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The blade seemed to balance Dazo’s hand, its thick sheet of metal growing naturally from the thick finger he pressed against its spine.

Dazo hefted the flank of beef, holding it upright on his shiny table, and brought the blade between its ribs. As he carved downward, his fingers traced the curve of dense fat that crested above the meat. His touch was soft. He lingered just long enough to give some of his warmth to the cold fat, until it began to melt and left his fingertips coated in smooth shininess.

He huffed as he brought the knife down the rest of the way, carefully cutting the flesh in half. The shadow of his thick, hefty body covered the meat, short horns rising above to cast on the far wall. Dazo’s tail flicked behind him, not quite able to swing freely due to an old break that hadn’t healed right.

The bull rubbed the meat, pressing his thumb harder into the protective fat to feel the muscle beneath. He shut his eyes.

“How does that feel?” Dazo murmured, clearing his throat although he knew the scratchiness in his voice wasn’t so easily dispelled. “Such tense shoulders on you.”

His fiancé had always seemed to prefer carrying stress, despite all efforts to free him of it. “Such a stubborn bull.” Dazo squeezed the meat with his fingers, digging in like he used to when they slept together.

He was always so impatient. Never enough time to let Dazo show him how good he could make him feel.

It wasn’t until Dazo’s erection pressed sorely against his tight apron that he opened his eyes. With a sigh, he took up the knife again, and proceeded to expertly break down the shoulder, the flank, turning it all into clean cuts of meat, red and pink and white.

Yet no matter with how much care he wrapped them for the fridge, no matter how he held the flesh or worked it with his hands, it simply didn’t respond. And once he’d left it to keep cool for the night and shut the fridge behind him, he was as alone as he’d been a few minutes ago.

The empty metal table drew his eye.

He brought his right hand up, the one most smeared with bits of warmed fat above a few stiff and jagged scars. They were pale, almost gray, in full contrast to his brown fur and its russet highlights.

As the light caught his fingers, it shone in the fat.

Dazo opened his mouth, sticking all four fingers into his bovine snout and suckling on them. The fat was slick on his tongue, pleasant in texture, but of course he was a bull—the taste of tallow did less than nothing for him, sending a cruel twinge of disgust across his spine.

“Well… better close the…” As his voice rang out in the emptiness, he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Out the butcher shop door was just a cold walk to a dark apartment. At least here, he had some reason to be.

Slowly, he undressed.

First untying his apron to free his muscle-packed gut, then slipping each button of his shirt through its hole. He glanced down at his chest, his arms, his flanks. His own muscle was too tough to be worth much, as a bull who worked with his hands. But he could feel a bit of fat covering him as he pressed with his fingers. What he’d give for a pair of eyes to prey upon his body, to make some use of that bovine masculinity.

Dropping his jeans from his waist, Dazo let his belt fall limp on the floor, buckle ringing against the tiles. He shivered for a moment, rubbing his arms as he stood in just a pair of worn white briefs. Their cloth covered most of his broad haunches and fleshy ass. It even managed to keep his heavy equipment contained in a strained, overtaxed pouch. He would have taken them off, too, but the metal would be painfully cold on his backside.

Dazo imagined a farmer’s strong hands on his shoulder. Hands that had fed him, tended to him, gently guiding him onward to the shiny table. He climbed atop it and lay out on his back, the chill biting through his short fur and into his skin. But his hide was tough, and he lay there, hands on his belly, waiting.

He huffed.

There was only one pair of hands that worked in this shop. He was proud of them, but surely there was more use for their skill than unfeeling meat.

He tried to excite his own skin, grabbing at his snout to make him turn his head, squeezing his chest as if he was evaluating himself. But each touch was expected, and his stomach mirrored the cold of the table as he reckoned with the fact that his own fingers were also unappreciated. So he stopped. And he lay there.

***

“... so, because the foreman followed the blueprints exactly, the foundations ended up twenty feet above water, instead of…”

Febber panted, a flash of heat crossing his hide as yet more sweat was trapped in his armpits.

“underneath… and…” he trailed off, letting out a frustrated moan. The take was already ruined, so he shut off his microphone and sat in the blue light of his laptop for a minute, trying to will the evening heat to abate.

He could feel the musky dampness under his arms, trapped there by the fat of his breasts wrapping around his sides. Febber didn’t even want to think about the heat in his lap, smothered as it was by his furry belly.

The wolf got up with a grunt, tugging the elastic of his boxers and shifting his wide hips. He couldn’t see past his belly fat, so he ran a hand along the crotch of the boxers. Most of it was filled up with the pad of fat between his legs, but he could feel the stubby hardness of his dick. It twitched in response.

He’d gone two nights without tending to himself. And tonight was still just too damn hot for it.

Besides, the lock on his door wasn’t that reliable, and his uncle didn’t exactly have much concern for personal privacy.

Febber could hear him moving around the kitchen, but his stomach growled.

“Didn’t we just have dinner?” he complained. Though, checking his phone, he saw he’d been working on the video for a few hours now. Febber peered out the window. “Guess that explains the stars.”

Febber trudged into the kitchen. Thankfully, his uncle had stepped away. So, quickly, he pulled out a few ice cubes from the freezer, and pressed them under his moobs, sighing at the relief as cool, melting water mingled with his body heat.

“Damn,” Febber’s uncle, Sours, blurted as he stomped back through the kitchen doorway.

Febber nearly leapt out of his hide, ears pinning back in sharp embarrassment.

Sours grinned at the nearly-melted ice cubes in his big paws and shot him a whistle, “guess you really do have some hot tits, huh pup?”

Febber avoided making eye contact, although looking down didn’t make things much better. Sours was dressed in a dirty jock-strap—his usual home attire—with his scruffy pale-brown fur sticking out of the waistband carelessly. He walked with a natural boastfulness, showing off a muscular physique and unkempt pelt.

“I don’t have tits,” Febber mumbled.

Sours opened the fridge, purposely bumping into Febber’s ass as he did. “Man-tits are still tits, puppy.” He peered across the shelves, scrunching his brow at the remainder of cold cuts, leftover chicken, and some rice in congealed pig fat.

Febber let the last of the ice cube water drip down from his moobs across his belly, staining his fluffy gray coat a dark shale. His frustration cooled as it was overshadowed by embarrassment at the nearly-empty fridge. “Sorry, I kind of ate all of the sausages today.” He brushed a thumb against a thick love handle on his side and prepared for Sours to call him some variation of ‘fatass.’ Only a few weeks living with his uncle, and he’d already eaten him down to scraps.

But Sours just shrugged. He pulled the deli meat out and started to eat straight from the package, dangling cuts of pallid turkey over his snout before snapping them out of the air. As he chewed, cheeks full, he looked at Febber’s lowered head and put a paw on his shoulder, patting the little streaks of white fur that ran across them. “Hey no worries big guy, it’s your house too, long as you’re here.” When Febber didn’t respond, he brightened his tone and changed the subject. “So how’s that video thing going?”

“Um,” Febber glanced back at his room. His tail started to untuck itself from between his legs. “I’m still recording for it, hard with the heat–”

“You know what kinds of videos I found?” Sours said enthusiastically.

Febber cocked his head to the side. “What?”

“There’s these guys making fireworks out of bottles and stuff, get some pretty big explosions! You want, I can show you how to do stuff like that, and we could record it down by the creek.” Sours grinned. His right index finger was missing the last knuckle, and that was honestly lucky considering his reckless history.

“That’s not really the kind of videos I make,” Febber said quietly. It felt like most of the time they talked, he ended up turning his uncle down on something.

“Sure, yeah.” Sours popped a few more cold cuts into his maw. Most things slid off Sours’s back like water. “You want some, big man? Fill up this furnace?” He poked Febber’s belly.

Febber’s ears flushed hot. Hunger was gnawing at him, but deli meat was a poor replacement for the real stuff. “Actually, I think maybe I should go for a walk or something. I really don’t handle the heat well.”

“I bet.” Sours eyed the sweat stains on Febber’s extra-wide boxers.

Febber rubbed the back of his neck. “S-so, I could go to the butcher’s, replace some of the stuff I ate.”

Sours stuffed the last of the cold cuts past his teeth and nodded, speaking through a full snout. “You mfh– I know you don’t make much. I’ll give you some money.”

Febber tried to protest, but Sours pretended he couldn’t hear him, leaving Febber to get dressed with a faint smile and a guilty flush on his cheeks.

***

Dazo’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the shop door opening. He’d forgotten to flip the sign and lock up. Groaning, he rolled his bulk off the table, landing heavy on his feet.

“Hello?” A tentative voice called from the front, shaded with the faint rumble of lupine breath. “Is anyone here?”

Limbs hanging like stone pendulums beneath him, Dazo could only muster the energy to grab his apron, tying it back around his waist and stepping out front with only his underwear otherwise. He started to mutter out that he was closed, but stopped at the sight of his guest.

The wolf was a young man, though his frame was buried under thick layers of padding and plush, gray fur. His shirt was thin and too small, giving ample shape to his breasts and squeezing on his soft upper arms. Dazo gazed further down, to the doughy thighs in his ironically athletic shorts.

He could perfectly picture the meat and sweet yellow fat resting on the wolf’s bones.

The well-fed pup stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly taking in the bull’s bare flanks and the brief elastic beneath them. Thankfully, Dazo’s own thighs were mostly concealed by the sale counter. “S-sorry, I saw your sign and—are you closed?”

Dazo eyed the phone clutched in the wolf’s paw. Such chubby fingers he had, cute and contrasting with the dark claws emerging from them. “We are.” Dazo spoke gently, watching the pup’s face fall. “What are you doing out so late, Mr. Wolf?”

“I was just cooling down…” the wolf trailed off, finally locking eyes with Dazo, who kept his stance open, hands planted on the counter and shoulders loose, a smile on his snout. Clearing his throat, the wolf took a step closer, ears relaxing and a little smile growing on his own muzzle at the clear invitation to talk. “Well, I was actually filming something, just a vlog, and I needed to pick up some food for my uncle and me.”

The wolf’s voice filled Dazo’s butcher shop with a warm tone, making his tail flick in its stilted way. “Do you do a lot of filming?”

“Um, kind of. I have a Pawtube channel, but I mostly just talk into a microphone for that.” By now, the wolf had made his way right up to the counter, smiling enough to show a big, cute fang poking out from his muzzle.

Dazo’s eyes followed the shape of his body. His belly fat was soft, shifting easily with his movements even as his shirt contained it. He sported a pair of wide haunches, with thighs almost too meaty for the shorts smothering them. The fur bloomed out from his love handles, too wild to be contained by that paltry shirt of his. “What are you working on right now?” Dazo asked.

The wolf’s eyes caught the light as they widened with excitement, showing their soft moss green. “Do you know about the three pikes bridge disaster?”

“No,” Dazo leaned over the counter, using his extra height to look down kindly, “why don’t you tell me about it?”

The pup managed to reign his enthusiasm for a moment to ask, peering past Dazo, “Are you sure you don’t need to close up? I guess… I did come in really late.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll open up the fridge and get some meat for you in a minute. Right now, I’m curious about this bridge of yours.”

“Okay, so there was this plan for a bridge that would actually run underwater, so fish-folk and land-folk could, like, meet more easily…”

Dazo whispered the wolf’s name as he opened the fridge. “Febber, Febber, Febber.” He could hear that warm voice ringing in his ears, even though the big pup was now seated quietly in the front of the shop.

The bull chuckled as he glanced back. Febber had taken the opportunity to glance at Dazo’s underdressed rump when he’d turned to get the meat.

All sorts of ideas ran through Dazo’s head. What he could do with such a tender, meaty boy.

He walked among racks of prepared cuts and hanging sections of meat. At first, Dazo simply collected what the wolf had asked for. Steaks, sausages, bacon, ground beef—multiple kinds of each.

There was a calm purpose to preparing meat for a carnivore. They needed it, the only way to fill their hungry bellies, and would appreciate it with a raw and primal satisfaction that rarely came to herbivores like Dazo.

Dazo set the box of meat down as he thought more about the wolf in his store. He drifted up to a whole flank and shoulder of beef, hanging on a hook from the ceiling, and caressed its outer cover of fat. It curved out in the center, before giving way to the dense, tough muscle of the shoulder. Surely, the wolf was the same. Such lovely layers of fat beneath the skin, thick and soft on his belly, threading through the muscle of his chest, before giving way to leaner meat on his shoulders—not as broad as a bull’s, but handsome, giving his soft form a masculine shape.

He touched the muscle on the other side, investigating the bones and connective tissue. A wolf would be less solid, his meat wrapped a bit looser on his bones, with smaller tendons and joints.

And beyond just being soft and warm, the wolf would do more than rest still at his touch. Dazo’s fingers played along the sliced edge of the flank. Imagining. Feeling flesh, twitching and relaxing while the butcher handled it, with breath and voice behind his fatty ribs.

He glanced at the wolf’s order on the shelf. “No, that’s not quite enough I think.”

Dazo picked up a few thick beef ribs, making sure they were well-adorned with tallow, and set them atop the rest of the meat.

“Thanks for doing this so late,” Febber said as he took the box from Dazo. He looked inside and cocked his head. “Um, sorry, but I didn’t order any ribs—”

“They’re on the house.” Dazo patted his arm. “Help you put some more of that meat on your bones.”

“More?” Febber murmured. His ears twitched in embarrassment, but a stupid smile pushed into his fat cheeks and the tip of his tail peeked from behind his hips as it wagged. Although, his good mood seemed to flag as he turned to the door. “I guess I should let you actually close for the night.”

“Well, first, here.” Dazo reached over the counter, offering him a slip of paper with his number on it. He let the wolf process it for a moment, confusion mingling with a subtle excitement in his eyes, before explaining, “You come in late whenever you want, just text me and I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“Really?” Febber’s tail picked up fast enough to make little shifting noises.

“Yes. And how about you send me a link to your Pawtube channel?” Even if it was just the pup talking at a camera, he’d love to stare at that darling muzzle moving, stare longer and harder than he could with the wolf looking back at him.

Febber nearly bounced on his pads. “Oh! Yeah, definitely! It’s mostly, like, weird occurrences or unsolved mysteries stuff. Do you usually watch that?”

“Well I’m more than happy to try.” Dazo gazed at that excited expression. The wolf’s eyes were sharp, shiny, such a lovely contrast to the pudgy face around them. “Though I’d honestly like to see how you enjoy those ribs.”

Febber stammered for a second, though his enthusiasm wasn’t doused. “Like, a mukbang? I don’t know if I want to post that sort of thing. Especially, you know, as a bigger wolf…”

Dazo’s brows furrowed. Some people disliked seeing predators eating, but what a cruel thing to deride them for—especially such a wonderful, hungry pup as this. “Well then you just promise you’ll eat well, alright?”

“Sure,” Febber rocked back and forth on his pads, laughing a bit at himself as he finished, “promise.”

***

Febber slipped quietly inside his uncle’s house. Well, as quietly as he could with the floorboards creaking under his 300-some pounds. He pawed past the living room, but hesitated as a growling snore made his ears perk.

Sours was asleep on the couch, a few beer cans and empty leftover containers scattered around him. His gangly limbs sprawled across the cushions, leaving his greasy hide and firm muscles on clear display—especially with him still wearing nothing more than that sweat-stained jock. He took great snoring breaths through his opened maw, with quiet grunting noises between them. Whatever dream he was having seemed to be a good one, based on how that jock was tented between his legs.

Febber’s ears burned as he felt his own wolfhood stiffening in his pants, so he shuffled quickly into the kitchen. “That’s your uncle,” he muttered to himself, pushing his dick back down against his fat pad.

Once he’d picked out the meat he wanted for dinner, Febber stripped down to his underwear and stood at the stove.

He glanced down at his chest.

With a tentative paw, Febber grabbed one of them. Its warm, yielding fat squeezed out between his fingers until he got to the tender meat beneath. He thoughtlessly rubbed his dark gray nipple, feeling its size and enjoying the little tingling pleasure.

Maybe his uncle was right. They were kind of tits, weren’t they? Dazo had certainly gotten a good eye-full.

He glanced at the meat on the counter, with the butcher’s intense gaze still burning in his head. Febber’s scruff flushed warm under his fur. Dazo had even wanted to see a fat wolf eating all that food.

Maybe he really did have a thing for chubby guys?

Febber’s heart started pounding in his chest. “Fuck it,” the wolf blurted, opening the fridge to pull out those extra ribs. He set a cast iron pan on the stove and turned it up high.

Drool trailed out of Febber’s mouth by the time he got the platter of meat back to his room. Fatty, browned, with steam and scent alike filling his sensitive nose.

At first, Febber started setting up his dinner and camera at his desk. But as he stepped back and surveyed his impromptu mukbang station, anxiety started to gnaw at his scruff. Recording something like this, in his underwear, at the same desk he recorded his usual videos… it was a little too close.

Febber didn’t hide his sexuality, nor could he hide his weight even if he tried, but he couldn’t help imagining what people might say about a wolf his size chowing down on so much meat.

It was a silly worry anyway. He was only sending this video to one person. But all the same, he set the plate and camera down on the floor instead, and lay down on his belly—comfortable on his blanket of fluffy fat—and started recording.

“Um, hi.” Febber’s usual practice escaped him. The words felt awkward with so much saliva gathering in his mouth. “I don’t know if you were maybe kidding about wanting to see me eat all this.” Febber caught sight of himself in the recording, chins and moobs looking even fatter squished against the floor.

“I hope you weren’t kidding,” he finished quietly.

Then, clearing his throat, he roused his enthusiasm. “It smells really good! And, I only cooked it a little, so most of that is the quality of the meat, right?” His tail started wagging as he took in the feast, but his paw hesitated to pick up the first piece of steak. “Sorry, I’m kinda nervous. I usually eat alone.”

His stomach growled in frustration.

Febber looked at his big paws, tipped with dark shiny claws, and reached up to touch his snout. In the feed of the camera, he saw sharp teeth, and eyes eager with hunger.

Hadn’t this been what the butcher had seen? Febber was a big, dangerous predator, why should he be ashamed to dig in to a pile of meat? He filled his lupine lungs with slow breaths, stoking that bit of carnivore confidence.

“I’m starving,” he blurted.

Wrapping his claws around a bloody, fat-dripping steak, he opened his jaws. The moment it hit his tongue, Febber’s fur stood on end. Sweet and metallic, coated in succulent grease, and so helplessly tender in his maw.

Febber rubbed his jaw in sheer pleasure. Meat juice drooled from the side of his snout, soaking into his chin fur. When he opened his eyes to look into the camera, he was almost gripped by his nervousness again. But, Dazo had seemed so genuinely excited about Febber eating his food. So, as Febber looked back at the wolf splayed out on the floor, thick coat unruly around his squished tits, face stained with the start of his feast, his scruff tingled with excitement instead of worry. Wouldn’t Dazo like this? A fat, gluttonous wolf digging in?

His heart was pounding. With smell and taste filling his snout, and the image of Dazo’s eager bovine features in his mind, Febber leaned into his instincts.

Melted fat soaked into Febber’s paw pads as he picked up a burger. He flipped onto his back, head lolling to look upside-down at the camera. His jaws opened, languid and boastful of their sharp, terrible teeth. He lowered the burger slowly, giving time for Dazo to admire his fangs, before burying them in juicy ground beef.

What would Dazo’s own thick buns feel like in his jaws?

Febber blushed. He wrapped his soft tongue around each finger, slurping them clean of meat juices. Dazo was quite a bit older than him—would he really let some fatty pup bite him? Febber wondered if his teeth could even manage to work through a mature bull’s hide.

He wanted to try.

But he wasn’t very practiced in trying to seduce anyone. Febber tried lounging on his side, a pose that he’d caught on the covers of Sours’s numerous ‘magazines’. He didn’t have quite the same shape—Febber had curves, sure, furry rolls cresting over his side like forested hills—but the only thing he really had in common with those sultry women were his big breasts and hips. A few extra two-hundred or so pounds of wolf fat made it impossible to look at Febber from any angle and not see overflowing blubber.

And yet, he still pictured Dazo’s gaze on his body. And as he finished another of his burgers, Febber considered what it had really meant when Dazo was staring at his chest. Was he just more polite than Sours, holding back some teasing quip? Or… did he like Febber’s breasts?

Febber looked back at the plate, and realized that in all his thinking he’d scarfed down almost everything. The meat had been incredible, and all he had left was one last steak.

Dazo had been so nice about giving it to him. Everything about Dazo had been nice. So maybe that look in his eyes had really been nice too?

More than nice.

Febber plucked the steak and propped himself up on an elbow. As he bit into the unctuous meat, its fat and red juice alike flowed down his greasy chin, across the hefty shape of his tits. A shiver crawled up his spine as the fat soaked into the fur around his nipples.

By the time he finished, his breasts were clearly defined with how his fur reflected the faint light of his room. All in all, Febber looked like a messy beast.

A real wolf.

He licked his chops in shameless canine indulgence. It felt good. Good enough that his embarrassment couldn’t stop him from leaning down and running his pillowy tongue deep through his own pelt, slurping all that tasty fat from the fur.

Afterwards, fur damp and head smoldering with all the excitement of the evening, he grew quiet.

His wolf instincts nudged him to just sleep and enjoy his stuffed belly. The heat between his legs whispered for his hand to reach down into his underwear. His camera’s flashing light reminded him to reach over and finish the recording. And as he did, he was confronted with the reality of his choice.

Should he really send something like this to a guy who was barely more than a stranger?

In the end, it was his tiredness and loins together that won out. He didn’t bother taking any time to edit the video, merely transferring it to his phone and—without comment—sending it on to Dazo’s number.

Febber couldn’t bear the thought of Dazo watching it right then and responding, so he tossed his phone onto his desk and dragged himself off the floor, trudging away to the bathroom so he could brush his teeth. A wolf had to take care of his fangs, after all.

Especially if he wanted to lock them around a big, muscled bull.