FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Myron marveled at the old hotel. Pale wooden beams ranged up and across its walls, mingling with the faded brick walls to give the whole place a simple and rustic air. Although, they couldn’t hide the behemoth size of the thing, nor the vibrant lights pouring out from the lower windows.

A breeze tugged at the short trees behind the hotel, carrying with it the sharp voice of a singer, backed by vibrant accompaniment.

“Agent Megalos,” Jane’s voice sparked from Myron’s earpiece, pulling the bear away from his wandering focus on the building. “Let’s not keep Mr. Descoteaux waiting. You’ve got the painting ready?”

Myron adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder. The strap dug relentlessly into his belly, highlighting how much fat he carried around. Well, it wasn’t much of a secret anyway; he was big even for a grizzly, leaving very few people he didn’t dwarf in comparison. “Are you sure the governor’s going to buy it?” Myron asked quietly.

“It’s her favorite artist; she’d go through Hell and back to get that in her private collection. Don’t worry, the tracker’s well hidden, you just need to get it into Descoteaux’s hands.” Jane put on a confident voice, but an anxious edge showed through; how could it not? Selling art to a crime lord went a bit beyond the allowances of their agency. “The auction’s next week, who knows when we’ll get a chance like this again?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it done.” Myron let out a long breath, shuffling his feet for a moment before lumbering past the wide-open hotel doors.

The calm atmosphere outside vanished the moment he was past the threshold. Those multicolored lights caught on his ruddy-brown fur, turning it dark and shiny like an oil spill. This whole first floor was open-plan, combining reception, restaurant, bar, and event space into one barely-distinguished vista. Thankfully, reception was mostly empty, as the other end of the floor was packed with energetic furs dancing and singing along to the concert.

It wasn’t quite a rave, but it definitely seemed out of place in this otherwise subdued venue. However, the bar fit in quite nicely, and almost tempted Myron with a drink.

He shook his head, careful not to dislodge the little speaker from his ear-fuzz, and approached reception.

A reedy little garter snake sat behind a half-circle wooden desk. His small form was only put into greater relief as he had to crane his chin upwards just to make eye contact with Myron. A familiar look of astonishment sat on the snake’s face.

Myron huffed. Yes, men this large really did exist.

To his credit, the snake recovered quickly, putting on a carefully-curated smile. “Hello sir, are you here for the concert?”

“I have a meeting, actually. With Mr. Descoteaux.”

The snake’s smile faltered, replaced with a respectful nod. “Of course, you must be Mr. Megalos.” His tongue flicked out nervously as his gaze drifted to Myron’s meaty paws– and the thick, curved claws upon them. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Descoteaux has been caught up in some urgent business today…”

Myron took a breath so sharp that his expanding middle nearly popped a button off his jacket. He reached up and tugged at his shirt collar, loosening the tie to let his natural collar of fur and fat breathe, thick fluff contrasting his hard expression. “So, he’s not here?”

“Well, not to worry, sir,” The snake put his hands together in deference. “His son is, and I’ve been assured that he can handle whatever business you had with the owner.” Not waiting for any objection, the snake slithered out from behind the desk, heading briskly for an elevator. “Come right this way, a private dining room is already prepared.”

Myron’s brows sat tight over his eyes, turning their olive green to a deep, mossy shade. He leaned his back against the elevator wall, taking some weight off his paws.

He’d spent days reading up on Mr. Descoteaux, studying every bit of footage the agency had on the stocky older bull. Myron knew how he would have sold this painting to the man, but to his son? A soft growl grew in his chest, resonating out through the dense meat of his moobs. He didn’t even know which son he’d be dealing with.

The snake took a shaky breath as he tried to stand away from Myron. Unfortunately for him, this elevator wasn’t quite big enough, and he couldn’t avoid his shoulder brushing against the giant bear’s flank. “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” He asked quietly.

“Yep.” Myron eyed the snake. Did he know what his boss was actually involved in?

“Be nicer, we don’t want to scare anyone,” Jane whispered.

Myron scrunched his snout, but tried to relax his shoulders. “So, be honest, is the food here any good?”

The snake glanced up, a faint smile returning to him. “Oh yes. Herbivore, carnivore, it’s all top-quality.” He let out a little hissing laugh. “I doubt Mr. Descoteaux’s son would spend much time here if it weren’t.”

Myron cocked a brow.

Seeming to realize what he’d said, the snake lowered his head. “Um, n-not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.” He glanced at Myron’s broad hips, squished against the elevator wall, making the bear’s tail wiggle involuntarily.

Finally, the doors slid open on the fourth floor.

***

“Mr. Megalos has arrived, sir,” The little snake announced as he led Myron into a well-appointed private room. A row of lights cast from the ceiling, giving this place a warm tint, especially compared to the harsh lights of the ground floor. Those strobing colors did find their way in, though just barely, as they faded through the curtain of a balcony.

Myron almost didn’t notice the man standing in the corner. He was still, with rough gray rhino skin almost making him look like a statue. A plain suit and expressionless eyes left only the man’s horns to draw any attention.

Much as the snake might have been nervous around Myron, he nearly folded in on himself over the few seconds that the rhino simply stared.

“Balcony,” the rhino finally said. His voice seemed rusty from lack of use.

“I’m sure he’ll be with you in just a moment,” the snake mumbled, before quickly slithering back out the room, shutting its doors behind him.

“Name’s Myron.”

The rhino nodded silently.

Well, Myron wasn’t going to get very far with that charmer, so he took the chance to acquaint himself with the room. A few paintings hung on the wall, depicting stark figures in surreal landscapes. Well, the same landscape actually, but distorted and focused on different details.

Myon peered closer at one of them. It wasn’t likely the hotel would have stolen pieces hung out in the open, but it couldn’t hurt to check. His eyes widened as he found the signature in the corner: K. Descoteaux.

“K?” He murmured.

“Kolby,” the rhino answered. He spoke sharply, each word beginning and ending with a jarring lurch.

Myron could feel the rhino’s eyes on him, piercing further into his hide with everything that Myron inspected, so the bear returned to the center of the room.

The table there was wooden, carved with sweeping designs along the legs. And though the two chairs beside it were, surprisingly, big enough for him, the table itself wasn’t the long thing he’d imagined, but a small, circular one.

With only the warning of a few heavy footsteps, the balcony doors swung inward, and a bull wider than he was tall shuffled through. He had to duck to keep his horns, even stubby as they were, from hitting the frame. The curtains were parted by his width, each bovine flank nearly brushing against the wall.

He shifted his weight with each step, showing off the bountiful tides of fat that his dress shirt struggled to contain. Its soft white fabric stretched tight around his love handles and folded in with the rolls going up his sides. A little tuft of the bull’s warm pumpkin fur poked through a gap between the buttons on the sweeping crest of his belly. He wore his suit jacket open, likely out of necessity.

Myron couldn’t help but watch those tree-trunk thighs rub against each other as the bull approached him, damning his black dress pants to an early grave.

“How are you tonight?” The bull’s voice flowed through his chest like ink in deep water, yielding, which finally drew Myron’s eyes to his face. His fat cheeks looked especially puffy with the smile on his snout. All of the bull’s features were thickly padded, hiding his cheekbones, adding to the natural thickness of his neck, turning his square bovine snout pillowy with an extra chin. A patterned mix of dark orange and warm chestnut fur covered it all, with little stripes on his snout leading to a pair of big, sunny brown eyes.

“I’m uh… alright.” Myron caught a familiar look on the bull’s face. He must have seen Myron staring at him. The bear’s ears flicked back with embarrassment, but he relaxed a bit as he caught the bull glancing down at his own gut.

“Megalos,” Jane whispered into his ear, “keep it formal. You’re here to make a deal.”

“Sorry,” he extended a hand, “Myron Megalos. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Descoteaux.”

“Mr. Descoteaux’s my father, call me Kolby.” The bull shook, pudgy fingers matching Myron’s own in what could only be a soft grasp. Their bellies brushed against each other, squishing easily, and the bull’s eyes brightened above his smile, some measure of relief relaxing his broad shoulders.

“Well, I see the resemblance.” Myron could find hints of the old bull’s features in Kolby; deep down, his frame had to be similar. But it was all obscured, with mounds of melty tallow instead of the older bull’s hard-set meat. Mr. Descoteaux’s thick jaws were there, but Kolby’s were made gentle with the pudge around them. “Though, I hope you don’t mind me saying, you’re not quite what I expected from his son.”

Kolby laughed, faintly, but enough to shake his plentiful chest. “You’re not quite what I expected from a rogue agent, Myron.” He pulled out a seat, but paused, and flicked his ears curiously. “If I can call you that.”

“Sure, Kolby.”

“Careful,” Jane warned. “Nice doesn’t mean safe.”

Kolby beckoned Myron to sit, before taking his own seat across the table. Both men dropped their weights into the comfortable upholstery, with Kolby shifting his massive rump into the cushion.

To Myron’s alarm, he felt heat between his legs as he watched this giant bull wiggle like that, bovine ears looking small and cute as they perked in contentment. He had to remember his mission.

“I brought the painting with me,” Myron began, careful to keep his tone level. “Mr. Descoteaux said he wanted to look it over before the auction.”

A bit of disappointment flashed over Kolby’s eyes, but he nodded. “Rhys, if you would.”

The rhino marched across the room, extending a calloused hand.

Myron reached into his bag, heart racing cold in his chest as his fingers curled around the rolled-up canvas. His muscles resisted for a moment, but this was for the greater good. They’d catch the governor, get all of her stolen collection back where it belonged, and finally take out one of the biggest smuggling clients in the city. He removed the protective covering, and handed it to Rhys.

Without much ceremony, the rhino unfurled the canvas, revealing the faint, curling brush-strokes of a misty forest landscape. Between the craggly trees, lupine figures danced, seeming to chase one another.

Kolby leaned in, though was careful not to breathe right on it. “Oh wow, that really is genuine, isn’t it?” He grinned. “I’m well-versed in impressionism, and you know, this is actually one of my favorites of Milne’s works.”

“You’re familiar?” Myron asked.

“Oh yeah,” Kolby’s eyes drifted across the painting. “After a Wolven Feast. You know, he actually made his own pigment for the green? Couldn’t get the pine needles right with what anyone else was using.” He chuckled. “You can tell how much the wolves like feasting, too.”

“What do you mean?” Myron leaned over to see.

Kolby shifted to draw his shoulder close to Myron’s, and pointed to one of the wolves, specifically at the notable belly he was sporting. In fact, all of them were heavyset, with wide hips and chests. “Classic prédateur-lourd, Milne was a fan of the trend.”

The earpiece buzzed. “Make sure you haggle on the price, selling too low could tip him off.”

Myron simply cocked a brow. “Prédateur-lourd?”

“Heavy predator– depicting carnivores as particularly fat. It’s kind of a timeless trend, but big with the impressionists. Some artists used it for mockery, some to represent them as the fat of the land they eat from, but I think people like Milne used it as a show of freedom.” Kolby sighed. “Shamelessly dancing with their big bodies, wearing their feasts on their bones.” He glanced at Myron with uncertainty, but clear interest.

The bear leaned back, putting his hands behind his head to show off the thick flesh of his arms, and his impressive tits. “Sounds like good news for guys like me, right?”

“Bears are popular subjects for it,” Kolby murmured, eyes drifting down to Myron’s moobs as they strained against his shirt. He cleared his throat and, after a moment of nervous quiet, nodded to Rhys. “I’m certainly interested.” His expression dropped as he continued, the words coming out reluctantly. “We have space in the auction for it. I suppose you went to some trouble to get it, so what are you looking to sell for?”

Myron set his shoulders and began to haggle, drawing on the case files of other stolen pieces to guess this one’s true value. He was prepared to go low– the less money he made here, the less complicated the legal fallout of his mission would be– but Kolby barely fought him at all. The bull put on a serious face and did a good enough job mimicking his father’s steely tone, but he simply seemed uninterested in the trade, ultimately giving Myron quite a bit more than he had to.

“Would you like your payment now?” Kolby asked, in barely more than a monotone. He was slumped a bit in his chair, making his extra chin that much more prominent. In fact, his whole body resembled a stack of decadent pancakes folded on each other.

Myron could have kicked himself for feeling, well, anything for this doughy bull. He was a Descoteaux, a part of the corruption under Myron’s city. But the bear couldn’t help glancing at Kolby’s artwork on the walls, vibrant and strange, but made with clear skill and experimentation. And, of course, with heavyset predators in those bizarre landscapes.

His ears flushed when he looked back to find Kolby’s big eyes on him.

“If you can get the money and get out of there–” Jane began, but Myron cut her off.

“How about dinner first?”

Kolby’s overstuffed cheeks were shifted by his smile.

After a starter of salad and soup, Kolby had a pair of menus brought to the table. He slathered a hunk of steaming bread in butter, munching on it as he looked over his options. “Order anything you like, it’s all covered.” He winked at Myron as the bear tore off some bread for himself.

There weren’t a ton of dishes, but all of them sounded delicious. “Well, it all looks good.”

Kolby chuckled. “I know! It’s always hard to pick one thing.” He paused as he took another bite of bread, the butter dripping in a thick line down his snout, and falling onto the breast of his shirt. His ears flicked back as he glanced at Myron.

The bear realized he was smiling at the cute display. While Kolby’s embarrassment started to fade, Myron gestured at the menu. “Why pick one? If I only eat one serving for dinner, I end up raiding the fridge like a beast when I try to go to sleep.”

Kolby’s ears perked back up. “Me too!” He started listing off dishes, babbling about all of the different tastes and how they paired with wines.

Myron caught a thin smile from Rhys, standing in the corner behind Kolby.

Though he tried to keep up with the bull, Myron found his eyes swimming over all the dish names, so he shrugged. “Tell you what, why don’t you order for the both of us? You sure know the kitchen well.”

“I’d love to! But, I don’t know about the carnivore dishes as much,” Kolby inspected the menu again, “I know what the chef likes best, though, and he’s a wolf.”

The waiter returned, and Kolby began reading off to the fox, “Onion soup, ratatouille, focaccia, coq au vin, crusted salmon, moules frites, steak tartare, stuffed tomatoes, chestnut soup, eggplant lasagna…” following with a list of wines paired to each. Myron offered the fox an empathetic smile, but she scribbled down as quickly as Kolby spoke.

As soon as the first dish arrived, Myron and Kolby’s conversation was replaced with the soft sounds of chewing. At first, Kolby kept up a slower, more polite pace. But he watched Myron grasp a salmon filet in his claws and stuff it into his mouth, and sped up to match him.

Kolby’s square, bovine snout became perpetually stuffed with vegetables, pasta, bread, potatoes, nearly all of it drowned in butter and oily sauces. He chewed, slurped, and washed the food down with a mix of wines. Although he kept up the pairings, and clearly relished all the little nuances of the fancy dinners, his pace left his chins painted with sauce.

Myron didn’t have quite the education in food as Kolby, not bothering with pairings or the order in which he ate. When he craved sweet, tender flesh, he scarfed down more of that herb-crusted salmon. Needing something to sop up the melty fat from a porterhouse steak, he swiped a pawful of fries, chewing with satisfaction at the starch and luscious oil. He gnashed at chicken thighs seasoned with bright tomato and pepper soup, and downed glasses of wine in one gulp.

As he neared the end of the feast, Myron patted his stuffed belly and leaned back, gazing across the table. Kolby was still eating with fervor, dirty dishes stacked high to his side. With all the butter dripping down his snout, the top of his shirt was soaked enough to become translucent; the color of his fur showed through, following the curves of his fat breasts. Myron could even make out the darker brown circles of his nipples, contrasted against his pumpkin fur.

Myron shifted in his chair, readjusting as his erection strained against his pants. If he relaxed, his legs brushed up against Kolby’s, and he could see the way the table pressed into Kolby’s belly, separating it into two thick shelves of blubber.

The rhino behind him was staring below Kolby’s back. And with how the bull was leaning forward, eyes shut blissfully with each morsel, his pants were probably riding down his massive hips. Whatever custom underwear the rich bull was wearing, Myron wondered how much the shape of his ass might be visible through them.

Finishing off the last of his mussels, Myron huffed. “That little snake was right. Can’t remember my last dinner this nice.”

Kolby slurped up a last mouthful of pesto-smothered pasta, nodding happily at Myron before seeming to realize how he’d been eating, and clumsily dabbed at his snout with a napkin. “It’s nice to eat with someone else who really appreciates food.”

“And its effects.” Myron grinned. The insides of Kolby’s ears turned pink as he realized what the bear meant.

Jane’s faint voice cut through the warm, satisfied air in Myron’s ear. “Megalos, make the deal. You’re not there to glut yourself.”

Myron sighed. Here he was, sat right across from an adorable bull, big enough to supply a whole steakhouse– and he was Mr. Descoteaux’s son. A lover of food and art, sure. A man whose face was puffy like marshmallows. A bull with thick, pillowy moobs and a pants size that far exceeded any retail store. But, nonetheless, a criminal who was here to buy a stolen piece of art.

He cleaned his claws and reached for the rolled-up painting, resigned to close out the night, but stopped as Kolby spoke. The bull’s voice was more comfortable and hopeful than he’d heard it yet.

“I know we had a big dinner, but would you like some dessert?” His brows were soft, eyes shiny as he looked at Myron. “The chef makes a phenomenal crème brûlée.”

He should have just insisted on the sale, gotten the money, and left. Been debriefed at the agency, went home to his single bedroom apartment, streamed something in his underwear until he got tired enough to sleep or horny enough to jack off.

But Kolby’s dark-pink nose was just across from him, his fat cheeks pressing in on the corners of his smile. For all the danger that Myron knew the bull posed, he just couldn’t quite believe it as he looked at that chubby, pumpkin-fluff covered face.

And, well, “Dessert sounds nice.” Myron scratched behind his ear, subtly lowering the volume of Jane’s ranting.

Kolby, of course, ordered four crème brûlées— for both of them. His big nose sniffed at the caramelized sugar. “I’m glad you have a stomach like mine. When I eat with other people, I never get enough to be satisfied.”

“Well you’re a bull after my own heart,” Myron said, pausing as Kolby glanced up with faint affection. Was the bull just glad to have a friend? Embarrassed to be eating like a man his size had to? Or… was he an even more special kind of bovine? Myron ignored the caution in his own head and gestured to the wall. “Speaking of, you sure know your art history. Did you really paint all these?”

Kolby’s ears perked so excitedly that they tapped against his horns. “Oh, yes! I did, though they’re rough pieces—”

Myron shifted his chair a bit, until he sat halfway facing the paintings. “Tell me about them.” He picked up a spoon and cracked the fragile shell of his first dessert. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind if you talk with your mouth full.”

That seemed to convince the plush bull. Kolby moved his chair in turn, having to heft his bulk and shimmy himself back into the seat beside Myron. The bear couldn’t complain— as Kolby huffed with the effort, Myron had a wide view of his backside. Two massive cheeks fully stuffed what had to be the biggest pair of dress pants in the city. Two back pockets struggled to hold on as the seam down the middle threatened to give in. And despite the best efforts of a python-like belt, Kolby’s pants did in fact ride down in the back, showing the rumpled bottom of his tucked shirt, and just a sliver of stark white underwear hidden beneath. And, of course, a cute little tufted tail lovingly buttoned into the waistband of those pants, and no doubt the undies under them. Myron had to resist the instinct to reach out and toy with it.

Kolby let out a satisfied grunt as he finally rested his weight back down. He pointed a bashful smile at Myron, then kept his eyes to the crème brûlée and paintings while they talked. “I had an idea of showing people in an unfamiliar place, with each of them finding it strange in different ways,” he talked more quickly, both excited and clearly nervous as his thick thigh brushed against Myron’s for sheer lack of space. Warmth poured off of Kolby, seeming to bloom out of his fluffy chest.

“Seems like an impressionist’s project alright,” Myron said. He watched Kolby’s tail flick behind him, and subtly drifted a hand onto the bull’s knee.

“S-so,” Kolby continued, taking a bite of crème brûlée to calm himself, “I tried to keep the people’s figures solid, and warp the rest of the scene around what was strangest to them.”

Myron followed Kolby’s gaze. A plump tiger raised a paw towards a striking window, the light that poured out from inside bending every object it touched. “I like your brushstrokes on the fur.” Myron pointed to the strand-like flow of paint from the feline’s face.

“Thank you.” Kolby spent a moment stuffing more of the dessert into his snout. Before he spoke again, Myron felt one of his thick sausage fingers touch his hand. “I um… I was inspired by Brona Roark to try to capture points of light in their eyes, especially with that one.”

“I’ve heard of Roark. If her work looks anything like that, I’ll have to take see it for myself.” Myron hesitated to move his hand again. This was stupid, of course. Even if Kolby’s family knew about his taste in men, it was playing with fire for Myron to get close. He wasn’t actually a traitor, after all. And… he hated to admit it, but his stomach tightened at the thought of someone figuring out that the painting Kolby bought led to the arrest of the governor. Myron swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to reassure himself. Kolby was Mr. Descoteaux’s son— surely his father wouldn’t do something… severe for such an easy mistake.

Kolby’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Myron could even feel the faint rumble of it echoing through the bull’s flank where it brushed against him. “Do you really like them so much, Myron?” He finally turned to look at the bear, warm chestnut eyes open and vulnerable.

Myron knew the warmth in his chest was a little demon leading him astray. Sure, probably nobody would notice the tracker in the painting, Kolby would be fine. But if Myron himself formed a connection with the mob boss’s calf, what the hell would the Agency do?

Then again… Kolby didn’t know. To him, Myron was a mercenary agent, unpredictable, but a potential ally. A potential friend.

“I do like them.” Myron glanced at Kolby’s chest. He was such a big, tender bull all dressed up in his nice suit. “Especially that one.” Myron pointed to a painting of a bull gazing into a seemingly bottomless pond, the light reflected in its glassy surface. “And… I like talking to you about them.”

He finally moved his hand, smoothly running it up Kolby’s massive thigh. Thick, inviting warmth radiated from the soft inner side, giving Myron’s fingers something to lightly squeeze.

What was the harm in playing with him for a while?

Kolby’s ears were deep red inside. He shifted in his chair, but not to pull away— to open his legs a little more. “I like talking with you too,” he murmured. Kolby leaned in, letting the buttery heft of his belly squish against Myron’s. He could practically hear the fluffy bull’s heart pounding.

“Yeah?” Myron grinned, sliding one of Kolby’s unfinished crème brûlées over. “You even liked me enough to stop eating for a minute.”

Kolby started to stammer out an answer, but Myron planted a paw on his chest, dark claws indenting easily in one of those massive pillows of meat that stuffed out his shirt. That shut the bull up instantly.

“Here.” Myron cracked the caramel and scooped a spoonful of the rich dessert. “I like seeing you eat. And I can’t help but wonder what another few pounds would look like.” His paw trailed down Kolby’s shirt, until he played with a thick ridge of belly fat. “You know, I thought your father was kind of handsome. Doesn’t hold a candle to you, though.”

“First time I’ve heard that.” Kolby laughed weakly.

“Shouldn’t be.” Myron squeezed one of his buffet-sized love handles. “Open up.”

Kolby opened his snout and let Myron feed him. The bear dared to touch Kolby’s blubbery neck, and after a brief tensing of his deep-buried muscles, Kolby relaxed and swallowed. Myron could feel that wide throat moving as the bull stuffed his belly just that little bit more.

Myron fed Kolby all the remaining brûlées, including two of his own, relishing the bull’s habitual gluttony. Of course, he felt the eyes of the quiet rhino Rhys in the corner of the room, but if Kolby didn’t care whether he saw, then why should Myron?

As he slipped the spoon one last time across Kolby’s fat bovine tongue, the bull’s hand started stroking Myron’s arm. “Hey, um,” Kolby began, licking a bit of crème from his snout, “I have a suite kept reserved just for me, if you’d like to… stay for the night?”

Having already made his bad decision, Myron let his instincts push him onward. He undid the top button of Kolby’s fine shirt, then stuck his strong paw into it. He traced the thin padding over Kolby’s clavicle, and the quickly thickening fat that flowed down into his breast. “I could go for another private dinner,” he growled. “I hear this hotel has the most tender,” Myron leaned in to speak right into Kolby’s ear, “cream-fattened steaks.”

Kolby nervously touched Myron’s belly through his shirt, two plump fingers following a tuft of mahogany fur through the strained gap in his buttons. “I’m sure—” Kolby gulped, “a well-fed bull would love to feel your… teeth, and tongue.”

Myron felt Kolby’s heart struggling against his fat-caked ribs. He put a thumb on the bottom of Kolby’s snout, making the bull’s blushing face look up at him. Myron rubbed a smudge of crème from his chin, and planted his thumb in his mouth. “Well, let’s get upstairs so he can take off these pesky clothes.”