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After cleaning up, Joe and Ned returned to the living room and found the pups laying quietly on the rug.

Burger sprawled out on his front, squished belly looking like a great mound of dark-brown pancake batter, complete with soft folds around his shoulders. Beside him, Rosco curled, snout and gangly arms resting across the great width of Burger’s neck.

Ned returned to the couch with a grunt. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and left his belt undone, so that his firm gut could expand freely with each breath. He put his hands behind his head and relaxed into the cushion. “Well, big boys got all tuckered out, huh?”

Joe squatted down next to the slumbering men. He ran a hand across Rosco’s head, feeling the downy fur and familiar shape of his skull. His fingers lingered on the cloth strap stretched between his ears. Rosco’s big, fuzzy snout was still bound in that muzzle. “Hey lazy wolf,” Joe said softly. Rosco’s ears twitched, but he didn’t stir.

“No wonder they crashed so hard. Big meal, all that playing and wrestling, especially with how heavy they are.” Ned patted the other side of the couch. “Let’s let ‘em sleep there for a little, then see about herding them into the bedroom.”

“Yeah, okay.” Joe gazed into Rosco’s middle. Curled as he was, all that soft flesh bunched up into thick, furry rolls, more than making up for a lack of blankets. Joe tried to ignore the pang of jealousy, seeing Rosco pressed up against some other big herbivore.

The feeling faded quickly anyway as his gaze brushed over Burger. The bull’s muscles were buried too deep to ever be seen again, his dick was locked away even if he could still reach it, and of course, his solid bovine head wasn’t crowned by a pair of manly horns, but just those dark stubs. Joe rubbed one of his own antlers, feeling its solid weight on his head, before getting up to join Ned on the couch.

“Was he always that big?” Ned asked.

“What?” Joe turned to him, but the hippo was staring at the two beasts plopped on the floor.

“Your pup,” he added.

“Oh.” Looking over them both, Joe could easily tell that Rosco was smaller than the oil-barge of a bovine, but they both still made impressive mounds of fur as they slept. “Well, he’s been big as long as I’ve known him, even for a wolf. But, he has gotten heavier since we moved in together.” Joe’s cooking made sure of that. “I know it’s a stereotype that wolves are always hungry, but I’ve never met someone who likes food more than Rosco.” He paused. “I help him keep up with his exercising, though.”

“I can tell.” Ned pointed at his body. “Might have all those muscles smothered up, but you can see with how that puppy fat rests on him. And beating Burger at wrestling!” The hippo grinned. “Big steer gets by on sheer bovine genetics, but by now Anselm has certainly won most of his bouts with Mother Nature.”

Joe stared at Burger’s sleeping form. His shoulders were broad and solid, his chest showing off its hearty core as it expanded with each slow breath. Sure enough, the bull’s nature couldn’t be completely consumed, but it could get close. “Does he really not let Burger work out? At all?”

Ned shrugged. “Depends if you count carrying around 800-some pounds of beefsteaks all day.” He laughed faintly. “Not that Burger does too much walking.” The hippo let silence linger for a moment, before turning a bit and peering curiously at him. “You’ve got a serious mug there Joe, got something on your mind.”

Joe hesitated. It was hard enough opening up to Rosco, let alone some other guy. But, there was something calming about Ned’s presence, the certainty and experience that the old hippo carried around with him. Taking one last glance to be sure the pups were deep asleep, Joe sighed. “I just don’t get it.”

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, young moose.”

“Why would Burger… why would he live like that?” Joe gestured to the bull.

“Why does your wolf like being a puppy?” Ned asked.

Joe huffed. “He likes playing a puppy. Being taken care of makes him feel good, and he’s not good at talking anyway so why not just let someone else tell him what to do? But he’s still an actual guy, a wolf.” He put a hand on his chest. “When I get home sweaty from the gym, he can barely keep his teeth in his mouth.”

Ned undressed Joe with his eyes. “I can see why.” His grin faded. “Look, what if Rosco found out that being a puppy felt right? Day to day? Maybe he chooses that instead of being a wolf.”

“He wouldn’t.” Joe’s fingers clenched, as he watched Rosco’s beautiful gray hide expand with a breath.

“Why not?”

“Because… he has a whole life.” Joe tried to keep his voice steady. “Friends, dreams, work sometimes. He has a boyfriend, not an owner!” He stopped, quieting down as Rosco shifted in his sleep. “Just because things are hard for him doesn’t mean he’d choose to live like a pet.”

Taking a deep breath, Ned moved over on the couch and wrapped an arm around Joe’s shoulders. His firm grip and woody cologne fit with his paternal voice. “Burger didn’t choose this because it was easier. Anselm is not easy to please. But, Anselm made him more food than a family could eat, took charge of a big, tough bull, and showed Burger that he could have more than just a dom. He could have a farmer, an owner. Why’d Burger say yes?” With a single flippant gesture, Ned waved off the question, as if he couldn’t see the hornless bull right in front of him. “That’s his business. Not even Anselm knows, really.”

Joe looked over every detail of Burger’s meat-pattern fur, as if that had the answer. He wanted to snap back at Ned, but how could he? Joe had just met Burger today, gotten a blowjob from him, and demanded to know the inner workings of his brain. But how could Anselm not know? “So, what, Burger just let some guy make him into a farm animal and we leave it at that?”

“Not ‘some guy’, Joe. His master, his farmer.” Although his voice was shaded with frustration, Ned had an understanding look on his face, the cracked lines of his skin clear to make out around his eyes. “I’m sure you saw how Rosco looked when his daddy was playing with him.” He patted Joe’s arm. “You remind me of Anselm a little, y’know.”

Joe shut his eyes. “Why would you think that’s what I wanted to hear?”

“I’m just saying, there’s not a lot of guys worth giving yourself to. It’s a compliment.” The hippo leaned in with a sultry tone. “Plus, you’re both total hunks.”

Even if just out of surprise, a thin smile formed on Joe’s snout. “Sorry. I’ve been having fun, it’s just… a lot to take in.” He paused. “I don’t think I’m that much like Anselm.”

“Haven’t even met him.”

“Yeah, but,” Joe looked at Burger’s fat, bovine head, “I can’t imagine wanting to take someone’s horns away.”

Ned shrugged. “Guess you’re not cut out to be a farmer. What about a doggy owner?”

What if Rosco did end up wanting to live like this? He seemed at home, laying in a furry heap on the floor, being ordered around with rewards and punishments. Even when they first met Ned on the beach, Rosco was quick to accept the role.

Rosco’s side rose and fell with his breath, the forest of familiar stormcloud fur making Joe’s chest ache. He watched for a few minutes, with Ned gracefully letting the silence sit between them.

Finally, Joe’s eyelids started to droop. “I’m feeling pretty tired,” he said.

“Yeah, time for bed.” Ned stood, stomping over to roughly nudge Burger with a foot. The bull shifted and eventually lifted his head, blinking blearily up at the hippo. “Come on, ya’ big hound, if you can carry that fat ass of yours to my room, I’ll let you sleep on the foot of the bed with your new friend.”

Burger let out an excited pant and slowly began to lift himself back to hands and knees.

Joe knelt beside Rosco, who was woken by Burger moving out from under him. For a moment, Rosco tried to speak, before seeming to remember the muzzle on his snout. Once the confusion cleared, his big eyes waited on Joe for some instruction.

“C’mere.” Slipping his hands under Rosco’s armpits, Joe hefted the wolf up with a grunt, feeling his soft weight mount as he lifted Rosco clear of the ground.

Rosco’s arms stuck out awkwardly, his legs dangled, and he looked every bit the lazy dog whose owner had to carry him everywhere. Joe pulled him close, until Rosco wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Supporting the pup by his butt, Joe followed Ned and Burger down the hallway.

***

With four big men in one bed, they went without blankets.

Ned’s dense gut rose and fell with each snoring breath, big enough to cover most of his briefs even as his thick limbs sprawled out.

Burger barely fit, slabs of bull fat threatening to flow over the edge even as he dominated nearly half of the mattress.

And laying on Joe’s legs, curled up into a fluffy mass of warmth, was Rosco. The wolf’s arms stretched out in front of him, big paws resting on Ned’s side. His nose flared as he took long, soft breaths a few inches away from Joe’s jockstrap. He’d taken off Rosco’s muzzle to be safe, but if Joe didn’t know any better, he could have really mistaken the wolf for just a massive doggy in the darkness of Ned’s bedroom.

Rosco’s meaty thighs led to a pair of wide, digitigrade paws that twitched softly with some canine dream, and his pudgy head rested like it belonged on his daddy’s legs.

Joe stared at the three men for a long moment. His dick had been straining tight against his jock for minutes now, and too many conflicting thoughts ran through his head for him to fall asleep. He was enjoying this– of course he was enjoying this. Seeing more than 800 pounds of bull crawl on all fours, obeying every order given to him, just the memory of it made his pulse speed up so quickly it made him sore. Locking Rosco’s big teeth away, taming him under threat of locking his sheath too, it was the perfect game to play with a hefty wolf.

And now, with Burger and Rosco so obviously in their place as the big pups on the foot of the bed, Joe could imagine why Burger would choose something like this.

But… could he accept it if Rosco wanted to be a puppy for good? What if the connection he had with his boyfriend wouldn’t be there with his doggy? His chest tightened at that thought, so he stared at the sweet, tubby lupine face asleep on his legs.

“Hey,” Joe whispered, “Wolfy.”

Rosco’s ears twitched.

Joe nudged his foot, rubbing against the rolls of belly fat that trapped it.

With a soft, breathy noise, Rosco peeked his bleary eyes open just a bit. They caught what little bit of moonlight slipped through the curtains, showing the wolf’s half-sleeping confusion.

Joe patted his own muscle-packed middle, beckoning him closer.

A simple smile brightened Rosco’s snout, as he dragged his bulk across Joe’s lower body. He had to pull his own waist out from under the sack of tallow that smothered Burger’s arm, though the bull didn’t stir at all. Rosco seemed not to notice the hard moose staff pressing into his chest as he slumped back down, too tired to even process what could possibly be poking up between his boyfriend’s thighs.

Rosco’s head lay heavy on Joe’s stomach, snout pointed right at him.

Joe reached down and slowly petted Rosco’s head, squishing his cheeks and ruffling his downy fur. “You’re my boy,” he murmured, unsure exactly what that meant. “My good boy.”

Rosco nestled his snout as deep as he could into Joe’s gut, soothed back to sleep by the moose’s strong hands.

“You’re mine.”

***

Rosco shared the couch with Burger that morning, while Ned and Joe cleaned up in the kitchen. Although the couch was made for a hippo, the two of them squished each other with the width of their hips, bellies, and shoulders. Of course, Rosco couldn’t complain. He’d put his shorts and shirt back on, but Burger didn’t bother. His white briefs weren’t even visible as he was sitting, rolls of fat overfilling his lap and smothering his sides.

Warmth radiated off the massive bull, and after last night Rosco wasn’t so nervous about feeling his form looming over him.

“I hope you don’t mind me staying undressed,” Burger murmured. “Just more comfortable this way.”

“Hey I get it.” Rosco tugged at his shirt, which struggled not to let a little belly show. “I’m always in my boxers when I’m home, you’re like a fat kindred spirit or something. Especially since we have thick fur.”

Burger smiled, shutting his eyes for a moment as the morning light fell over him. His fur’s toasty brown took on a reddish tint where the light caught it fluffing around his neck. He laughed, and glanced down.

Rosco cocked his head to the side, then realized that he’d been thoughtlessly rubbing a bit of Burger’s flank fur between his fingers. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, you can do what you like. I’m just a cow, after all.” Burger’s ears flicked happily at his own words.

“You make a really good one.” Rosco stared up at Burger’s face. Most of the time, he struggled to look people in the eyes, but Burger had so little expectation in his– it was almost like actually meeting eyes with a simple farm cow. “I liked being puppies with you, but it’d be fun to be like a dog meeting a bull for the first time.” He stammered, “or, steer, sorry.”

Burger chuckled. “Bull, cow, steer, cattle, livestock– they’re all good in their own ways. Use whatever you want.” He shifted as he sat, getting even closer to Rosco. “Maybe Master will let me play around with you again soon.”

“I hope so. I’m kinda sad to say bye, since we have to wait for someone else to decide when we hang out.” Rosco subtly rubbed his arm against Burger’s. As fat as the bull was, his solid frame reminded Rosco of Joe, both of the herbivores being a comfort to lean against.

“We animals just have to trust our owners,” Burger said with a wise, content tone.

A strange but welcome calm hummed in Rosco’s scruff at the thought of that. “Yeah, they know what’s good for us.”

After a moment of quiet, Burger lifted an arm and nervously said, “I know you’re not fully playing a puppy right now, but could I pet you?”

Rosco grinned. “I always like being petted!”

Burger’s hands matched the rest of him, overstuffed fingers on a thick, solid frame. His touch was soft, especially with the padding, but it was heavy as both of his palms came to rest on Rosco’s head. One began ruffling the fluff on his cheek, while the other stroked between his ears. “Your fur’s a little scruffy,” Burger said.

“Yeah, it gets like that when I sleep.” Rosco’s voice was naturally quieter, soothed by the gentle petting.

The bull held him in his big, deep-brown eyes, nostalgia crossing over his face. “You’re so cute. Just a big, plushy boy.” He sighed. “You know, I always really liked subby guys like you; soft carnivores were my favorite when I was a wild bull. Joe’s lucky.”

Rosco hummed softly as Burger stroked the scruff of his neck. “I’m pretty lucky to get a hunk like him. I wouldn’t let anyone else put a… muzzle… on me.” He peered at Burger with one eye, the other shut at the bull’s touch. “Do you ever wish you could still have, like, a puppy yourself?”

Burger hesitated to answer.

“I won’t tell,” Rosco promised with a little conspiratorial smile.

“Well,” Burger laughed softly, “it’s a little funny just to think about, with a cattle tag in my ear and all, but that is one thing I miss sometimes.”

“But it’s worth it?” Rosco asked. He looked between the bull’s yellow tag, his heavy nose ring, the stubs of his horns, and the shelves of tallow caked onto his frame. It all seemed to suit Burger perfectly, like wearing anything more than the underwear his master allowed him was ridiculous.

Burger took a moment to answer that, too, but this time it wasn’t hesitation– he was simply taking a deep breath, and spoke with as much conviction as his voice could muster anymore, “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Ned and Joe emerged from the kitchen, both fully dressed for the day.

“Getting a last feel of that fur in, Burger?” Ned sauntered over and ruffled the fluff around Rosco’s ear. “It is a nice pelt.”

Burger’s hands fell away. “I’d really like to play with him again sometime, Mr. Tenor.”

Rosco looked up and nodded eagerly.

Ned beamed down at them. “Well, I’ll let your master know, Burger. Be a good steer and I’m sure he’d like to meet this pup, too.” He turned to Joe. “Remember the aftercare tonight, Joe. This was a bit of a jump in the deep end for you two.”

It was intense, but Rosco felt fine, if a little tired.

“Yeah.” Joe’s voice sounded distant. He stepped up to Burger, paused, and rested a hand on the bull’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb on him warmly. “It was nice to meet you, Burger. Thanks for showing Rosco the ropes.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Joe’s snout twitched. “Let’s go with Mr. Stacker.”

Burger nodded obediently.

Finally, Joe beckoned to Rosco. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Rosco hopped up, accepting a last fur-ruffle from Ned before taking Joe’s hand. He slid back into the warm, comfortable position next to his boyfriend, standing just a bit shorter, rather than peering up from all fours.

“Come on,” Ned helped Burger to his feet, giving them one more good look of the bull’s massive, brief-straining ass, “I’ll make you something to eat before we get you back to the farm.”

On the drive home, Joe was quiet, brows furrowed at the road ahead of them.

“That was fun,” Rosco began, leaning against the cool passenger window.

“Mm-hm.” Joe nodded.

Rosco wasn’t sure whether to press him. Joe didn’t usually wear his heart on his sleeve, and he’d clearly enjoyed their night with Burger and Ned, but Rosco couldn’t help but worry. “Everything alright, big moose?” He reached out and caressed Joe’s arm.

Joe’s smile was thin, but genuine. “Yeah, I’m good, just tired.”

***

That evening, Joe lay on the couch in his jeans and tank top, scrolling through his phone as he replayed the night before in his head. Rosco had been so good at playing a puppy, and Joe had never seen him make a friend as quickly as he did with Burger.

He was even still getting petted in the morning, sitting obediently while Ned talked down to him.

Joe rubbed his snout. Rosco had gone a little quiet after they got home, probably just tired from being around so many people for so long. But… what if he was actually thinking through a big decision? What if he wanted…

“Hey Joe,” Rosco’s voice filled the room with his warm lupine rumble, although with a fragile shake on the very edge of it.

“Yeah?” Joe lowered his phone and sat up, turning to the bedroom door.

Rosco stood, freshly showered. His big, puffy moobs gave way to familiar rolls and the doughy crest of his belly, hanging over the waistband of his pajama pants. The deep red plaid fabric contrasted his gray fur, and only made the wolf look even more tender than usual. His hands were in front of his stomach, and he scratched nervously at his wrist. “Um, could we cuddle for a little bit?”

Joe’s expression opened at the worried tone in Rosco’s voice. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “Yeah, yeah, come on over here.” Keeping his arms open, Joe let Rosco lay down onto him, head on his chest.

The wolf’s thick arms wrapped tight around Joe’s middle, holding on to him to the point that his claws nearly scratched the moose. Rosco breathed, and his chest shook slightly.

He must have been troubled by something. Joe shut his eyes and lifted his head, before rubbing Rosco’s neck. Beyond words like boyfriend or owner, the wolf’s heavy warmth on Joe’s muscles, the musky scent of his fur, the little wet spot of his nose, that was what mattered. “Rosco,” Joe began, fighting through the desire to stop, “if you want…”

Rosco lifted his head, a little moistness catching the light in his eyes. “Hm?”

“If you want to be my puppy for good, that’s okay.” Joe started to rush through his words, “I like being your boyfriend, but if you want an owner, then I can be that for you. Just, as long as you’re mine, I’m okay with it.” His ears were burning inside as he looked at Rosco’s face, expecting to see relief.

But, Rosco just cocked his head to the side, and caught a little sniffle in his nose. “What? I never said I wanted that.”

“I saw the way you connected with Burger, and…” he trailed off.

“Well, I think he’s my friend, but I don’t…”

“Then what’s…” Joe furrowed his brows, why are you shaking?”

“I don’t know,” Rosco murmured.

While the two lingered in an uncomfortable silence, Joe focused on petting Rosco’s shoulders. They were broad, and near the blades he could easily feel the wolf’s muscle beneath a thin layer of pudge. But the further down his hand went, the thicker it became, until he found the blubber roll that stretched from his moob around to his back. It was a little strange, feeling the bulkiness and buried strength of a wolf who had spent the last day whimpering and following orders like a puppy.

Rosco let his head lay back on Joe’s chest, such that his voice vibrated through his throat and onto the moose’s skin. “I feel kind of overwhelmed.”

Joe sighed. “Guess Ned was right.” He kept stroking Rosco’s back, while the wolf squeezed tight against him. How was he supposed to help Rosco feel better? What was even troubling him? “Is it… something about Burger? Or Ned?”

With his snout only barely opening, Rosco mumbled, “Do you think less of me now?”

Joe’s breath caught. He looked down, to find Rosco’s eyes refusing to look back up. “What?”

Rosco shrugged. “Because I liked being treated that way?”

A little, tight part of Joe wondered if maybe he did. But little cracks of guilt split across his chest at the thought– this wolf he wanted was laying on him, relying on him for reassurance. “No. I mean,” Joe scratched him behind the ear, “I liked doing all that too.”

“Did you really?” Rosco asked softly. “You seemed kinda upset.”

“It’s complicated,” Joe said simply. But, he caught Rosco looking up at him, big wolf eyes filled with anxiety. So he cleared his throat and forced out the words, “Well I said it already. I just worried that… if you got into it enough, you’d want what Burger has. And I’d have to accept it.”

Rosco slowly lifted himself, fat paws pressing on Joe’s chest to bring their fuzzy snouts close. “Even if I wanted that, I wouldn’t make you do something you didn’t.” Although his face was still open and vulnerable, he managed a slight, bashful smile. “But it’s nice to know that you’d be willing to, for me.”

Joe rubbed his cheeks, speaking as the thoughts came to him, “I would. And you know, I’d miss being your boyfriend, but I love it when you get lost in a role like that. Only thing that makes me think is how cute you are.”

Rosco shifted his knees until he straddled Joe, even as he seemed to be using up the last of his energy. The wolf’s pudgy thighs pressed in on Joe's legs with the soft fabric of his pajama pants. “Well, that’s good, I like being different things with you.” He hunched his shoulders. “A puppy and his daddy, a fat beast and the hunter who caught him,” Rosco’s hands shifted to Joe’s shoulders and pressed him down heavily on the arm of the couch. “But if I were a puppy all the time, I wouldn’t get to be the big bad wolf, with his meaty prey.” His smile widened, pulling the lip of his snout away to reveal gleaming, pointed fangs. With ears perked, his eyes took on a sharper, hungrier look. Rosco licked his chops.

Joe tried to push back, but realized he’d need to put most of his strength into it. He had more muscle than Rosco, and it was certainly better trained, but it was easy to forget that beneath all his soft blubber, Rosco was still a wolf– with enough lupine strength to throw his weight around. And he did have quite a few pounds on Joe.

That deep, herbivore instinct to panic at the sight of predator jaws sparked in Joe’s stomach. But he’d spent so much time around Rosco that it turned to heat and excitement as it spread through his body. Just like the wolf’s musk and furry hide, his teeth were familiar. It was, beneath the vicious face, still Rosco.

“Don’t eat me, Mr. Wolf,” Joe begged. He was unpracticed with a submissive tone, and couldn’t keep the laugh out of his voice. “You’re so big and fat already, surely you don’t need me for just my meat.”

“But you have so much of it!” Rosco growled. “And I have such a big stomach. You wouldn’t make a wolf go hungry, would you?” He cocked his head, pouting while keeping his fangs bared.

Joe chuckled. “God you’re heavy.”

Rosco’s snarl broke into a matching laugh, with the frightening predator face melting back into the chubby-cheeked wolfy who slept in every morning. Though, he kept a little teasing tilt to his smile. “You like my heaviness no matter what I am.” He shimmied his shoulders, making his belly fat jostle on Joe’s muscle-gut. “So much, you buy me too-small underwear just to see some wolf-ass peeking over it.”

Joe’s ears buzzed warm. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Fine, you caught me. But you have no idea what it’s like to watch you walking around all day,” he reached up and planted his hands on Rosco’s haunches, slipping his thumbs under the pants to feel where Rosco’s thick fur peeked out from his old, better-fitting underwear, “swaying your hips,” he grabbed the base of Rosco’s tail, “wagging this fluffy thing to keep my eyes on you.”

“I have to sway my hips or my thighs rub together too much.” Rosco whined. “It’s not my fault you’re such a horny moose.”

Joe sighed. “Alright, maybe I could make it up to you somehow.”

Rosco’s ears twitched. “Well, you bought me small underwear, so why not buy yourself some too?” He lowered back down, rubbing his hips on Joe’s, pajama pants on tough jean fabric. “It’s pretty hard to ignore your butt, too. Especially when you come back from the gym in those jockstraps of yours.”

“Sure. I’ll sacrifice my balls for your ass-staring enjoyment.”

Rosco nestled his head beneath Joe’s snout. “Oh, like how mine have been all squished since yesterday?” He continued to subtly shift his crotch against Joe, huffing. “They’re still a little sore.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry puppy.” Joe rubbed his chest, playing with the loose hide and thick dough. “Gave you blue balls all night and messed up your chance to release it. I um…” he pushed through the hesitation to admit, “I didn’t plan to be that mean.”

Finally relaxing, Rosco’s body seemed to melt onto Joe’s. “I knew you were just playing. It was really hot, but I spent the whole night horny.” He scratched a dark claw on Joe’s bicep, voice already getting quieter. “If I weren’t feeling so exhausted, we could do something about it.”

“Guess you are pretty overtaxed from last night, huh?” Joe asked. “Not up to playing another game?”

He could feel Rosco nod, the wolf’s ears tickling under his chin.

Joe’s own dick was rock hard, trapped painfully in his jeans. He could keep it in his pants for a night, but despite Rosco’s tiredness, his hips were still pumping in faint, needy rhythms. “Poor wolf,” Joe murmured, just loud enough for Rosco to hear, “he works so hard to be a good puppy for a night, takes care of his boyfriend’s needs, and gets too tuckered out for his own.”

Rosco whimpered on a hot breath.

“How about this,” Joe asked, speaking right into Rosco’s pointy ear, “You just lay there and let my hand do all the work, huh? Then I’ll pick you up, brush those shiny teeth of yours, and carry you to bed.”

“I’m not a puppy,” Rosco whined.

“No, but I like taking care of my boyfriend too.”

Rosco’s chest shifted on Joe as he nestled deeper into him. “Okay, yeah, that sounds nice.”

Joe shut his eyes and dug one hand under Rosco’s belly, lifting the thick flow of fat with his knuckles and crawling his fingers down, past the wolf’s navel, and lower along his bountiful flesh.

Rosco shuddered at Joe’s fingers on his lower belly, toes curling where their paws met on the far end of the couch.

Finally, Joe slipped his hand under Rosco’s pants and met with a wave of cloying heat where his thighs squished together. He felt around on Rosco’s boxer-briefs, until his fingers landed on a bulge; something firm and short pressed up against a cushion of fat. Joe spent a moment rubbing beneath that point, feeling out a pair of plump shapes.

Rosco let out another whimper.

“Too sore to play.” Joe nodded. Then, he lifted the elastic of Rosco’s underwear and reached in. The heat was strongest here, as he pushed the wolf’s fat pad back and cupped his flesh. Rosco was mostly hard, but only partially peeking out of his sheath. Half of his length, and the fat knot beneath it, was still swathed in those thick, loose folds. Joe ran a finger down his length, slipping into that tender skin and going all the way to the root of his dick.

Rosco’s paws tightened around Joe’s shoulders.

“You like my fingers in there?” Joe asked. He followed his first with all the others, Rosco’s sheath stretching easily around them. He had the wolf’s dick surrounded by his hand; its stubby length lended itself to this, as the tip just brushed Joe’s arched palm while his fingers closed beneath the knot.

The room became filled with Rosco’s breath, slow but heavy on Joe’s neck. Joe added to that rhythm as he began to drag his fingers up and down, their hard hoof-capping drawing lines of pressure across his wolfhood. Each stroke mixed precum with the natural wetness of Rosco’s sheath until the only resistance to Joe’s hand was the soft, helpless tugging of the stretched skin. “Such a messy wolf,” Joe cooed. “You’re lucky I don’t mind you getting the apartment all musky.”

Rosco’s hips naturally started to rock back and forth, but in short desperate motions that couldn’t quite match up with Joe’s careful, pleasing ones. His cock twitched in Joe’s hand, spurting out a dash of precum.

“Hold on there, puppy, I know you like this first.” Joe turned his attention wholly to Rosco’s sheath. He pinched the skin between his thumb and fingers, and tugged at it, pulling away from Rosco’s loins. With both sides of it soaked in slippery fluid, Joe’s fingers naturally slipped as they pulled, so he moved them in a circle around the rim of the sheath.

The skin was thick here, easy to fold on itself and roll as Joe pleased. But he knew Rosco’s sheath very well, including all the most precise ways to reduce the wolf down to a blubbery mess. His thumb traced the very lip of Rosco’s sheath, while one finger dipped in to run across the bottom, where it connected to the buried root of his dick.

As if electricity arced through him, Rosco’s muscles twitched tight, his hips spasming as he whined.

Joe quickly saved the wolf from a repeat of last night, returning his fingers to pump at his knot. Hot cum poured out of Rosco, splattering against Joe’s hand, while the moose coaxed out every ounce of heat he had to give.

After barely half a minute of Joe’s fingers between his legs, Rosco lay spent, taking long, grateful huffs. His cum pooled in the moose’s palm.

Joe lifted Rosco’s belly and slowly reached for a box of tissues on the nearby coffee table. “Someone had a lot to get out, huh? How’s my needy boy feel?”

Rosco mumbled something unintelligible, lacking the energy to make his body into anything but a furry, five-hundred pound heated blanket.

Joe cleaned off his hand, then shifted his chin until he could gaze down at Rosco’s face. The exhaustion was clear to read, but so was his deep, simple calm. Not many wolves would be willing to fall asleep on a moose, but Rosco was his, after all. His to take care of, whether puppy or boyfriend.

Rosco’s breaths became rhythmic, slumbering.

Joe stroked the scruff of his neck, pulling gently on the loose folds of hide between his shoulders. He whispered, “Love you, wuff. I’ll always be here for you to lay on.”