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“I'm in the back seat of my body

I'm just steering my life in a video game

Similar acts and a different name"

boygenius,

' Stay Down'

It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to make Feather my little spoon, knot still stuck inside them. The blood rush of sex ebbs into afterglow as my vestigial worries fade into their neck fluff. Pillow talk turns to the kind of everyday material our libidos have so far precluded and I listen to them chatter about their day spent making content for OnlyFur. Before I can even think to match their stories with my own, the comfort of their proximity lures me toward sleep, dick still twitching, half-hearing, half-dreaming about the intimate details of an upcoming piece they're filming.

In my dream they're rocking that lacy, see-through lingerie they had on earlier, and even though their get-up wasn't chosen exclusively for me, I was the one who got to take it off. Their hundreds of horny fans can watch all they like, I'll be the one running my paws through Feather's bare fur and pounding their ass all night long. Those dorks can only dream.

But my dreams fade into disorienting throbs that crush my brain against the insides of my skull and the bed is empty now and I'm not at home and Saph isn't waiting for me. I'm back in the city that almost killed me. I'm back in the city that made me a killer. The room is unfamiliar and the seconds it takes to place myself precisely in time and space are accompanied only by fear. I'm brought back to all the one night stands, the wild benders, the lack of control and I seize up. Then the scent of squirrel hits and I find loose red furs intertwined with the white of my belly and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in.

Rising, I decide against clothing. Without a spare set I see no reason to wear yesterday's batch for longer than necessary. It's not like anything of Feather's would remotely fit. I might look cute in one of their skirts but there's no way I wouldn't be showing cheek at the merest lean. I used to do a little cross-dressing; did that die with the old me, or with the added pounds? Maybe it never died at all. Maybe it's only been in hibernation these past few years. Maybe it's time to come alive again. Maybe I'm just kidding myself.

When my head stops swimming with the rush of new day, I pat my unruly fur into some kind of order and wander into the living room. There's Feather, half leaning out of an open window, wearing a baggy crop-top and cotton shorts, smoking a joint, shoulders slumping from the weight of the world. Their eyes are clouded over, staring out at the skyline but seeming to see nothing in that horizon but an ending. The smoke that escapes their maw seems to me to leave as a sigh. The sight of it sinks my stomach, then my heart.

“Feather?" I pad up beside them, stepping soft as I can and staying clear of the window in attempt to avoid flashing the neighbors.

“Oh," they say, turning, tapping the ash of their join into a tray on the windowsill and affecting a thin smile. “Hey. Morning."

“You okay?"

“Yeah." They scratch the back of their head, move as if to take a drag then freeze, exhale through their nose and stub out the remaining third of the joint. “Sorry. I don't always wake up in the best of moods."

They nod toward the sofa and we sit together side by side. Déjà vu. But there's no pool here, and I'm tensing up, and I can't help but think I'm the reason they look like the world has let them down a million times over. But I'm no stranger to anxiety, nor the way it twists reality to its will.

“What's on your mind?"

Feather smirks and waves vaguely toward the window. “It's not getting better out there." Their sterile tone betrays their smile.

“What do you mean?" I'm predicting the answer even as I ask.

“For people like me. Sex workers. Trans people. Most anyone, to be honest."

The real world taps at my moneyed facade. I don't like it.

“I know. When you say it, I know. But usually I'm cooped up in Canada, hiding in my little bubble, my inflated bank account, Saph. I know jack shit about 'out there', really. I've been hiding from life for years."

“You're a survivor, Ash. And you're out here now, with the plebeians. Give yourself a break."

They put an arm around me, I frown and shrug it off.

“Stop it. You always do that."

Their brow furrows. “Do what?"

“Ignore your pain to service mine. Let me be flawed. Let me serve you, for once."

Their eyes widen, and glisten. Without warning or ceremony they kiss my nose. I go for their lips in retaliation.

“I could get used to a service top," they say.

I guffaw. “Come on. Be real." I wrap my arms around them, pull them in. “I can take your pain, if you want to let it out. I'm here to listen, all you need do is speak."

And so they do.

And I hold them close and kiss their forehead and the simple act of listening feels like love. It feels right.

Their pain is both diffuse and specific, both empathetic and selfish, both common and personal, both real and assumed. I let myself become submerged in it, absorbing it, soaking in it to the precipice of disintegration and no further. I am the sponge and the rock and the warm arms and the hard walls.

Their pain is flashes of tears and knives and words that do worse than break bones and loved ones who don't love you when they know the real you and it is gutters and soaked clothes and puke stained fur and it is the bottom of the baggy and the gumming of the residue off of windowsills and it is clenched fists and fear at the sight of a name plate or a badge it is syringes and scowls and rolled eyes and sarcasm and misplaced anger and hatred and those who displace it and those who profit and it is the faceless ATM dispensing notes and reading numbers in the negatives it is blood and it is the open and the closed casket and it is the result you never wanted the friend you never found out what happened to it is the way your exes spoke to you it is the way they looked at you it is every single fucking time they told you that they loved you to your face and didn't mean it and it is a loss so great only art can answer and only partially at that and it is being jostled and cajoled and labeled what you're not and it is rights dictated from up high and it is the fire and the flame and the famine of faraway lands and it is placards curling up in gas attacks and denting in the wake of rubber bullets and it is all of this on fucking repeat when we should know better and it is the hurricanes and the wildfires and ice caps melting and it is the escape made through screens and it is the DMs you wish you never read the kind that sometimes keep you up at night and it is the kind of guy who pays you money to show off but you're damn sure would take a baseball bat to your head if he ever got into the same room as you and it is that one night when everything changed and the next day when you realize it didn't but enough had and nothing would ever be the same now that you know the depth of cruelty capable in those you thought you could trust those you thought you could love and it is never being able to look at anything or anyone quite the same way ever since you figured out that trust is earned not given and you've been giving away your life for free. It is all of that and it is so much more besides. It is not my story to tell.

I listen, I take it in, I acknowledge and agree and offer what sympathies I can, but I can't claim to totally internalize it all. I've got my own shit going on. We all have. Maybe there's nothing more tragic than that.

They cry and I hold their head against my chest. I cry too, briefly, in silence. And when they're done, and their eyes are dry, I see them in the same light I always have. I feel the same way I did before. Their pain doesn't scare me, what's more: it doesn't surprise me. Given my own life, such depth of grief seems only natural.

“You know," they say. “When I met you I said I wanted to keep my personal life and my work life separate, but within days I was showing you ass pics from my OnlyFur." They straighten up on the couch, naturally freeing themself from my arms. “I'm such an idiot."

“Do you regret it?"

“No. It's not that. But what I said was true, I'd rather keep those parts of me separate; not out of shame, I just don't want to be judged on my profession, even if that judgment is positive."

“So, what went wrong?"

They tap their nose and show off a toothy smile, partway back to their usual devious self.

“Hon, you're the biggest, gayest, sweetheart ever: I totally had a thing for you." They laugh, but avert their gaze. “I don't regret how it turned out, but I should've handled things differently."

“It's at least fifty percent my fault for being such a pervert." They flash me a mock-stern stare. “Might help if you don't show me pics of your butt though, I don't think I can be held entirely accountable for what happened after."

“You're such a dude!" They exclaim, laughing. Before I have a chance to react they're pouncing on me, then we're tumbling from the sofa to the plush carpet, they're nibbling my neck and ears while I giggle like a pup. It only ends after we tongue wrestle for a few round and end up calling it a draw.

Neither of us can handle the dreamy, bedroom-eyed staring contest that follows for long. They make eggs while I take a shower. Over breakfast, redressed in last night's clothes, the bubble of my Feather-themed obsession bursts at long lasts. For all my efforts at self-distraction, the odd reality I have found myself in takes firm root in my thoughts. With no Saph, and in the wake of their honesty, I pick Feather to open up to and tell them about the mission Adrian has me on and how it feels like I'm trapped in the center of somebody else's soap opera.

They aren't having any of it.

“Somebody else's? So you had nothing to do with any of it, huh?" They wave their fork above the table to demonstrate their broad definition of 'any of it'.

That audacious smirk and those buck teeth and I'm beat. No coming back from that.

“Point taken."

“Seriously though, that's a lot. Part of me is all: go off sis, you're spilling the tea and I'm slurping it up. Another part is all: those bitches are such princesses. They need to hash it out, not drag you down." Feather shrugs. “But you did what you did and we are where we are. Now you're their pawn."

“So, what now? Should I tell Adrian everything? Or should I tell them both to fuck off and spend my holiday with you?"

“Would that be so dreadful?" The question comes in an all too innocent tone.

“Sounds perfect actually." I sip my coffee, observing them over the mug's rim as they dab their muzzle with a napkin. “Except..."

The word escapes my mouth unbidden.

“Except what?" I shake my head, but they persist: “Go on, you can't leave me on a cliffhanger like that."

I sigh and my shoulders slump. “Except, ideally, with you would mean with you. No need for hangers-on."

Feather all but freezes, gaze drifting to the middle distance, the corners of their mouth dipping into a frown. They clear their throat.

“Loner type, are you?"

I carry on digging my own grave. “Maybe, but aren't you the same? Or haven't Eve and Jay asked you to move in with them?"

In the stillness that follow, the part of my psyche which I locked tight in a black box at the start of this conversation screams its heart out.

“They've asked."

I breathe.

“So you choose to live alone?"

“I've only been with them for six months."

“Yeah." I nod. “I know."

Feather takes our plates and mugs and walks them to the dishwasher.

“I thought you'd been enjoying Jay's services," they say, bending to load the machine.

“When in Rome," I say, leaning back and staring at their ass.

They stand, turn, lean against the kitchen counter. “And if you weren't in Rome?"

“In you, preferably."

Ten minutes later they're looking up at me from their knees, wiping a stray strand of cum from their chin before licking it off of their thumb, not breaking eye contact for a second.

*

When Eve picks me up an hour later, Feather remains, planning to get ahead of work so they can hang more in the coming week. It's in Eve's car that I notice half of me stayed behind with them.

“Had a good night?" Eve asks, eyes planted on the road, her giddy grin almost splitting her face in two.

“Oh, you know..." I draw out my syllables, looking out the passenger side window and smirking at my reflection.

“Oh, bitch. Don't blue-ball me."

“So much for the individual privacy of those in your throuple," I tease, turning to her.

“Oh they have total privacy if they want it, hon, of course they do." She flashes me a feral grin before gluing her eyes back on the road. “You don't."

I burst into laughter. “I had a great time! What do you want me to say?"

She's laughing too. “It's alright. I don't need details, however juicy they may be. It's just great seeing you get on so well with my partners."

“Not worried I'll lure them away?"

She ejects a single breathy laugh, but doesn't say anything. Internally I cringe. Why did I have to throw that jab? Playful and bratty is all well and good, but if I'm not prodding a sore spot here, I am playing with fire. What a thing to say when I... I don't know.

“How was catching up with Kale and Adrian?" she asks, in a deliberate shifting of gears.

I tell her the sanitized version of events. She makes some comment about Ross and Ami seeming nice - she's met them a couple of times - and I agree without believing it, tail twitching at the thought of having to share a table with that otter.

Pulling up, I follow Eve into her home, Feather's absence on my heel. “I was talking with Feather earlier and it got me wondering: why they haven't moved in with you."

“They don't like rushing any part of a relationship, Jay and I respect that." Eve shrugs. “We invited them to at least spend the week here while you're visiting, but they declined even that."

“Huh."

“They've got their own particular ways and they rarely deviate from them. I admire that, even if it makes them inscrutable at times..."

So they declined out of principle then? Or a desire for privacy? Or pure caution? Or... perhaps they haven't made as firm a decision about Eve and Jay as advertised.

Regardless, Eve's trailing words beg the question: “But?"

“But when they spend nights with us it's always wonderful, and when they're gone they're missed."

“Is it weird to say I can relate?"

Stepping inside, Eve shakes her head and regards me with a cautious half-smile. With a sharp intake of breath she kicks off her shoes. “Come, I've got croissants and good coffee. Let's talk."

Let's talk? Those words send a static jolt through my body that bushes out my fur. “Yeah, of course. Sounds good. Just let me get changed first."

“No problem. Jay's at the gym, so I've got you all to myself for a while."

I take a minute to breathe and pat my fur down. When freshly clothed, I return and sit at the dining table, doing my best to pretend I'm not scared and hoping Eve won't notice my too-perked ears or my tail curling tight around my hip. She joins me moments later, wielding croissants and coffee and - although it's my second cup of the day - I'm grateful for the additional caffeine.

“Here I am Eve, well-fed and all yours."

“And it's so good to have you," she says, leaning forwards, elbows on the table. “You know, the closer you've gotten to my partners the less time you and I have had to hang out. I've been missing my friend." She has this distant smile on which I read more as defeat than acceptance. I hide my frown in a sip of coffee. She laughs and shakes her head. “Look at me go, seeing you having fun and complaining. I think senility is kicking in."

“Oh, Eve, hush." I reach out and take her left paw in mine. “I didn't know you felt that way, I-" My jaw clamps shut as my brain works ahead. Shit. I was going to deny the distance, to placate her, but I can't. She deserves better. “But I get it."

“Come on, it's not so serious," she says with a dismissive wave of her right paw. But she doesn't let go of me with her left, if anything she grips tighter.

“No. You're right. I've felt it too." I stare at her checkered tablecloth while I herd my fractured thoughts into some kind of order. “It doesn't help that I've been so out of it lately. The inside of my head has been a total state: I'm always thinking about what's next, or what I'm missing out on, or what I should or shouldn't be doing at any given moment. I don't know if I'm making any sense, but coming here and submerging myself in all of the memories this city brings, being a couple weeks out from Kale's wedding, and having the chance to get closer to Feather?" I expel a sigh as heavy as lead. “It's a lot. I guess - in all honesty - I've been struggling to focus on us."

All further explanation passes between us unsaid, cold as undeath, the somber phantom of a life left unled and now unlivable. Because I have Saph. Because I have Feather now, too. Because Adrian invited me here not out of camaraderie, but to right past wrongs, and I don't know if I have the strength. Because, frankly, you're not my priority.

She takes her left paw from mine and hides it beneath the table. “Don't sweat it, babe. I get it. It's no big deal." Her words ring true, but hollow. It hurts to drift apart - no matter the circumstance - and that's exactly what we've done, even if only a short way. Even if we both understand why, and there's not an ounce of resentment between us. It still hurts. I felt it when I arrived, the distance. I knew things had changed. She could've known for weeks or months, or she could've figured it out here and now. “I'm just glad you're visiting, and that we get to spend at least some time together."

I quash the impulse to get up, go to her, pick her up, hug her tight and cry before it overwhelms me. To admit that our distance pains me through some outward display of emotion, would be to accept it, to give it legitimacy. I can't bring myself to do that.

Instead I lean back, sip my coffee and ask her how she's been. We catch up on the day to day of our lives, on art, poetry, music, film and love. She tells me about date nights with Jay and Feather, and for a few minutes I'm convinced that everything is fine, that nothing has changed between us and nothing ever will. The feeling doesn't last.

“Enough about my love life, how about yours? How do you see things moving forward?"

“I, uh." I stare at the dregs lining the bottom of my mug. “Honestly? I've been avoiding thinking about it."

“Living in the moment, huh?"

“It's still early days."

“True." She goes for a sip, then stops and frowns into her mug. I think she's out too. “But you're only here for a few weeks."

“That's a few weeks I've got to figure things out."

She throws up her arms. “Can't argue with that." She takes our mugs over to the sink. “I just don't want you, or anyone, to get hurt if expectations aren't met. When we were up visiting you, you told me you don't know if you're cut out for poly. Has that changed?"

“Not exactly." I grab my tail beneath the table and massage it. “There's a lot of stuff I'm not sure about right now, but I-" My cellphone buzzes, blaring its ringtone from my pocket and provoking a full-body flinch before I fish it out. “It's, um. It's Kale."

“Take it babe, don't worry about me. I've got some tidying I can get on with anyway."

I clench my teeth and nod, standing as I answer the call and making moves toward the guest bedroom as I speak. “Kale, hi! How's it going?" I barely register the sudden stillness behind me, but barely proves enough. Taking the call is one thing, but she didn't expect me to up and leave. I feel bad doing it, but I know there's a good chance I won't want to have this conversation in front of her.

“Good." He stretches out the word until it verges on a question, then clears his throat. When he speaks again he's all honey and home. “It was lovely having you over yesterday."

“You've got a nice place."

“Thank you."

A silence so utterly pregnant I'd bet on triplets. I make it to the bed and sit.

“You called me, Kale."

“So I'm not allowed to bask in your awe inspiring presence?"

“Come on."

“Okay. You got me. I'm here to ask you out for lunch tomorrow."

“Very forward."

“Har har. Look, you and I both know we need to talk."

“You need me to talk to you, it's not exactly mutual."

“Isn't it?"

I'm squeezing my arm, shoulders tensed. I say nothing.

“I really have missed you, Ash. I didn't leave things well when we were last together. Give me a chance to clear the air, please." He's altogether too tender. I don't know whether to bark or cry.

“Clear the air? Try the smog. Try the toxic fucking fumes." My attempt at a bark comes out more as a whimper.

“Okay, point taken. But we've done this bickering before, the back and forth over the phone isn't going to get us anywhere. If you want to sink your claws into me you may as well do it in person."

Smoldering in the wake of his logic I offer only a grunt.

“I'm taking that to mean: it's a date."

In truth, he was right in the first place: I need to talk to him every bit as much as he needs to talk to me, perhaps more. I made a promise to Adrian, after all.

“Okay, you're on. But, since you're calling it a date, the bill's on you."

“Granted."

“And I reserve the right to grill you extensively on your bullshit."

“I expect you will."

“And if I draw blood, well, you probably deserved it."

“I'll make sure to wear a turtleneck. Can't have my throat exposed around you." Not funny. He laughs anyway. How can he joke about this shit like it's nothing? He was there. Marty hurt him too. “I'm looking forward to it Ash, I really am."

But I can't stay angry. How easily he calms me. How easily I believe him. “I've missed you too, by the way."

“I should have been there for you."

“Bitch, you should have."

“I know, I know. Thirty lashes for the bad wolf!

“Now you're asking me to reward your poor behavior."

Kale's guffaw erodes my solemnity enough to provoke a snicker. “Tie me up while you're at it if that's not punishment enough. Maybe I need a good spanking too."

“Jeez Kale," you're about to get married! But I don't finish that thought, not least because I like the teasing, the flirting, the attention. I'm not proud of it, but it's true. “Save some of that for tomorrow or you're gonna leave me blue-balled here."

“Okay, message received. I'll keep a surprise or two in store for the main event."

By the time I hang up, we have a time and place figured out. The aftermath of him is immediate and exhausting. I sink back into the guest bed and try not to let the vigorous pounding of my heart rattle me too badly. Concentrating on measured breathing, staring without seeing at the ceiling, I label Kale as a tomorrow problem and squash my worries down along with so much else.

I know I should return to Eve, but the air in the room has thickened like treacle and escape seems impossible. Instead I call Saph. She's delighted to hear from me and the mere sound of her voice sets me to smiling. I move easier through the world with her in my ear. I tell her everything. She listens, advises and loves as she always does. I tell her I miss her. She tells me the same.

By the time I'm back in the dining room, Jay has returned from his sojourn to the gym. He's got his arms wrapped around Eve from behind as he nuzzles her right ear, gently rocking back and forth.

“How was the gym, hot stuff?" I ask.

Lifting all of Eve, Jay twirls the two of them around, kissing her cheek before putting her down.

“I'm sure that nose of yours can tell," he says, beaming at me.

The sweat-intensified scent of his musk is unmistakable, it fills my mind with visions of sticking my nose deep into his crotch as his huge cock fills my-

“Smells like a good workout."

“He's such a show-off," Eve says, turning to poke the wolf's belly, if you can call any part of that steel frame of his a belly. Jay beams on.

“I'm gonna hop in the shower," he says. “If either of you want to join?" He looks between us, teeth bared in a big, cheesy grin.

I almost volunteer.

*

“Fun fact, you weren't the first person to ask me out to a meal today."

“No? Makes sense to me. One look at you and who wouldn't be salivating?"

“There's really no off switch on you, huh?"

“You already know I can go all night."

I try to hide my smile in a glass of wine. “You sure Eve is alright with me stealing you away like this?"

“I stole you away, I think you'll find." His grin is so wolfish it inherently justifies the word. “And, yes. She's more than okay with it."

“She does so love to fantasize about us, doesn't she?"

“I certainly do."

I'm this close to spluttering red across the tablecloth, but bar a single choking cough I hold it in.

The waiter soon arrives with our orders, and as I take my first bite I'm struck by how much this feels like an actual date. The restaurant is classy, a little upmarket, and here I am drinking wine with Jay while he stares at me with barely contained desire. He even dressed for the occasion in a cool blue blazer and another of those smart shirts with far too many buttons left undone, or just the right amount to let my memory and imagination run wild. This whole thing is very cute, thinking on it heats my cheeks.

“You didn't have to wine and dine me just to bed me, you know?"

Jay taps at his mouth with a napkin. “Too bad, I wanted to."

“A real old-school gentleman, aren't you?"

“What can I say? A pretty boy needs treating right."

“Do you do this for all of your conquests?"

“No, of course not. Besides, you're not just another conquest."

“What a sweetheart you are, beneath all that muscle." I take another bite, chew, swallow. “If I'm more than a conquest, what am I?"

The barest hint of a grin, the brief brush of his paw over mine, more subtlety than I'm used to from Jay. It gets my rapt attention. “What do you want to be?"

Smooth, Jay. You fucking flirt.

“I suppose I could be a pampered princess, if you like."

“It's a good start." He gestures at the spread of food between us. “And I think I've made a good start on satisfying that request."

I nod. “Not half bad, servant."

Another wide, wolfish grin. “Servant, is it? I could get used to that, your highness."

Dinner proves difficult with such a persistent tightness in my pants. Minutes after getting home, Jay is on his knees, kissing and groping my belly, tail helicoptering behind him.

“Good," I say. “Now, lower."

“Yes princess," he says, dutiful as ever. He lowers his muzzle to my sheath.

Seems like being talked down to by Feather unlocked a dominant streak in me, go figure. Ask Freud. I don't care.

Still, I'd rather be getting railed. But not while Marty's watching. And he's always watching.

I see him there, naked beside me on the bed, caressing Jay's short cropped hair and stroking himself. He tells me we should take turns on the wolf. I pretend he's not there. It's not too difficult when Jay takes my length into his muzzle and I get launched a whole lot closer to god.