FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Why'd Becky go and hire a pony," Ryan growled over his coffee, thick as mud. It was five before six, and the hour of the wolf was waning. Declan had his own cup of sludge-like coffee to chew through: it would have to tide him over until lunch.

“She's district manager, now…" he trailed off, knowing that it wouldn't calm the older wolf down.

“District manager—" It was a curse, coming from him. “Bill would have listened to my advice." Ryan went to take a swig but thought the better of it. “He heard me loud and clear when I told him to hire your mangy ass."

It wasn't that Declan wasn't grateful. High school was a blur of wrestling on the mat at meets between bouts of wrestling in heat under the sheets. But three-time state champion, middleweight canines, didn't look so great all alone on that resume. At twenty-two he was proud to drive a forklift, own a car, and keep his own place—half of that he owed to Ryan, who gave a dumb teen wolf a fair shot. The other half went to the health and wellness teacher who showed how to tell if a condom was meant for knots.

“Well," Declan said, glancing at the shift clock, “in three minutes and ten seconds it won't matter either way."

Ryan giggled, hacking around the perpetual frog in his throat, and the two of them clocked in. Declan had his forklift off the charger when the new horse appeared. He barreled through the double doors that led out front, running like all of electrical and plumbing were on fire. He was tall, but all horses were tall. He worked out, but for looks over power. Muscles swelled from out and under the pretty boy's polo shirt and skinny jeans. The old wolf was bound to throw a fit over coming to work dressed like that.

“Hey, man!" The horse said. “Where do I clock in?"

“Damn, didn't they show you? Hurry up, shift's about to start." Declan climbed down from the cab and showed him the glowing terminal. Curious, he watched the horse sign in: Liam Darnell. Further pleasantries were cut off by a semi making itself known with a bone-shaking honk. Ryan got about three words out on the state of Liam's clothes before they were all too busy unloading to talk.

Declan felt the old wolf's grumping lighten up as Liam proved he could haul like the best of them. Ryan was no slouch in his day, but after a bad rupture and six months of rehab, he'd been assigned to paperwork, inventory, and scheduling. Liam was in an entirely different class, even compared to Ryan back then: no wasted motion, no wasted effort, like the job was a ballet recital. When the first semi was empty of their delivery, turned around, and gone, the three reconvened at the water cooler.

“You're gonna hurt yourself prancing about like that," Ryan said.

“Sorry," Liam smiled, brushing his mane through his fingers. “It's just second nature to me."

“What's that supposed to mean?" Declan asked.

“I compete in dressage." He said, rhyming it with 'massage.' “You know, traditional equine martial arts. Whenever I zone out, my body just kind of falls into it." Liam drew himself up into some kind of stance, his fetlocks somehow loose and tense at the same time, and shrugged.

“What?" Ryan's long ears perked up in surprise. “You mean that horse sport at the Olympics, running and jumping back and forth in those—uh, you know—"

“Yeah, well, part of the scoring is on muscle tone, so…"

“Christ, you won't see me galloping out in public like that." Ryan coughed and shook his head.

“Like in a singlet?" Declan could relate to that. A good wrestling match got him warmed up, and there were more pics of his post-victory enthusiasm floating around than he would like. It was good PR for the ladies; he didn't mind them having a preview.

“Mm, a bit less." Liam flicked his upper lip, revealing a row of white, flat teeth. “Closer to a posing strap, when you get to nationals."

“Oh." Declan's cheeks felt hot. It was an effort to keep his ears from slinking back.

“Alright, enough chewing the fat," Ryan said, downing the last of his water. “Gotta clear the dock before the next truck comes in. Just keep the mincing down to a low roar, you hear? Filling out the forms for workman's comp is half a bitch."

And Liam laughed and shook his head yes. But as Declan drove appliances around the warehouse, he'd catch a glimpse of Liam in postures now and then. He'd hear the rat-a-tat of those iron-soled hooves grinding against the concrete in perfect rhythm. Then just as quick he'd shake his head, trying to get the sound out of his ears.

Eight o'clock came and went, and with it came the salespeople who worked the storefront. They weren't scheduled like him and Ryan (and now Liam), and they had their own bosses between them and Becky—so while Declan knew most of their names, he didn't know them well. It didn't help that if they needed to come to the back, it was because someone in the docking bay had fucked something up. Or so they usually assumed.

They ate lunch together in the office, though with a third person it was about twice as cramped. Ryan waited for the microwave to heat up his convenience store burrito. With only half an hour to eat, there was no standing on ceremony. Declan tucked into his ham sandwich while Liam shook a protein drink in the corner. The sun beat down past the overhang of the loading dock, and the small office retained the familiar aroma that marked the territory of hardworking wolves. There was a palpable change, however: the queer, waxy scent of an active horse.

“Are there locker rooms somewhere?" Liam asked. “I didn't see any nearby."

“That's 'cause there aren't any." Ryan said. “Some fool slipped and cracked his ass back in '17, so they tore them all down. Too much liability and wasted space, or something."

“That sucks," Liam said.

“Why, got some mare waiting on you to clock out?" Ryan leered.

“Sure I do, and I bet you two are just covered in bitches." Liam quipped. Declan glanced at Ryan—who lolled his tongue and grinned from ear to half-bitten ear. Declan found he had a smirk on as well. The new guy would fit in just fine.

“Fair enough." Ryan agreed. “You know, there's always the hose out back." Declan's ears hung low, but Ryan continued on. “Yeah, Declan, you know what hose I mean."

“My first week on the job I got heat stroke," Declan said, trying to minimize the damage to his reputation. “Wasn't used to hydrating so much. Our big boss at the time—Bill, he's a mountain lion—wanted to send me in an ambulance, but my insurance wasn't on yet. Ryan talked him down from the ledge and said he knew how to fix me. Took me out back and hosed me down until my temp came down."

“Took you out back and stripped you to your skivvies!" Ryan panted, smug as hell. “That's how they do it in the army, you know."

“Don't remind me," Declan groaned, hiding his muzzle with a paw.

Liam nickered, but it seemed in sympathy. “This hose of yours sounds pretty great," he snorted, “but I think I'll pass." He fanned the collar of his polo and sighed, clearly uncomfortable.

“Tell you what," Ryan said, reaching in his back pocket for his worn, leather billfold. “I bet you twenty bucks you won't lose the shirt for the rest of the shift."

“Why would I do that?" Liam asked, suddenly too calm by half. Declan glanced back and forth between them. The energy in the room felt upside-down and dizzying.

“Wouldn't think a black-belt in dressage would care," Ryan said. “But if you're too chicken…" He withdrew the bill slowly, looking Liam in the eye. For his part, Liam curled his upper lip and glared down his long muzzle.

“You're lucky I could use the cash," Liam muttered. He peeled the polo off his torso in one smooth, continuous movement, shivering the bunched cloth down his long arms. As Liam held out a waiting paw, Declan came to two conclusions. First, this shift had seriously gone off the rails. Second, Liam was beautiful. Not a single hair was out of place on his chestnut coat, and it was all the same color, all the way down to the belt around his waist. Ryan traded him for the shirt and tossed it across the room to the desk they all shared. It dangled from the monitor. The scent of horse grew thicker.

“Deck, you don't mind taking all the floor calls, right?" Ryan laughed. He only ever called him Deck when he wanted something.

“I don't mind," Declan said. He fidgeted, done with his lunch but staked to his seat. Liam stood with languid deliberation, flexing as his ears came within inches of the ceiling.

“We don't call them black belts, by the way. The peak of dressage," he said, “is collection. And those who can master it are called champions."

And with that he turned and not so much left as flowed outward, shoulders pulled back, hips akimbo, the queue of his tail like the answer of an unasked question. Ryan slapped the table and brayed, choking on his own spittle.

Declan did manage to leave lunch last and fled to his forklift. Even when Liam was out of sight, he was not far from the wolf's mind. His cologne was lodged in his snout and wouldn't leave for love or money. Having to drop his load whenever the front of house called decimated his productivity, but it was worth it to see Liam in his natural element. Biceps strained as he tore open pallet wrap. Those jeans, too, seemed ready to give way whenever the stallion tucked in for a squat. Declan swore to himself he'd get back to the gym, work off the sandbag of beer and chips that lay over his belt.

Rumor of the dockworker horse stripped to the waist spread like wildfire, which fueled superfluous requests for products he knew were already in the aisles. At this rate Becky would hear of Ryan's bet—and then what? No doubt it qualified as sexual harassment, even if Liam seemed game. Declan fretted, his nerves shot, and tried in vain to focus.

Then it was six, and the front of the store shut down. Declan restocked returns, glad to by himself again. Becky herself showed up just before seven to say goodbye—Ryan told her Liam was in the can and gave him a mediocre review. If she knew what was afoot, she didn't give any indication. Then they were left alone in the store, waiting for the evening deliveries. Declan put his forklift away to charge and found the others out back.

Ryan still smoked most nights, even though Declan knew it hurt his throat. He stood there this night, as well, under the flickering security lights. The sun had set and the heat of the day burbled out in waves from where it had stored up inside. Liam sat in a low, restful crouch, ass below his knees, in a way that made Declan's hips ache to see.

“Evening," Ryan said. Declan nodded at him, and sniffed loud enough for Ryan to know what he was thinking. Ryan's ears flatted in a brief show of remorse.

“You okay over there?" Declan called to Liam, wanting him to join their loose huddle. The horse seemed to take the hint and rose, moving upwind of Ryan.

“Glad it cooled down," Liam said. He ran both paws through his mane, still damp with sweat.

“You'll get used to the heat," Ryan said. After a long silence, he added, “We're glad to have you." It was the nicest thing Declan had ever heard the old wolf say.

“Do you think—" Declan started, but he was surprised to hear himself talk and stopped. “—I mean, if you don't mind, I think we both wouldn't mind seeing some of your dressage." The word didn't taste the same in his mouth. “Next truck doesn't come in a while, right?"

Ryan looked at him like he'd farted. “Uh, yeah, I guess."

And finally, Liam regarded the two wolves, his paws on his hips. Seemed to weigh his options, intuit something that either was or was not in his coworkers' hearts. “If that's what you want. I could use a short cooldown. But if I'm doing this, I'm gonna do it right."

Declan's throat went taut and dry. Liam unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid out of them like a snake shedding. Ryan whistled low. The horse wore tight briefs that seemed to glow in the half-light. He needed the support, Declan thought. Liam stretched carefully, crouching and standing back erect a couple times, forcing blood into his chill limbs.

Then he ran, though not quite. Declan had seen runners, he'd even known horses in high school that ran track and field, jumped hurdles, or vaulted poles. Liam swung a wide arc in the crumbling parking lot behind the strip mall where their workplace sat, alone and unloved. His hooves clinked like dueling metronomes. Away from the loading dock the pale LED security lights gave way to tired sodium lamps that drizzled down his coat as sparkling gold. He leapt, and gravity did not avail him, flying by his tail and the seat of his briefs.

His gait warbled, but Declan wasn't sure how. He didn't know a gallop from a canter from a trot. But Liam knew, or Liam's body knew. The instructions were writ large on that knitted mass of muscle, sinew and tendon, in the circulation of his veins, in the arborescence of his nerves. A hundred meters away, he seemed more meteor than horse.

It was not to last. Headlights swung about the corner and painted bright splotches across bare horseflesh. Liam neighed and followed them, striding beside the hulking semi. He waved to the darkling figure in the cab, even. Declan held his muzzle in both hands, but Ryan laughed and laughed, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Come on, Deck, pick your damn jaw up off the floor. That's Peter's rig, he's a good sport, but he won't want to linger long. We're still on the clock, you know."