he says, folding his arms but leaning them over the granite. His face squeezes tighter a moment, kind of humming before he says, “Blue, maybe? Don't know. What about you?"

Lilou looks from him to the tablet, but the card barely hides more than her mouth. Her blushing is invisible, anyway. It's not like it's a secret anymore, right? Why not just be honest?

So through a shorter gesture, she points up to his eyes.

Nicolas waves his hand around his cheeks, around his curls. “You mean brown? Black?"

Lilou pulls back her paw and points much shorter to her own eyes, averting them.

“Oh, red," Nicolas says. “That's cool. That's—where do I have red on—?"

Lilou shakes her head, pointing quicker between each of their eyes.

“Oh," Nicolas says. He smiles. “Hazel? That's not a color. It's multiple colors. I would've said multiple colors if I knew that's the rules we're playing by."

Lilou pulls the card back down with the smallest grin underneath, laying it over their discard pile beside the rest of the cards. Nicolas's smile recedes about the same time as hers, but not to the same nervous frown as before.

The next card in the deck reads, 'What's the biggest secret you'll share with a friend?'

“Shit," Nicolas mutters, grabbing for it, “should've vetted these—"

A paw stops his hand. Lilou stares at their touch, her fingers over his, but she doesn't look up. Nicolas pulls his hand away from the deck, saying, “Okay. But you first this time."

Lilou tucks her paws over her skirt, just tapping her fingers together, swinging her feet twice before she stops them. Then as if she's changed her mind, she pulls the tablet over all the way and taps out one letter at a time with a finger from each paw, no pausing between keys, already familiar with the layout even if she can't stretch across it like humans do.

She swivels the tablet around to Nicolas. Her answer: (T)hat (I)'m not stupid.

Nicolas stares at the words with a nod, long and slow. He thinks with his head down, but Lilou can see his mind turning behind the glance of his hazel she still gets.

“Biggest secret to friends," he mutters, shifting his elbows, resting a fist under his cheek. “I guess, uh—that I hate this city."

He keeps staring at the screen.

“I miss home."

Lilou sucks her bottom lip. She swivels the tablet back around slower and deletes her words, then leans in and flips to the next card.

'What's your favorite number?'

Both of them stare at the question. Lilou slips her paw back over her mouth, restraining her giggles, but Nicolas slides his hand flat over his scalp and laughs. His fingers nestle between cornrows and kinks and his whole face curls back into a smile, the little dimples by his eyes stretching warm and free and twinkling again with white teeth, full cheeks, bright eyes laid thin but big. Big. That's how he smiles even through his chuckling, and Lilou can't help but let her giggles escape with his the longer he goes.

“I maybe made a bad purchase," Nicolas says, wiping his hand over his mouth. “I am truly not prepared to answer this question, sorry."

No matter their fun, Lilou's smile fades again as he quiets down. She sets her paws back to the tablet but hesitates typing so quickly this time, fingers only hovering before she taps out her next message through tightened lips and cold feet.

(D)o you still like me at all?

She turns the screen around and pulls her gaze down to her twiddling paws, but immediately Nicolas says, “Yeah, of course. You're—"

He rubs his hand down his neck, looking away while Lilou peeks back up. He says, “I hope you didn't take it personal, how we left last week. It's new to me. Nobody's liked me like that before. I needed time to figure out, uh… why you would, I guess. Or just what I should do."

tell him he's beautiful and nice and also your sex together would be beautiful too

Lilou tugs her knees a little closer. Nicolas looks back to her without either of them shrinking away, but he waves his hand over the cards and says, “So I got these. And they're not great. They ain't great."

His smile lingers through a twist in his lips, but it's fallen from his eyes. Leaving one paw still clutched in her lap, Lilou leans over toward him, stops in the middle, and flips over to the next card.

'What kind of pokemon did you have as a child?'

Nicolas shakes his head. “Sorry. They ain't great."

Lilou takes the card anyway, covering her muzzle again but not hiding her gaze, at least, as she points across the counter. Nicolas sighs inward, leans back out, tucks his arms tighter again.

“I didn't have any," he says, “but my friends growing up did. Back then, it sucked. Now, looking back—I got to hang with all the other kids without taking care of any."

He tilts back just far enough that he doesn't fall off his stool, looking up into space somewhere beyond Lilou.

“I mean, human or not, we were all kids. But the parents, y'know, made my friends take care of their pokemon like they had to raise someone of their own. You know—'good boy'; 'don't do that'; changing litter, like the toilet was off limits. So all of them got raised that way, but I got to hang with everybody on the same terms."

He holds back a clear frown like it's something he doesn't want to admit to her face. Then he sighs. He looks back to Lilou and says, “So when did you and Vivi meet up?"

The card hangs over Lilou's face before she's willing to give it up, but she sets it down and taps her way through her next response before swiveling it to Nicolas.

(H)er parents got me from a breeder when she was 13. (I) was a reward for good grades. (S)he thought it was cute that (I) knew how to use the toilet so all she had to do was feed me.

“You ever try talking with her like this, like, with a computer?" Nicolas says.

Lilou's fingers hover again, but she lowers them this time. She just nods.

“And nothing?" Nicolas says.

and like most parents or pet owners thinks 'I am alive' means 'Praise me'

Lilou shrugs.

Nicolas pushes off from his seat, standing up but stepping only toward the refrigerator. He rattles something stiff off from a glass shelf inside and shuts the door, shuffling back to the counter with two juice boxes in hand, motherfucker. Sets one on his side, one on her side, then slides away all the cards in between.

“Think we're coming up with better questions," he says. “One for you, one for me, one for you—fair?"

Rather than nodding, Lilou grins something small and looks back to her screen. She taps two-pawed at a bit of a mashing rate, swiveling the tablet around and taking her juice, motherfucker, right after. Nicolas reads it while poking in the straw to his own drink, smile growing back over his lips.

“I don't use unscented cleaner because I like that lemon scent," he says, sipping. “I like it when it smells productive in here."

Lilou sips next, batting her toes at each other out of sight, paws curling together around the plastic box under her smile. It's a different kind of expression when she doesn't have to worry about disguising how she really feels.

Then Nicolas sets down his drink and pushes up his sleeves, rolling them out of the way just under his elbows before he leans back onto the counter.

“Do you really like me?"

Shaky voice, but square in the eye. He watches and waits for her.

Lilou lowers her drink and nods, just nods profusely, but she has shirks his gaze across the way. She wants to look him in the eye, but—she sets the box down and pushes her fingers back over the keyboard, keeping a dim gaze over it as she taps out a better response.

(I) think that you're great and smart and—

And she knows the next word, but apparently, she's not yet that honest. Her finger waits over the S key, but she just swivels the screen around with as little as she's got.

Nicolas pulls back after reading it. Scratches his neck. Fails to hide how uncomfortable he is at the thought that's still so clear. Lilou can see that much.

“Aight," he says. He breathes in deep, holds it in like he's thinking, lets it out a second later. He averts his gaze, too, brushing his fingers over his smooth cheek and studying the wall. “Hey—can I break the rules, go again?"

Lilou lays her paws back over the frills of her skirt, only watching herself smooth them flatter. Nicolas only keeps quiet while he comes up with his next words.

“You want to go see a movie?"

Their eyes lift toward each others' at the same time.

It's not often Lilou gets to clutch her paw over her heart as Nicolas locks his apartment behind her, as if it's really supposed to help restrain the racing inside her. (Turns out it does not.) She knows what all of this is. She can't pretend different. Her brain won't let her this time. So Nicolas jingles his keys into his pocket, Lilou tucks the tablet tighter under her arm, and they're off.

The autumn sun bears down over them the same as last week without any cloud cover—warm, bright, boding. Maybe. Nicolas pulls his blue sunglasses out from his other pocket and slips them on as they round the corner, but Lilou angles her little computer away from the light and types another message before handing it up to her ddddate oh shut up.

(W)here did you move from?

Nicolas scans the screen, hands it back down, and waves his whole arm with his finger as he points to their left. “Boondocks out east, man. No one's heard of it. Mostly just too far from here for day trips."

He looks as at home in his sweater as back at the apartment. Lilou's used to whatever heat she must bear in the cage of her fur, but Nicolas only pushes his sleeves an inch higher like he don't need no damn t-shirt. He matches Lilou's easy pace easily and shakes his hands around in his pockets, saying, “How old were you when Vivi got you?"

Lilou strums her fingers above the keyboard as she decides whether to tell him never to ask a woman's age. And for all she knows, that breeder lied when he insisted he kept track of dates of birth at all.

But she'd rather keep up as much of an honest streak as she's got, so she types 10 anyway. And that is all.

The next crosswalk they wait at is busy as they close in on downtown, but the strangers standing and waiting with them hardly notice and Lilou hardly notices them as she types out her next question. Handing it to Nicolas without looking up to him, it reads, (T)oo late already to ask if you have a girlfriend…?

The pedestrian signal turns white for walk, but Nicolas hangs back an extra second as he grins. He and Lilou tread behind the crowd, and he says, “Nah, but I got a brother. He's gay. Everybody thought he'd be the one to move up here, live it up, but I got a job offer and he got a rural boy."

Before he rubs his chin and figures out his own question, Lilou takes back the tablet and taps out a quicker message, handing it right back.

(T)ell me about him!

Nicolas looks between Lilou and the screen. His smile curls into a smirk widening every glance between the two. The thoughts under his skin are so clear Lilou can read them through his sunglasses. She's breaking the rules, too.

Leading them past the shops through more of a weekend crowd, Nicolas says, “Well, his name's Aubert. He's the big one. Does sports, gym, shirtless posts twice a day for if anybody forgot he's jacked. He's funny, though. You know those guys who brag about how big they are, but he plays it up. Says he's a 'meatsack,' 'maximum fleshload,' all sorts of shit."

Nicolas grins slick.

“Keeps saying he's just fat in all the right places."

(O)lder or younger?

“Oh, he's my big bro. Always my big bro, so he brags about me instead. Says I'm the smart one, but we about the same there."

Lilou crosses another street beside him and tucks the tablet under her arm again. Nicolas sighs, stares mostly forward as they go.

“Any little guys you got separated from at the breeder?"

Lilou considers how long to put it.

(S)eparated at birth, maybe.

They elbow by busier bodies as the stores get taller, longer, franchised. Nicolas slips his sunglasses over his forehead as shade from the block covers him and Lilou instead.

(W)hy did you take the job here? Just the money?

“Not just the money. Thought it'd be good for me. Expand my worldview, meet people, makes friends from halfway across the world, right? I bought into that experience they sell."

(I)t didn't work that way for you?

“It did for a while, but man… if you ain't live right next to somebody, they just don't care about seeing you. They just here for their jobs, too. You got to keep chasing them to hang, and after a while, it's hard to feel like it's worth it."

They slip inside the cinema and line up at the automated ticket machine. Lilou peers for any signs posted about her ilk, but Nicolas pulls out his wallet already, just fiddling with it. “Which one you want? I'm paying, so you pick."

He points to a line of posters blasted over the far wall. Lilou looks at them next, and, uh—

ON SEPTEMBER 14th, A FATHER WILL RISK EVERYTHING TO SAVE HIS SON!

ALL HER LIFE YSELDA WANTED TO BE A POKEMON MASTER. HERE'S HER CHANCE.

They didn't think their love could last. She didn't think he'd fight so hard to keep it alive.

—without asking for suggestions, she picks one quickly.

Nicolas boops in her choice at the machine, slides his card, collects their tickets. He glances over the text on the paper as they move out from the line and says, “We got twenty minutes 'til they let us in. Let's find us a seat."

He gives Lilou her ticket on their way to a bench, and she reads over it, too, but what she notices is the Children/Pokemon price reduction on hers.

Nicolas takes his seat at the end of some backless metal slats laid out in front of all the posters. Lilou sits beside him, of course, but still at the same height of just a child. Other humans sits at the other side of all these benches, checking their phones or chatting without looking, but more pace around the cinema lobby in bigger laughing groups. Those people keep glancing around when they're not the subject of conversation, and even though Lilou's watching them the same, she doesn't like how long their gazes fall up and down by hers.

At least she's allowed in here, right? But this time she doesn't take the body pillow next to her.

“Who came up with 'Lilou,' anyway?" he says. “Vivi, or somebody else?"

Lilou looks to Nicolas before she taps the tablet on again. She keeps it at an angle he can read from while she types as she says, (I)t's from before (I) remember.

Then with a quick deletion, she says, (C)ould this ever really work??

She peers up longer. Everyone else in the lobby might see her stare, but their eyes aren't whose she needs to see. So as Nicolas looks from the screen to her, and his gaze is slim and bright and full anyway, he says, “You mean talking like this?"

Lilou shakes her head firmly. A littler, real curl reaches back to Nicolas's face.

“Why not?" He stumps his elbows over his knees. Shrugs. “I mean, we both know why not, but—why not?"

Lilou looks back to her screen, reads it over again for herself.

just why can't he be right?

She sets the tablet down over her lap. She leans her head over, clutches her paws one over the other in her lap, touches down upon his sweater. Her fur tangles over him again and her face feels the direct heat under his clothes, but Nicolas doesn't shift this time. His heart's steady. He just lifts an arm around her shoulder, wraps her even warmer.

“Need to tell Vivi, though."

Lilou tugs away from him, eyes wide. Nicolas just gives her a look back.

“Would you really be good with this once a week, if that?" he says. “You good with guessing when we could see each other again?"

good with letting him go because you're scared?

No, but—what if Vivienne stops them? Separates them? What if Nicolas never gets invited over and Vivienne never lets Lilou out of her sight again? What about all the other nevers, the what ifs, the no ways?

Nicolas still rests his hand over her shoulder. No answers to offer. Just that swirl in his eyes.

Lilou looks forward. She leans back against him. Eyes big and messed up under the surface, but she nestles her cheek tight again and keeps her paws in the company of her knees. It's an answer she has no more of.

So the movie begins. Lilou sits to the right of Nicolas. No popcorn or soda between them, but the armrest stays down. Dark enough to slip her paw under his hand, but she doesn't.

“You need to understand this is your last chance. I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where the hell is my son?"

Picture a big-screen view of one cut-up man holding a head-bleeding man by the collar. Floor covered in a broken window, but the frame sticks shoulder to shoulder between two emotional men, one dragged over the glass and sad, the other holding him above and so pissed. Lilou can tell. He's mentioned it once or twice.

“I can't tell you where he is."

“Tell me!"

“I—I can't! You have no idea what they'll do to me…."

Oh, jeez, then a bullet flies through the blasted window and hits one of the men in the head, but it's the bad guy it hits. Now he's dead and we know exactly what they'd do to him.

Lilou slumps an inch lower in the red velvet. This was her answer.

Nicolas keeps the tablet tucked under his sweater, hidden away from prying theater attendant eyes. His legs are tucked up onto his seat, knees hanging in front of his chin and bare feet slipped out from his sandals still on the floor. Face over his fist, elbow on the armrest. He leans farther over, whispers over Lilou, “Reynold? Actual bad guy. Calling it."

Lilou's ears perk, but it's just a numb grin that slips out from her.

“Hoping they fall in love first, though," Nicolas whispers. “Want to see that drama before the dude's got to kill him."

Lilou holds a paw over her mouth to hush herself, but Nicolas whispers, “Just saying, them lonely fathers need some lovin' too. Should ditch the kid—I want to see it head toward their climactic confession."

Lilou's burst of giggles coincides with that one man crashing through another window, diving for his life. No one hears her. No one shushes either of them.

It's a moment.

Laughter or a jingling behind the lock—whichever comes louder, they soon echo through the apartment together as Nicolas clicks open his front door, ducking his knees low through the entry for Lilou clutched giddy over his back. Her fingers meet so easy around his nape. The scent of hair oils and a distant whiff of deodorant kept her distracted half the way home, but by now, they've seeped well and welcome into her eyes-half-closed ambiance.

“Best for last, though, right? I never thought he'd really say that shit," Nicolas laughs, pulling his keys hand back under Lilou as he toes the door shut. “'Whatchu seen today, kid—you're not a boy no more. Yer a mayne.'"

He's been quoting dialogue most of the way home while Lilou's contented herself between the toasty furls of his sweater. Like it's never too hot for her space in them.

Nicolas hitches her back up an inch on their stroll toward the sofa, giggling, “And I was just really hoping I'd be coming up with the best lines, y'know? Outdone at every turn, man. I could not keep up. 'Hey! Drop the gun or I'll drop it for you. In your fuckin' face.'"

Lilou's giggles ran out already, but her smile stays close over Nicolas. He kneels lower again, setting her down gentle and cushy in the middle seat. The tablet resting in the crook between them plops flat in her lap as he lets go, but he turns back just as quick and says, “You good for lunch?"

Lilou pushes the tablet away and nods.

“Okay, um—you just wait there," Nicolas says. He glances toward the kitchen, slides both his hands absently down his cheeks before he wipes them over his pants. He says, “Just… yeah, wait there. I got this."

He pushes his sleeves higher and takes a brisk turn around the bar counter. Lilou shoves around to the back of the sofa and peeks over, watches him go. The warmth in her chest fades quickly even pressed against the sofa. Her fingers find nothing firm to grip anymore over the cushion.

Can it really be this easy?

Can she really be this easy?

She spends a week moping about getting rejected and as soon as he acts nice to her again she's wet at the loins. He hasn't even said he likes her like that.

Does he?

Can he?

Nicolas pulls open a cabinet in the kitchen and draws a pan up from it before moving to the refrigerator. He rustles out a skinny plastic bag from the bottom shelf and a gloopy red jar above it, conking those over the counter before—

“Hey, don't watch," he calls back. “This is a surprise."

Lilou twists back around and slouches until even her ears aren't poking out up top. He said he hasn't had the chance to think about it. Is this him thinking about it?

fucksake just shut up and let him cook for you, you're halfway there

It's not safe to—but Lilou sneaks back into that littlest kind of smile. She bats her paws again, twiddles her thumbs, listens to the metal clanking and plastic unfurling, then takes the remote. She doesn't pay attention to what channel she flips to.

Five minutes in: it's mostly commercials Lilou watches whenever she notices what's on, but little bangings and bubblings and sizzlings come louder than the television anyway. She stretches her legs, twists forward like she's touching her toes, slides onto her side then pushes off from it then slumps over her stomach, kicks her feet back and forth in the air.

Ten minutes: the loud television voice is right. That is actually a damn fine looking potato peeler. Does Nicolas need a potato peeler? Maybe that chopping in the kitchen is actually him peeling potatoes right now.

Twenty: Lilou lies on her back as clanking echoes from the sink. Her eyes drift that way even though they meet only the back of the sofa again. But this time Nicolas shuffles out from the kitchen after the noise is done.

Lilou shoves up onto her butt to look back over the sofa. Nicolas is by the door to his room pulling down his sleeves, looking back to her just a second and saying, “One more minute. Almost ready. Just wait there."

He steps in and closes the door behind him. Lilou sinks back over her plush. One arm now lies over her stomach and the other dangles over the edge. The nervous lips remain.

It's more than a minute when Nicolas opens the door again. Lilou pushes back up only as he walks around the sofa, but now Nicolas sticks his hands in his denim pockets. He's wearing a button down shirt. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow, but a perfect fit. Crisp like gift wrapping.

Then he lifts one hand toward her. “Ready to go to lunch?"

Lilou takes his hand. She slips off from the sofa, touches her toes back to the carpet, follows his lead as he takes the tablet in his other hand for her. They walk side by side to the bar counter. Nicolas gently steadies Lilou as she lifts into her seat, scooting herself centered, before he places the tablet beside her and takes his place on the other side.

Steam escapes in wisps from the lid of the bowl between them. Nicolas lifts the lid off, blows its cloud aside, and reveals a thick red pasta to Lilou and the plate already laid before her.

“Homemade spaghetti. My mom's recipe—mostly," he says. He lifts his free hand to count off. “No onions, no additives, and no alcohol. I made sure. I cooked in some mushrooms that all those health gurus online say won't be any trouble, and the meatballs are tofu, but they're primo, believe me. You could have just the meatballs and be like, 'Yo, I'm set.'"

Lilou sets her paws just on her lap. She glances sheepish between the meal and how satisfied Nicolas looks at his effort in it.

“I mean… whole thing's still good, though," he says. “I taste tested. I'll say it: it's great."

He sets down the lid and takes the ladle, filling Lilou's plate before his own. She takes her fork, takes a bite, and feels the sparkles in her eyes. She gets her anime moment. It's amazing.

Nicolas eats his share the normal way, but grins at her enthusiasm. He says, “I was serious about my good lunch. So now it's finally a nice date, if I may toot my own horn."

Lilou gulps down her next bite. Still holding her fork, she reaches for the tablet.

(I)t's always been nice with you.

She doesn't flinch telling him anymore, but she swivels the screen back to herself after giving Nicolas just a moment to read it. He smiles into her eyes, takes a bite of his spaghetti. Lilou just deletes the message and types some more.

(S)o is this your very first date?

“Oh, yeah," Nicolas says, still chewing on one side. “I wasn't lying. Nobody's invited me on one before, y'know? You got me there."

He swallows. He wiggles his eyebrows. “And am I the first dude you ever 'asked out'?"

Lilou squeaks a grin back with her next bite, nods.

(D)id you ever imagine it going like this?

Nicolas leans back, chews some more, ponders. He says, “You know how when you're a kid, you always just assume that you'll grow up rich? Like, no plan to get there, but you just assume it'll happen because you want it to. Well, I—me and lots of young guys, I guess—I always assumed a lot about dating. About girls."

He sighs.

“You know. Hot wife that just comes along naturally, not having to put in effort for her. And me in particular, I just assumed… I'd be better enough for her, eventually."

Lilou chews quietly, listens instead. Nicolas raises his brow and taps the bowl of spaghetti, saying, “Point being, I did eventually start working toward my goals. So… yeah."

His dimples shine through again.

“Eventually, I did imagine something like this."

(B)ut, um… did it ever cross your mind when we were hanging out at (V)ivienne's watching tv? (Y)ou never talk to anyone else when you're there.

“Well, besides my imagination, after long enough of it not happening, it stopped crossing my mind that someone would really get to like me. And those folks ain't my neighbors; them and me'll never see each other again," Nicolas says. “And, I mean… is it so bad to admit I like sitting next to the prettiest girl no one else talks to?"

Lilou appreciates her fur as quickly as ever as her cheeks burn underneath. The expression leaks through anyway, she knows. She doesn't mind.

(M)aybe it's not bad, (I)'d like to think, too, but… (I) know it's weird.

“It's supposed to be," Nicolas says. He takes another bite, then shrugs. “But turns out, it's not."

Lilou tugs her feet closer. She taps out another message, then swivels the tablet around.

(T)hanks.

Nicolas chuckles at that. He swivels himself away, gets up, and strolls to the cabinet, pulling down two glasses. He turns back and says, “So what are we going to do after this?"

Before Lilou can offer her reaction, he waves one full hand at her and says lower, “I mean—Vivi. Tonight, when she gets back. What we doing?"

Lilou pauses her reply, just takes another bite. She sets down her fork as the words come to her.

(I) want to be honest with her.

She doesn't turn the screen around yet. The rest still comes difficult. Nicolas fills their glasses with water and ice, clinking in two cubes for each, and as he sits back down across from her, she frowns for the rest of her typing.

(B)ut (I) don't want us to pretend we know it will go perfectly.

“You sure?" Nicolas says, peering over her words. “I know what I said earlier, but worst case, we don't see each other again."

(I) know. (I)'m sure, Lilou writes. (S)o, knowing that, if it's okay with you… (I) want us to go as far as we can tonight.

She doesn't turn the screen around for that. She doesn't even look up. But she can see Nicolas still leaning over the counter, reading her anyway.

Then he leans back off.

He looks away.

“I don't know if you'd like that," he says. “I just don't know if it's a good idea."

Lilou's shoulders hang. Her fingers ache to tap out an apology, an excuse, but—

“I'm small," Nicolas mutters. “Might be funny to hear out loud, a dude talking about his dick like that, but… it's not below average. It's small."

He doesn't look back.

“Maybe not a great way to end a nice date."

Lilou lifts her gaze back to where he hides his. She watches him for the seconds he stews over his admission. The frown he doesn't want her to see, either. Then her fingers make it to the tablet again, tap quieter, and she pushes it over for him to read. It takes him another moment to bring himself back to the screen.

(S)o am (I).

Lilou looks him in the eye. Hers, soft. His, deep.

“I'm serious," he mumbles. “I mean, trust me, I'm not objecting to—y'know… you."

Lilou leans slow and gentle for the tablet. She pushes it away from both of them. Nicolas looks from it to her, up and down.

That spaghetti is leftovers already.

Nicolas bridal carries Lilou to his room. She dangles just so over his arms, but his grip feels sure around her. He's not so small as he thinks when she's wrapped so close to him. She feels… well, she clings to him, but 'safe' is so melodramatic.

And Nicolas pauses at the threshold and mutters, “Shit. Shit... I'll clean this up."

The bedroom is so much fuller than the rest of his apartment. It's messy. Books, clothes, magazines strewn out of the way wherever they've found room to lodge. More shirts hang on the edge of the laundry hamper than inside it, and the air in here is heavy. This room smells lived in. Like deodorant rubbed off onto the sheets, night sweats aired out the morning after; like a medley of scents too quiet for humans, but weighing Lilou down from the inside, all for her.

Nicolas lowers one arm first and helps her sit over the edge of his bed before he grabs for the embarrassment he sees in his mess. Lilou crosses her ankles, sits patiently, watches him bend as he scoops up his clothes, and even now, here, looks away.

His rumpled sweater from earlier lies next to her on the corner of the bed. She slips a paw underneath it and brings it to her chest. It's still warm. She unfolds the top, sniffs the collar.

“Oh, come on."

Nicolas stands by the hamper with his armful of articles. He dumps them in, folds his arms under an easier grin again. Lilou lowers his sweater, but there's a silly whine to Nicolas's voice as he chuckles, “Can't be that bad already."

He sits down beside her and the mattress creases lower under his weight. He takes their last distraction, balls it up and tosses it gentler than the rest, and turns his gaze to Lilou's. She has to stare up to reach his, but she can't break from it anymore. Her reflection is awash in his eyes. There's still the warmth behind his smile, but she sees the heat rising in his cheeks, too, and she wants to feel that.

“Hey," he whispers. His voice nudges closer. “Can I start this time?"

Lilou holds steady. She curls her fingers over the blanket, holds onto the world, and tries not to blink. Not until Nicolas draws toward her. Not until his hand brushes around her nape, caresses between the fibers, strokes her with cool skin—and as her head rests in his hand, she closes her eyes, and she tastes his lips meeting hers again.

It's not magical—it's real.

And it's smooth. His lips are moist, teasing. He nuzzles over her mouth and plays against it, breathes slow and heavy past her cheek. Lilou lets him press his lead, lets her mouth curve around his until they're kissing closer, daring each other for a better taste. There's the barest spice to his touch, and Lilou wants it. She opens for him, he opens to her, and the taste inside each other is—

They pull away. They look away. Lilou purses her lips, rolls them one over the other, and Nicolas draws his hand back to his mouth. They sit quiet for a moment. Nicolas takes a deep breath before he looks back to her.

“I got an extra toothbrush, if you want."

Lilou sits on the bathroom counter next to where Nicolas leans as they both swab pasta sauce and tofu out from their cheeks. Nicolas keeps his other hand in his pocket, trying to keep cool, and Lilou just kicks her feet back and forth. They scrub up and down and let the foam build. Nicolas spits first.

“It was good, though."

He glances back to Lilou in between filling a glass for rinsing. He nods. She looks to him. She nods.

Then they rinse, and he carries her to bed in his arms again.

They're already staring into each other's eyes this time. Nicolas sits down with Lilou in his lap. She steadies a paw on his chest and guides herself higher, and his hand slides naturally back up to her jaw. She waits perched for him, and without having to ask, he dips into their embrace again.

Minty. It's sharp. It is good. Their mouths bob against each other, mutual breaths punctuating the motion, but their lips open sweeter now. Nothing too fast, nothing hard. Just soft. There's a natural rhythm they play to, easing into each other, giving turns. Nicolas nibbles Lilou's bottom lip and she quivers aloud—she tugs away, he pulls back, and they watch each other a moment. In the next, she's the one drawing their nervous lips together again.

This is worth practicing.

Nicolas reaches his fingers all over Lilou's cheeks. He thumbs over her tufts, entwines himself in her fur, coaxes her breaths faster. He likes it. Lilou clings lower on his shirt, brushes her paws over his chest, presses as close as she can to the heat radiating from his—

“Shit, woah."

Nicolas jerks away, rubbing a protective hand over his nipple. He mutters with a grin, “Not my thing."

Lilou frowns at herself as she retracts her paws from him, pulls them to her stomach. Nicolas brings his hand around them anyway. In something like a whisper, like the note before sultry, he says, “What about you?"

Lilou's frown persists. To the direction of his fingers, one paw accepts his hand over her chest. She sighs deep before any new sensations have the chance to take her, but her paw keeps over his wrist like she can guide him to them.

First it's his thumb. He brushes apart the fur, glides a soft patch clear for the skin underneath, and rubs as careful as he dares. Lilou clutches her fingers around him, trembles, then contains a tiny grunt. Then Nicolas directs another finger around her. He circles his touch around what's now erect, nurses it grown, and pinches slow, slow until the grunt escapes into a gasp.

Then Nicolas giggles. It's not a chuckle. He giggles.

“Kind of thought these would be lower down."

Lilou scowls through puffy cheeks and shoves his hand away. Nicolas raises both his hands palms-up, surrenders, giggles again through those clear dimples.

“Hey, I'm concentrating. Give me another chance."

Lilou looks him in the eye again. He's brighter than ever in them. They're glowing. So she looks away with a huff, takes him by the wrist, and puts his hand back in place.

“Okay," he whispers. “I'll do better."

Nicolas presses deeper, then releases. He brings her nipple back to attention, rubs it to her highest point, takes ahold, and rolls it sharp and slow between his fingers.

Lilou fidgets in his lap. The growing beat in her lungs and rising blush in her face twists her toes into knots. And when Nicolas joins his other hand to her chest, massages her fully, wraps his warmth around her body and applies it, the knots reach her throat and the only breaths she knows are a single, constant squeak.

So little pressure upon her, so gentle, and yet he's kindling the pit of her stomach alight. She never realized this was good.

“You like it?"

Lilou nods quickly just to get it out of the way, just to give her panting more space. She lets go of his wrist and presses over his shirt again with both her paws, not searching, but holding herself in one piece however she can. It's as if pain should be echoing down her spine, but it's not—all the shivers tell her No, it's not. They tell her Just keep going.

Nicolas leans closer above her, and Lilou takes the cue. She takes his kiss again. Their lips cling and moisten and cup to each other, close in for every last nibble and peck before they deepen. Nicolas's tongue contests her gasps, and Lilou's surrounders them to him. Then he yanks too hard—she shakes in his grasp, and he eases back. He rubs gentle, tugs firmer for the little shudders, and brings her closer yet.

Lilou pulls away again with a gasp. The breath she takes is hot, sweetened in his. She pushes away his hands and tugs her paws instead to the stretch of his jeans squeezed firmer than the rest. She rubs it and feels it move, feels it squirm within her fingers.

It's alive in there. It's stiff. She nearly just wants to… touch it, just touch it for a long time. She did this. God. He's ready to fuck her.

But Nicolas pulls her fingers away, squirms out of a frown instead. He says, “Not yet. Here—"

He bends his knee up over the bed and makes a path out of his lap. With one hand he strokes Lilou's hip, but with the other he points to his pillows.

“Lie on your back. I'ma take care of you."

Paw over her heart, Lilou shifts slowly off from Nicolas. She leans into the sheets on her paws and knees, turns away from him, and gulps down a lump in her throat with the same conscious effort she puts into swaying her butt high and wide as she crawls. She's wet. She feels it when her thighs brush forward. She just hopes the sexy can be seen over the anxious.

Once she flips over and lays her head over the pillows, Nicolas follows. He presses his knees onto the bed and squeaks it quietly under his full weight now—hands slide all the closer to her toes, but he reaches past them. He—

Lilou waves her paws to stop him.

“Bya!"

She curls her fingers around the hem of her torso and motions them up as if lifting. Nicolas looks down to his shirt.

“Right," he says. He straightens up a moment and takes hold of his collar, tugging it past his—

Well, no. He tugs it up under his chin and pauses as the slim-fit buttondown slips past nothing.

“I don't know why I tried that," he chuckles, fiddling his top buttons open after all. “That isn't how it actually works. That is not how it ever works."

Lilou grins, too, almost giggles, but only for the moment anything occurs to her other than how wide apart she's holding her legs in front of him. She just needs to keep breathing.

Now Nicolas pulls his shirt off. He slides it over his head and his chest comes all at once, skin glowing bright and brown and obscene all together as he hangs almost naked over Lilou. He's not small. He is not small. She's spread in front of him and he's a human monolith over her. His knees over the bed are pressing his jeans taut and the bulge inside them is so ready.

His shirt comes off his arms next and he tosses it aside. His hands make their way back around her toes. He leans in between her legs and steadies his face in front of her pulsing puffy pppprivates, god, she can barely register what he's smiling at.

“Damn," he whispers. “It's a good angle from here."

Lilou clutches her paws tight over her heart as it beats her lungs alive. Her fingers itch to smooth her skirt down, to make sure she looks appropriate, to hide how embarrassing it is to be this excited, but—bad time. Bad time for it. She knows that. She just—

Oh, she shivers. He's licking her. She barely wants to look, but—it's his tongue. God, his tongue is pressing her apart. He's lapping up and down just outside and testing himself inside her in between the swipes. He's eating her out and he's taking his time.

He gets comfortable around her legs and slides his arms under them, takes a soft grip over her hips like he wants to angle her into him. He gets a taste, and oh, she feels that. Pressing her head back, sighing in between the hisses, Lilou feels the little smells underneath her seeping into her just the same. Without Nicolas's face against hers, it's his scent from the bed filling her now. He's all around her. She takes him in every time she breathes.

And when she looks down, Nicolas is staring back into her eyes. His glow's reached the ocean inside again, lighting his green up like waves around the black and brown.

“You like it?"

He strokes the fur under her skirt. Lilou curls her toes over his shoulders. She leans a timid paw just in front of him and pats above her vagina.

Nicolas narrows his focus as she pulls away. He pushes closer.

“Gotcha."

Lilou gasps as he first swipes at her entrance again, then licks farther inside than before. He contorts. She's never heard of anyone whose tongue is so thick inside another person. He wriggles deep before he pulls out again. Then he angles higher over her and slides his tongue—

NUH

He licks it firm and slick over her clitoris and Lilou arches through her squeaks. Nicolas cups her between his tongue and his lips, sucks her taut, teases her up and down like he wants her. Every drop on his tongue is liquid static lighting up her spine and she's not vulnerable she's sensitive, never this sensitive before, never this wanted and wet and loud.

“Nyu, buh—nyah!"

And he dances to her every syllable. Electricity. Lilou never believed it was real like this. She didn't know. She's soaked, and he laps it up. He burrows his taste deep again then licks soft, nibbles, grips her tight in his hands and dips her closer into her reach, licks, glides, wraps her up and breathes slow hot breaths tickling down her hair and swells her body higher with every soft breath and given gifted lick so careful and sensitive, god, and again.

She wants him inside her already. She barely feels her fingers curling around his hair, wrapping around the firm braids and soft kinks, desperate to pull him close or keep him still or she doesn't know, just right now she just needs him to keep going please—please—please!

And in the moment she would plead, release, scream—all the air in her lungs hitches. She gasps silent. Her throat rasps the quietest moans in a succession outside of her control. The lights in her eyes spin and she holds them in awe, clear, wide open.

She came.

To one last shudder, Nicolas peels off from her. Fingers stroke her gently on his way back up to his knees as he leans her poor trembling toes over the bed again, pulls up, wipes his mouth. Her spitshine glimmers down his wrist.

Lilou's gaze rolls with him as he eases down into the pillow beside her. Her paw brushes without intention across his chest as he settles in reach, drifting, dreamy. He's hot.

“You may be in wonder of my natural skill," Nicolas mutters, grinning easy again, “but I've got to be fair. Countless hours of research, years of study have gone into my complete devouring of your pussy just now."

Flushing overtakes her, but Lilou giggles soft through clutching at him. She should be so embarrassed, right? It's like his wordless minutes before have taught her some way not to be.

“You know what?"

Nicolas stares into Lilou's eyes like he's still touching her.

“You sound really pretty, too."

Her fingers curl back, but she can't look away. She tugs her breath quiet.

“Nyu?"

He strokes her cheek.

“Yeah."

They kiss smaller. Lighter. Slower. Nicolas holds her and Lilou gives back to him. Slow. Warm. They have the time.

(But she tastes kind of bitter? Not sweet. Disappointing.)

Her lips are busy, but her paw stretches lower again, slips over his crotch. The motion of her tongue under his teeth play to what her fingers want most. He's so hard. She can feel him hot already inside his jeans. She fumbles around the hem, zzzzips him open like a melody to her loins, and feels his drawers press out firm and free over her knuckles. Nicolas doesn't stop her. She slips underneath the elastic, feels a warm ooze rub down her thumb, and tugs him free.

There it is.

Not the Cock, but Nicolas's. Dripping, pulsing, ready to plow. Happy to see her. It's not so utterly pornographic as others she's seen—it's better. It's his.

Their kiss breaks fully as Nicolas hisses in a grunt. Lilou leaves him to that. She finds her energy returned to her as she clambers down the bed, crawls past his dick and instead to his ankles, grabs his pants, and tugs him naked. She tosses his jeans and then she finds her place back in front of his dong, motherfucker.

But as only her fingers curl around the tip—hot, wet, oh god twitching—Nicolas says, “Uh, you don't have to. You… probably shouldn't. Don't know how long I'll last."

He pulls out of her grip and sits up over the pillows, angling himself comfortable. Thighs twisting, abs flexing. Lilou still pouts mad.

“I never go in one burst, you know?" he says. “I edge myself. I don't have an accurate track of how long start to finish takes. Might not, uh… might not be high up."

His cock prods the air no matter his trepidation. He doesn't even glance at it, but Lilou's got that covered for them both. Nicolas looks at just her.

“So… still want to go for it?"

He's a lovely man with stupid fucking questions sometimes.

Lilou edges up past his knees. He spreads his lap flat for her and she nudges her hips warm and mussed into his care, straddles him. His length presses tight against her. That nervous little grin she couldn't hold back slips away so easily now, shifts to her other lips. It's good, it's great, but… it's real, too.

Is it okay to still be scared after this entire preamble?

No little voice tells her to just do it. It's quiet in her head. It's just her and Nicolas here.

“Oh, shit, hang on…."

Nicolas leaves one hand by her side as he leans over to the bedside table and grabs some plastic out from the drawer. Nimble fingers pull a little tear across the package and he slips out its latex, fiddles it down. He mutters, “It's not new, but it should work. You ain't got to ask."

Lilou paws his shoulders as she watches him unfurl the condom. She could object, mewl for how there's no decent risk posed without it, but—whether or not he knows, he cares that much.

She just smiles slim again. Breathes, breathes….

Even that condom is tight around him.

Nicolas wraps his hands around her waist, rubs soft up and down the fibers. He smiles, too, but his dimples aren't there for it. It's an expression in just his eyes.

He whispers, “All yours."

Lilou breathes. She clings. She steadies her paws and digs her feet against the sheets, lifting, pushing up top—and she hovers. The latex tugs at her drips, but the heat underneath radiates into her. She breathes.

She slides down. She winces even without any pain as she spreads wider, clenches her fingers and grips his skin. She sinks crooked around his tip, opens deeper, slicks down his shaft, and finally—she's sitting on him.

It's inside. They're connected.

It doesn't hurt, but… it's filled her. She's full with him.

It doesn't hurt, but Lilou feels a bubbling behind her eyes. It's dumb, and now she's tearing up, and she knows it's dumb, but the realization hits her all at once. Despite all her bluster, her anxiety, her dreams that were just dreams—

They're having sex. They've been having sex. And it's because Nicolas likes her. It's not complicated.

She never really knew that could happen to her.

Nicolas collects his breath, too, and thumbs her cheek as he mutters higher, “Hey, what's wrong? You okay?"

Lilou nods. She sniffs back the runs, nods tiny. She slides her paws down his chest, clutches him like he holds her, and—and she rides him.

Her toes spread over the sheets and push her back up, knees shaking through the stretch, her whole body balanced haphazard over Nicolas. The near exit of him leaves her suddenly colder. She doesn't plunge, but lowers herself gingerly back on top and still gasps at the burning in his flesh as it squirms her folds silly.

'Hot' means nothing anymore. The right word for his temperature hasn't been concocted.

Lilou hisses through her next ascent, knuckles creasing around Nicolas's skin. He squeezes her hips the same, grunting low like he wants to sound tough, but the tip of his every vowel wavy and hazy like he really just doesn't know what direction to moan. And when Lilou drops tight back around him, squeaks for the both of them, he's the one to clutch harder into her fur, squeeze the curves hiding underneath.

“Ffffuck…" he breathes. It's a sound right in her ears, a shaky breath through her tufts, a spinning in her head. “That's too good…."

Her bits are still sensitive, but she doesn't want him to quit tugging on her like this. She's on the edge between too much and not enough. Every dip rubbing her up and down lights her up, begs her wetter. It's good. He's pulsing and thudding inside her and he's good.

Lilou gasps clear and open, but she squirms weaker every climb and fall. Her legs are already sapped, and her muscles plead for more time to rest, but all the rest of her just cries for more more more. Her tongue rattles incoherent nyuhs and byahs mixed up over the obscene slicking and plap, plap, plap below, but none of it quite offers any strength to her trembling knees.

And Nicolas worried about his stamina….

Lilou gasps, slides to his base, and stays. She slides away her paws and donks her forehead over his chest, hers beating just the same. She lets her swelling and his pulsing work their shivers into her by themselves. She still needs that exercise. Sex is hard.

Nicolas gives her a moment, but rubs his hands taut down her legs. He grips just over her thighs and swallows back his panting. He says, “Can you take a little faster?"

Lilou tilts her neck and squishes her cheek over his chest, bobbing with his lungs. Through the gasps, she nods.

He takes a firm hold of her butt, wraps his palms tight around her flesh, and with that first gasp of rubbing nearly back outside her, that catch in her throat—with that surge of lightning shocking her veins again—she feels the full brunt of 'a little faster.'

And it is a good brunt.

And she gets loud.

Lilou grabs around his chest and holds on, digs in the way he digs her out. The sound of their connection melts to wet, hard smacks, Nicolas's guttural panting and Lilou's nuh-! nuh-! nuh-! kyuh-! the chorus. It rings in her ears. His minty gasps rolls down her neck harsher on her spine, hotter, mix with his sweat dripping past her snout like a puddle in her brain every breath of them she takes. And he fucks her. And he fucks her. And he pounds her. And she just holds on, and he just keeps going, and the edge between too much and not enough blurs to only not enough not enough so close take him in finish now so close.

Nicolas gasps in broken syllables of what he holds back from moaning. He leans into Lilou's grasp, shoves her straighter even as he lifts and plows, slides a thick sweaty hand up to her shoulders and keeps her firm against him. He engulfs her within his whole body, holds her close over his pumping heart, and with one last mutter right in her ear, slaps her flat back into his crotch.

“Coming, coming—cuh—!"

Lilou holds tight, holds her eyes open for the feeling. Nicolas twitches and pulses wide inside her, gasps in tatters down her fur, wrestles his other hand up the small of her back and takes her in his hardest, gentlest hug while he—while he finishes inside her. In the condom, but… inside her. She feels the bumps of every last spurt between their flesh. She hardly blinks.

He came because of her.

She never expected… she never thought there would be a kind of indecent pride, a happiness more warm than moist at the end.

But Nicolas parts them after a moment more of their cuddle, pulls Lilou away from all their sweat beaded together. His fingers brush her nape and she nuzzles back into them, lets him hold her like that. They see each other again. His eyes are a mess, like oil on water, but… every muddy spiral clears as he looks into hers.

It barely feels like a kiss anymore when their lips meet. It's just the natural order.

And while they sit together, over each other, Nicolas pulls his other hand back in front of Lilou, finds the button on her still expecting more. He offers it. Probes it again, oh, god—Lilou squirms in his grasp, tugs her hips back, but it's the right way. Nicolas holds her loose enough to get away and yet she finds his jaw to cling to, his tongue to whisper on her teeth that this is all hers. Here it is. Right here. Right there. She so very nearly now—

Comes.

A numbing throb echoes dull and sharp at the same time all around her, but it feels like relief. Nicolas peels away in the same breath as hers. The hot skin of his cheek leans gently over the quivering of her tuft. He still holds her in the shivers, lets them both stay like this.

Because if they're honest, this is never going to happen again. This is the world of pokemon. In this world—get real.

“You good?"

Nicolas strokes the curve above her thigh. Lilou feels the warmth fading slow inside her now, but she just nods.

Nicolas mutters, “I'm not."

He sighs.

“Man, I don't want you to be honest with her anymore."

Nicolas keeps stroking slow and gentle, but Lilou parts from his cheek. She looks him in the eye quieter. She's not good with guessing when they'll see each other again. She needs to know.

Nicolas grins weak at her frown. He holds her steady and rolls them both over into a ripple through the sheets, bouncing the pillows behind them. She squeaks at the jolt and he still holds her close, pecks her on the face. Then, in quieter breaths, they just cuddle.

Eventually, it turns dark. The cuddles and kisses fade into whatever else. The little skyline Lilou and Nicolas get through the windows fades to lit panes across the city and stars twinkling smaller.

And the doorbell rings.

“Hey, Nicolas! Thanks again for watching Lilou—well, again today. Was she good?"

Nicolas holds the door open for Vivienne in the same sweater and sweatpants as that morning, but his scent in them is drier now. His sleeves are rolled down again. And Vivienne, of course—

“Oh, there she is! Hey, sweetie! Did you have a good time with Nicolas today? Oh, what's that you've got there?"

—remains as pictured.

Lilou patters without a smile up by Nicolas, computer tablet tucked under her arm. Nicolas glances between her and Vivienne and says, “Yeah, she's taking that tonight. It's cool."

“Well, isn't that nice of Nicolas?" Vivienne says, leaning down to her knees. “Oh, we can have some girl talk with that if you don't just want to play games on it. Hold it careful, okay? You don't want to drop it."

Lilou bears not with the tone. Her frown persists, but Vivienne is long since oblivious to it. No, Vivienne just pushes back up.

“Thanks for letting her borrow that. Don't worry, she'll return it in the morning."

“It's cool," Nicolas says again, hands in his pockets. One comes right back up in a smaller wave than usually accompanies his grin. “See you later."

Lilou's already in the stairwell as Vivienne grabs the doorknob behind them. There's one more glance offered through the crack of full light in the door before Vivienne shuts it.

“Yeah! Have a good night, Nicolas."

It's with another jingle a minute later that Vivienne tosses her keys on the counter, stretches high, grunts out the kinks in her back. Lilou doesn't stop on her way to the sofa for Vivienne's little rest.

“God, what a long day. Mmmf—yeah. So good to be home. Got a lot done, but god… I just can't do this every weekend. Not happening."

Shoes go off and hair comes down before Vivienne trudges forward toes-free, switches the lamp on, then sinks and splays over the sofa back first with the good kind of sigh. It's one of her few moments of not worrying about appearance while she sags into the cushions, groans small, kind of forgets Lilou's even there for a second or two of her own me time.

Then she glances over and her voice perks back to a nasally high. “I bet you had a fun day again. You're lucky we have Nicolas as a neighbor, huh?"

Lilou hardly falters. She's already laid the tablet between them and there's no wait in her fingers as she taps out her words.

(I) like him.

Vivienne leans over and twists her head, just smiles the same as she does. She says, “I like him, too. There aren't many kinds of people like that anymore, right? He's nice."

Lilou can't falter now.

I (really) like him.

But as Vivienne reads and realizes, her smile only turns to the kind of grin with a squeak and a ruffle between Lilou's ears. “Awww. Well, I can see why you would."

Lilou frowns. (Y)ou don't care?

“Of course I care, Lilou," Vivienne says. She leans forward, tucks her hands together over her knees. “It's really sweet, but—you still shouldn't get your hopes up."

Like a mother explaining how the birds and the bees don't actually fuck. Braviarys and Beedrills. However she'd frame it.

(S)o if you had a relationship with (N)icolas, it would be fine, but if (I) did, he's suddenly messed up in the head?

“That's not what I'm saying. Nicolas is very sweet. It's just—"

Vivienne tugs her knees closer, gets into the serious talk position. Raises her hands around each other like she's trying to wriggle an idea out of physical air, makes that frown like she knows what she's about to say will so disappoint her poor sweetie.

“—that's not how people and pokemon work."

The words come clearer the faster Lilou types. (I)'m just too stupid for it?

“Lilou, no, of course that's not what I'm saying," Vivienne says. “It just—it just doesn't work that way."

(W)hy?

Vivienne sucks in her lips, sighs like she knows she can't say the right thing. “I didn't decide it. That's just the world we live in."

(B)ecause it grosses you out? (B)ecause (I)'ll always just be your child figure? (W)hy is it so bad if someone likes me back?

Vivienne leans closer and says not so high now, “Wait. Did Nicolas do something? What did he say to you?"

Without even meaning to, Lilou smirks. It's a little thing she knows Vivienne can see before she types any further.

(A)ll he did was not talk to me like (I)'m an idiot while calling me 'so smart.'

“Lilou, you are smart."

There it is. That tone. It's the first time Vivienne's ever spoken down to her like a teenager instead of an infant. It's almost a step up. But then, once again:

“Of course you're smart. You can read and write; you can use the computer. You're incredible."

It's an old sentiment, but Lilou feels a harsh flushing in her cheeks without embarrassment. Just anger.

(S)o am (I) your stunted 20 year old kid, or your smart pet?

“Lilou, you're my friend."

Vivienne looks her right in the eye. Shoulders hunched because she's still so much taller, hair messy over one of them, and she still hasn't noticed to throw it back. She pulls her knee up onto the cushion ahead of her, faces Lilou straight.

“I know the world isn't fair to you, and you're not always happy in it, but I try to do my best for you. You want the lock off the refrigerator? We'll take it off. I trust you. I never should have put it on. It was a stupid idea and—I'm sorry, okay? Sometimes—I just go into autopilot with you like you don't deserve, I know, but I'm trying."

Lilou could swear there's a cricket just out the window. Vivienne stomachs a smile again, kind of croaks, “Have you thought about where you want to go tomorrow? Anywhere's fine."

Lilou just stares back at her, kind of studies her expression, and hesitates this time. She already knows what to say, but as she looks back to the keyboard, her fingers hover a moment more over it. Then she just says it.

(I) like spending time with (N)icolas more than you.

Then there's a spark in Vivienne's eyes that just went out.

(H)e doesn't have to spend the whole day trying.

The room shrinks. These glowing yellow lights don't feel warm anymore. Vivienne slumps without moving at all.

“Do you hate me?"

It's a cracked sound out her throat. Not even Lilou's other thoughts like that voice.

(N)o. (B)ut you're not all (I) need, Lilou says. (A)nd (I) really like him.

Vivienne doesn't cry. She never has. But she mutters barely louder than the hum of the lamp, “What about me? You're all I've got, too."

She pulls her hands into her lap.

“No one really cares at work, either. They're too busy. I'm too busy. And no one else ever comes over because they feel like it. They come because I invite them, because… I'm trying. I'm trying, but it's hard."

Lilou pulls back, paws at her skirt, brushes the tufts low before her fingers look for the keyboard again. Without any smirk, she says, (G)et a boyfriend. (T)hat's what (I)'m trying to do.

Vivienne looks from the screen to the cushions, hair falling further around her face before she looks back up. “I'm not just saying things, Lilou. I really don't want you to get hurt. The world isn't fair, and people don't..."

She just looks away again.

She is trying.

Lilou taps out slower, (M)aybe he won't love me or anything, but (I) should get to know how (N)icolas feels about me. Not the world.

It's not even a lie. There's still plenty of room for things to go south if Lilou gets the chance to find out. She already knows, even though it's all that's written over Vivienne's face.

So Lilou says, (A)nd (I) want to go to the theater tomorrow.

Vivienne doesn't quite smile again, but she reads the screen for longer than she needs.

(T)here's a movie (I) read about (I) really want to see.

Lilou straightens up, gives Vivienne a moment more to read, then pulls the tablet away from in between them. Vivienne slides her hands up her arms and hugs her elbows, no smile, but no wavering in the pale green of her eyes anymore.

“Okay," she mutters. “You want to talk more about this later?"

Lilou nods. Vivienne opens her arms back up. They haven't hugged in… a long time, at least. It hardly makes for a proper peace offering now.

But it's still a moment.

Wake up next Saturday morning feeling like oh, Lilou's already up. Faucet running in the bathroom, teeth foaming under that brush, and what can only be called a hearty good morning wave from her as Vivienne trundles in with a complete personal failing of the same pep.

After some very particular grooming for Lilou this morning, Vivienne's the one to ring the doorbell one apartment over. Her phone's in her purse and Lilou's skirt is still just fluffy enough.

A steady gait echoes closer from inside before Nicolas opens the door to them. Other hand in his pocket, smiling before he even sees who it is. Shall Lilou study his hairstyle again? His shirt, his posture, his eyes—or just glance at his smile and pretend she's not ready to jump into his arms right now?

“Yo," he says. “Come on in."

Vivienne keeps outside even as Lilou patters past the threshold. She shores up her purse over her shoulder, smiles almost as wide as she does, and just says, “You two have fun today, okay? I've got some errands to run, so I won't be home for a while, but—just call me if you need anything."

“Gotcha," Nicolas says. “Stay cool out there, Vivi."

“Right," she says. And with a glance back to Lilou, a quicker stare at Nicolas, she leans in and mutters, “Don't do anything weird."

Nicolas glances down the same, then says, “Oh, we good. I don't do weird."

Lilou thus far restrains her very genuine kind of smile while Vivienne's still at the door. But with one more glance around, Vivienne actually turns and steps away, waving before she's off, saying, “Okay, bye! Be good, Lilou."

Lilou catches a warning in her eye this time. At this stage, you see, Vivienne may not totally know yet. Maybe—that is, perhaps not all has still yet been revealed between them.

But it's a start.

And as Nicolas offers back a wave and clicks the door shut, Lilou starts by waiting so patiently at his knees for him to come down and scoop her up in the intimate style, holding her high to straddle him. No smooching yet. No fondling. Just looking.

“I have questions," Nicolas says, walking them only to the living room. “I came up with some. Firstly, uh—exactly how much cuddling would you be comfortable with before we fuck each other stupid?"

Lilou hums. She leaves one paw braced down his chest, then seesaws the other.

Nicolas nods. “Aight, cool. Secondly—you in for a Pokken rematch?"

Lilou still grins slim, only trying to hold back the natural rest.

“I been practicing one-handed," Nicolas says. “And my other hand will be making unfair distractions. That's a promise."

He leans down slow into his spot on the sofa, then eases Lilou out from his lap to beside him. Lilou settles into her puffy seat nicely, then looks square at Nicolas, smiles just fine, and cracks her knuckles. (Not actually. God, she's never been able to make that sound with them.)

Nicolas gets the controllers, gets their match prepped. It'll be a long day—they have the time for playing around. So in every sense, again and again, Lilou comes and gets some.

The End