FSE

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My ear flicks as I hear the front door creak open. The fur on the back of my neck raises and my breath quickens. My brain screams that someone is breaking into the apartment and then it starts looking for weapons. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore it, to little effect.

There's a baseball bat in the corner but it's on the other side of the room. I should be able to get to it, but even if I don't get to it, I can still make the intruder regret being alive. I may be a tiny runt of a wolf but I know how to fight mean.

A heavy thunk makes me flinch but then I hear the heavy, familiar footfalls of a snow leopard who must have learned to walk from a wildebeest. My partner is home. I slowly open my eyes and try to get my breathing under control.

Donovan flicks on a light and a glimmer of yellow seeps under the bedroom door. Then an unsteady pile of silverware clatters to the floor. He curses none too softly and I cringe because I'm the one who stacked half a dozen knives—butter knives fortunately—on top of three precariously stacked bowls. After some rummaging in the kitchen, the light fades out.

The bedroom door opens slowly as Donovan peeks in. My night-adjusted eyes can see his muzzle clearly in the cold blue of the distant streetlights far below the living room window.

Donovan startles back as he sees the reflected gleam from my eyes.

“Conor?" he asks softly.

“Yeah?" I croak.

He pauses for a moment—to gather his thoughts, I assume. I appreciate that he's learned not to ask stupid questions, like if I was awake.

“You okay?"

“Just peachy," I pant between quick breaths.

Donovan pushes the door all the way open and steps over to the bed. I scoot over so he can sit beside me. He holds out a paw and I take it. While he sits there, his thumb rubs slowly over the back of my paw.

He breathes slowly and deliberately until my breaths match his. The pain in my chest eases and my ears fold back as my brain starts working again.

“Sorry about the knives," I say sheepishly.

He looks at me for a moment, puzzled. Then he quirks a smile. “We'll work on properly stacking dishes another night."

I look up into his eyes with a forced smile. “Before someone dies in some horribly tragic way, I hope."

“You're not getting rid of either of us that quickly," he chuckles.

“Well, damn," I sigh. “Y'all making it all rather hard on a wolf, you know."

He sits up and pulls back the covers to peek. “Not all that hard," he replies.

I snort and let myself sink back into the bed. “I suppose not."

Donovan stands up and lets go of my paw before tugging his shirt off. My eyes linger on him. He isn't the most attractive snow leopard in the world. He's almost the exact opposite of me—taller, slower, and heavier. Yet, the paunch on his belly has a certain dignity to it, more a product of sitting in an office than lack of exercise. He'd reached the prime of his life young and left it far too early while I have yet to enter the prime of mine.

I smile as he removes his pants. The color of his boxers is lost in the dimness of the light, but I imagine them to be the red ones I like so much—the ones I picked out. Then my ears sag as I remember nearly having a panic attack in the middle of the department store. So much of our lives is spent dealing with my issues.

My attention wanders until the bed creaks as Donovan slips under the covers next to me. I look over my shoulder at him. Our eyes meet and his scent fills my nose. There's a faint, sharp note of alcohol I hadn't noticed before, but I expected that. Part of me still aches for one more drink but I'm not going to ask him to give up having a drink with friends. What I didn't expect was the sour smell of worry.

“Did you want to talk a bit?" he asks quietly.

“If ya want to," I reply, rolling over. “Ain't got nothin' else to do but lie here."

He reaches a paw out to brush my muzzle. “Rough day?"

“Not particularly." My ears fold back slightly. “School was fine. Therapy sucked."

“Thursdays are with Megan, right?"

“Usually," I sniff. “Megan was out, so David and I did an EMDR session."

“Oh," He says. “You could have let me know."

“Not on your night out," I say quietly. “You spend every other day of the week with me."

“Still…"

I grab his paw. “No. You gotta take care of yourself. Ain't gonna do neither of us any good otherwise."

“Sorry," he whispers.

I breathe out slowly and soften my tone. “Ya don't need to apologize. I feel guilty all the time keeping you stuck at home. Givin' ya a night out makes me feel better. Don't worry about lettin' me cry it out once a week."

“I always worry," he says, as he slides a finger down the inside of my arm, brushing across the thin scars.

“I gotta learn how to cope sometime." I nose his paw and then look him in the eye. “And I do appreciate all ya do for me. Wish I had more to give back."

He tears up a bit and I'm feeling my own eyes trying to do the same.

Guilt eats at me because I know he wants to hold me, that he needs more than words. I don't know if I can. Therapy took everything I had. Reliving the past tore open old wounds that had only begun to heal. After spending the evening alone, everything has closed in and I can't bear to be touched.

“Don't say that," he sniffs. “You're fighting as hard as you can." He wipes a tear from my eye, as close as he dare get without asking me first. “There's a lot of med changes before we get it right."

I shift over to rest my head on his shoulder but my ears flick back when he kisses my forehead. “Give me a minute," I say shakily, as he pulls back with a whispered apology.

He gently rubs my jaw. “Speaking of meds, did you take yours?"

I look up at him. “Yeah. Why?"

“You're a lot more awake than I expected. Did you increase your anti-psychotic like you were supposed to?"

My ears fold back and I grumble out a no. He looks at me for a long moment before I look away. I'm dreading another increase.

The last time I felt like a dead wolf walking. My eyes couldn't stay open, my paws shook, and I was tripping over my own feet. But the worst was the lack of emotions; there was no happy or sad, only a blank, unbearable emptiness—emptiness that could lead me to cut again, just so I could feel something. It took nearly a week at the higher dose to feel somewhat normal again.

“If I got you another pill, would you take it?" he asks quietly.

“If you insist," I mumble.

“I do."

Donovan gets up with a stiff groan and walks out of the room to get me a cup of water. When he comes back, he uses his phone as a flashlight to find the right medication. After he finds it, he brings it to me.

I roll into a sitting position and take the pill he holds out. Then I reach out with trembling paws to grasp the proffered cup. It takes both of them to hold the cup without spilling the water everywhere but I'm thankful he doesn't try to help me.

“Thanks," I whisper, as I hand the cup back.

“You're welcome," Donovan says. Then he sits on the bed next to me and rubs his back with a muttered curse.

“I could rub your back if ya like," I say.

He nods and then walks around the bed so he can lie down on his side of it. I crawl out from under the covers onto all fours. The room feels like it's tipping back and forth, so I have to concentrate on moving carefully.

He's almost too large for my short legs, but eventually I'm able to straddle his back without sitting on him. I reach out my paws and comb my fingers through his thick fur, feeling for tense muscles.

It doesn't take long before I manage to get a groan out of him as I knead his back. I close my eyes and work by feel. My fingers are clumsy but they haven't lost any of their strength. A bit later, I realize my bare sheath and balls are brushing against his fur—enough that my tip is peeking.

I'm not exactly in the mood, but it does feel nice. As I work, my body backs down from the anxiety I've felt all night. By the time I'm done rubbing his back, my hackles have smoothed out completely and my ears are relaxed.

Then I lie down next to him, half leaning on him. He turns to look at me. Our noses touch and I lightly kiss his lips. My tail wags slowly and his puffs up. In response, Donovan tilts his head so we can kiss more fully. His lips linger on mine and I smile.

Encouraged, he rolls on his side so he can reach out a tentative paw towards my shoulder. I lean towards it to give him permission while I rest my muzzle on his neck.

His other arm wraps around me to support my head while his paw strokes my back. I close my eyes and breathe out slowly. The paw on my shoulder moves to my side and its soft fingers comb through my fur.

“I love you, Conor," he whispers into my ear. “More than anyone else in the world."

My hackles bristle for a moment at his words; I force them back down. I open my eyes and look into his. They glow faintly with reflected light; I try to say the same words but they catch in my throat. My chest hurts from the effort but I can't get them out.

Fighting back guilt, I reach out to rub his cheek. “I know," I whisper earnestly. “I know you do."

He kisses my forehead. “And I know you love me the same."

“I—" my voice stammers, “—I do." I lean my head harder into his neck and sniff. “Why can't I tell you?" I cry.

“You don't need to." He cradles the back of my head and kisses me again. “Love is more than just words."

His paw slides down my side to my waist and he looks me in the eye with an unspoken question.

“You can touch me," I reply.

He wraps his paw gently around my sheath and his fingers brush the short, soft fur back and forth, slowly drawing out my cock.

I nose his neck while the back of his claws rub along my shaft. Then leathery pads kiss my tip and I close my eyes.

My tears dry as he fondles me. Each touch eases the tension in my shoulders, and I feel small and vulnerable in his paws. The warm glow between my legs reaches for my heart as I lean against him.

Donovan keeps his strokes light as my body starts to respond. My cock erects to its full length and there's a familiar twinge in my shaft warning me things aren't working right.

Pressure in my cock builds until the tip almost aches, but nothing happens. Something is squeezing parts inside of me, making orgasm all but impossible. The feeling peaks and then everything relaxes, only to slowly build again, like it always does after I've taken my meds.

I wrap my arm around him to hold myself close to his chest while he continues his ministrations. He never pushes me too far, keeping me in a gentle haze of distant pleasure.

My need ebbs and flows, never getting urgent, as he touches me in the most intimate way. The tension in my chest melts. His other paw strokes me from head to tail and the motion pushes my ears back so they flop back into place with each stroke. When we kiss, his purr rumbles through us.

These moments where we both share love in the same way are precious beyond any price. So many times, we need to meet halfway and be left wanting.

Tonight, I can accept his touch, be as close as he so often desires. In return, his touch fills my need to be desired, to know I'm wanted above anything else.

My lips linger on his again but my head is starting to feel heavy. I lick Donovan's chin to get his attention without breaking the moment.

“Meds kicking in?" he whispers.

“Yeah," I nod.

His paw leaves my cock to pull me into his embrace. As he holds me close, his purr roars in my ears. It shakes me to my core and tears cloud my vision. I blink them away so I can look him in the eye.

In the windows to our souls, there are depths only our love can reveal. I am his and he is mine.

Nothing else matters…

No cost is too high…

Because all I am… is enough for him.

And finally I can whisper, “I love you."