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The trailer park looked the same as it always did — same cracked asphalt road, same patchy lawns, same collection of double-wides and single-wides with their rusted skirting and plastic lawn chairs. Cory shifted in the passenger seat of his mom's sedan, watching the familiar rows pass by through the window. Susan's grip on the steering wheel hadn't relaxed since they'd turned off the highway. Her tall frame was rigid behind the wheel, ears pinned back slightly in that way she got when she was somewhere she didn't want to be. She hadn't said much for the last twenty minutes. "Okay." She pulled up alongside Roger's trailer and put the car in park. "You've got your phone charger?" "Mom." "Your toothbrush?" "Yes." Cory unbuckled and reached for his bag in the back seat. "I've done this before." Susan's muzzle tightened. She glanced toward the trailer park like it might contaminate her through the window. "Just — don't go talking to the people around here. Stay at your father's." Cory paused, bag in hand. "What do you mean?" "Nothing. Just —" She waved a paw vaguely. "It's not like our neighborhood. Different element." Cory stared at her. She wasn't going to elaborate. She never did. "And tell your father I said hello." Her tone shifted, something sharper underneath. "And that Larry doesn't need to be hovering around while you're visiting. The man is…inappropriate." Inappropriate was one word for it. Cory had been dropped off earlier a few weeks ago and noticed his father’s trailer was rocking, and they were having sex, loudly. Cory had to take a walk around the trailer park to pass the time, and came back with the landlord slinking outside their back yard. Thank god his mother wasn’t paying attention and drove off without realizing anything. Although it sounds like she had had her own share of encounters. "Okay, Mom." She gave him a quick, stiff hug — more obligation than affection — and Cory stepped out of the car. The summer heat hit him immediately, thick and humid. He hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder and started toward the trailer. Behind him, the sedan pulled away before he'd even reached the steps. He didn't look back. "Cory!" He turned. His dad was coming around the side of the trailer, wiping his paws on a rag. Roger looked the same as always — standard Labrador coat going gray at the muzzle, work clothes with the sleeves rolled up, that tired-but-genuine smile. "Hey, Dad." "Let me get that." Roger reached for the bag, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing. "How was the ride?" "Fine." "Your mom say hello?" "In her way." Roger huffed a small laugh. He knew what that meant. They were halfway up the steps when Cory heard him. “Look ya dumb crusty old cunt, I don’t care who your boyfriend’s screwing. When you throw a fit and break my shit, you have to pay for it. The window’s coming out of your security deposit, and that’s the end of the story.” The rhino was two trailers down, leaning against a porch railing with a cigarette dangling from his fingers. He was talking to someone — a neighbor, Cory assumed, though he couldn't focus on the other person. His attention had narrowed to a single point. Larry. He was massive. Six-five at least, built like a tank with a gut that strained against a white tank top and shoulders that could block a doorway. Greyish-brown skin, thick and rough-looking, with a mat of black body hair curling up from the collar of the tank top. A gold chain caught the afternoon light. His jeans were worn soft at the knees, work boots scuffed and old. He was saying something to the neighbor, gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette, and Cory could see the hair on his forearms, the thickness of his fingers. The way his belly pushed against the fabric when he moved. The casual, unhurried way he occupied space, like the world was built to accommodate him. And the way he didn’t give a damn when she was squawking profanities at him. Cory's mouth went dry. The rhino glanced over. Caught him looking. Cory should've looked away. Should've pretended he'd been staring at something else — the trailer, the yard, anything. But he didn't. He just stood there on the steps, bag forgotten, staring at a man he’d only seen around in passing and feeling a flush that had nothing to do with the summer heat spread through him. Larry's eyes moved over him. Slow. Appraising. Not subtle about it. From the fohawk on Cory's head down to his khakis and polo, taking inventory. His expression didn't change much — just a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, a lazy awareness. A smirk. Not friendly. Not unfriendly. Just — knowing. Like he'd seen this before and was mildly entertained by it. He stretched and gave a yawn, making his shirt ride up his belly and flexing his muscles as he did so. Cory's breath caught in his throat. He grabbed his bag from Roger and practically fled up the steps. Behind him, Roger was watching. He'd seen the flustered look on his son's face that left no room for interpretation. Larry’s smirk widened when he looked at Roger, his ego blooming in real time. Then reality reasserted itself, and the angry old lioness that he just called a crusty old cunt slapped him across the face. The cocky smirk turned into the surprised, wide-eyed realization that he was still in the middle of something. Roger sighed, shaking his head as if deciding whether he should laugh or to be annoyed. Then he went inside. Cory was in the bathroom when the knock came. Roger had been in the kitchen, sorting through the fridge for something to make for dinner. He knew that knock. Two sharp raps, then a pause, then the door opening anyway. "Yo, Rog. Rent." Larry let himself in like he always did. He had a clipboard tucked under one thick arm, which was more for show than anything. Larry didn't keep records that carefully. Roger set down the bag of groceries he'd been holding. "I already wired it to you." "Oh." Larry was already heading for the fridge, helping himself to a beer. "In that case, beer tax." "You got a red handprint on your face. Do you need some ice?" "Nah, I'll walk it off." Larry popped the cap off the beer on the edge of the counter — a move that made Roger wince every time — and took a long pull. He leaned against the kitchen doorway, blocking most of the light, and let out a satisfied breath. "Where's the kid?" Roger's jaw tightened. "Cory's in the bathroom." "Ah." Larry made a quick move to grab Roger’s ass. Roger crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. “You’re not slick, Larry. I know why you’re really here.” Larry raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?" "I saw the way he was looking at you." Larry took another sip of his beer. Unhurried. "Practically eye-fucking me yeah?" "And I'm asking you — telling you — don't sleep with my kid." Larry regarded him for a long moment. Then he laughed — a low, rumbling sound that came from somewhere deep in that broad chest. Not mocking, exactly. Just amused. "Rog. He's nineteen." "He's my son." "Those aren't mutually exclusive." Larry shifted his weight, the floor creaking under him. "He's nineteen years old, he's clearly got a type, and he clearly knows a good ride when he sees it. Same as you at that age, from what I recall." Roger's ears flattened. "That's not the point." "Then what is the point?" Larry spread his hands, beer still in one. "You want me to behave? Fine. I won't chase him. But if he comes to me?" He shrugged, a massive rolling motion. "That's on him. You've known me for years, Rog. I'm not gonna turn down grade-S twink ass when it's practically falling into my lap." "He's not —" Roger stopped himself, took a breath. "Larry. Come on." "What? Would you rather I lie to your face to make you feel better?" Larry took another drag of his beer. "I'm giving it to you straight. I'm not gonna pretend I don't know what that look means, and I'm not gonna pretend I'd say no if he shows up at my door. You know how hard it is for me to reel in a lay that’s under 40?" Roger stared at him. Larry stared back. Neither of them blinked. "He's my son." "Yeah. And he's also a legal adult who's gonna make his own choices regardless of what you or his mother want." Larry's voice softened — barely, just a fraction. "You think he’s going to live like a monk? Ten to one says that if he’s eying me up like a piece of meat, he’s already had practice to develop the taste. And you know from experience that I ain’t anywhere near the worst of it. I mean —" He gestured vaguely. "Look. Am I a classy guy? No. Am I gonna wine and dine him and introduce him to my mother? Also no. But I'm single, I'm clean, and I’m not in the habit of raping the guys I’m with.” Roger snorted. “So the bar is in hell?” “I mean are we really going to say it’s not?" Roger hated that it made sense. Hated that he couldn't find the hole in the argument, because there wasn't one. Larry was crude and shameless — but he was also right. "That's a hell of a sales pitch for fucking my kid." "But I can see by the look on your face that I'm a hell of a salesman." Larry finished his beer and set the empty on the counter. "Tell the kid I said hi." “His name is Cory.” “Cory. Well tell Cory I said hi.” He was already heading for the door. Roger didn't stop him. "Larry." The rhino paused, one hand on the doorframe. Didn't turn around. "If he gets hurt —" "He won't." "I’ll hurt you back. I’m not above outing you to your entire family. I mean it." Larry glanced back over his shoulder. That smirk again — the same one from this morning, but different now. Softer, almost. "I believe you.” He paused, then adds “You know, you’re pretty fucking hot when you’ve got a backbone.” “You’re insufferable.” “I've been doing this a long time, Rog. I know what I'm doing. I promise I won’t hurt him." He stepped outside. "Anyways, I got shit to do. Thanks for the beer." The door closed behind him. Roger stood in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the empty beer bottle on the counter. “Slob” He picked it up, put it in the recycling, and went back to making dinner. From down the hall, he could hear the bathroom sink running. Cory was still in there. Roger didn't call out to him. He just stood at the counter, chopping vegetables, and tried not to think about the fact that he'd just given implicit permission for something that had a decent chance of happening. The worst part was that Larry knew it too. Dinner was spaghetti with jarred sauce and garlic bread from the freezer section. Nothing fancy, but Cory didn't care. His dad's cooking had never been the draw anyway. They ate at the small kitchen table, knees bumping underneath because the trailer wasn't built for two grown men. Roger asked about Cory's classes — he'd finished his first year of community college, still figuring out what he wanted to do — and Cory asked about Roger's latest work disaster, which involved a burst pipe in a commercial building and sixteen hours of overtime. "So the whole basement flooded?" "Whole basement. The owner tried to blame us. I showed him the maintenance logs we'd been sending him for two years telling him the pipes needed replacing." Roger shook his head, twirling spaghetti around his fork. "Some people would rather pay for a disaster than pay for prevention." Cory snorted. "Sounds like Grandma." "Don't let your mother hear you say that." They both laughed. It was easy — the way it always was with them. Roger had never been the kind of dad who didn't know what to say. He just said the thing, and it was usually the right thing, or close enough. After dinner, they migrated to the couch. Roger found a baseball game on TV — he always had a game on, even when he wasn't really watching — and Cory stretched out on the other end with his feet up on the armrest. "Dad?" "Hmm?" Cory was staring at the TV, but he wasn't seeing it. "Can I ask you something?" "You just did." "Something... personal." Roger muted the TV. Set the remote down. Gave Cory his full attention in that way he had — not intense, just present. "Shoot." Cory's tail curled against the cushion. "When you were my age — nineteen, I mean — did you... were you into older guys? Like, significantly older?" Roger's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. A flicker of something — not surprise, exactly. More like recognition. "Yeah," he said carefully. "I was." "Like... how much older?" "Ten, fifteen years. Sometimes more." Roger leaned back against the couch. "It's not uncommon. For gay guys especially. There's a lot of reasons — wanting someone who knows who they are, wanting someone with experience, wanting someone who isn't going through the same chaotic bullshit you are. Sometimes it's just what you're drawn to." Cory nodded slowly. "Do you still —" "Not as much. I mean, I'm fifty-three. The pool of 'significantly older' is getting pretty small." A small smile. "But yeah. I get it." The relief that washed over Cory was palpable. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until his shoulders dropped. "I've been... I mean, I've hooked up with a few guys. Older guys. And it's been — some of them were fine. But some of them were kind of —" He struggled for the word. "Some of them made me feel weird afterwards." Roger's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice even. "How so?" "Just....like I did something dangerous, but can’t quite put my finger on why." Cory shrugged, uncomfortable. "I don't know. Maybe that's just how it is." "It's not." Roger's voice was firm. "That’s your intuition, and it’s one of the most valuable things you have in helping tell the difference between someone that’s safe and someone that’s not." Cory looked at him. "How do you tell the difference?" Roger was quiet for a moment. Then he shifted, turning to face Cory more fully. "Okay. Advice time." He held up a finger. "One — if a guy is married and wants to hook up on the down-low, walk away. I don't care how hot he is or how much he says he's into you. If he’s able to lie to the person he’s promised to spend his life with, then he’s more than capable of lying to someone he only has to deal with occasionally. You don’t want to be around anyone that lies." Cory nodded. "Two — if he’s on hard drugs it's not worth it no matter how hot he is. Things can go from fine to ugly in an instant, and you don’t want to be around any of that. " "Three — If he’s over the top showering you with praise and planning a future when you barely know him, he’s probably love bombing you and using it as a controlling tactic." Cory swallowed. "That's... actually really helpful." "I've been around the block, kid." Roger's voice was dry. "Made some of those mistakes myself." "Thanks, Dad. I'm glad I can talk to you about this stuff." Roger reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "Anytime." The game came back on. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Cory processing, Roger pretending to watch the screen. Then Cory said, casually as he could manage: "So what about Larry?" Roger's hand stilled on the remote. "What about him?" "I don't know." Cory kept his eyes on the TV. "He's around a lot. I've heard things through the walls. Seen him leaving at weird hours." Roger exhaled slowly. "Larry is my friend and my landlord." "That's not what I asked." "No, it's not." Roger's voice was careful. "Larry and I have an... arrangement. Occasionally. I don't really want to discuss those specifics of my sex life with my son." Cory blushed. "I'm not asking for details. I just — you said to watch for red flags. Is he — I mean, would you say he's —" "Is he safe?" Roger finished for him. Cory nodded, not meeting his eyes. “He seems kind of like a jerk to you. But in a way that’s…not entirely bad?” Roger was quiet for a long time. The game played on, unnoticed. "Larry is..." He stopped. Started again. "Larry is a lot of things. He's crude. He's shameless. He has zero class and even less filter. He says whatever comes into his head and doesn't care who hears it." Cory waited. "But." Roger's jaw worked. "He's single, not on any drugs, Gets tested regularly, and is honest to a fault. And he treats me well, even if he's an asshole about it." A pause. "He's not a bad person, Cory. He's just... a lot." "Okay." "That's not an endorsement." "I know. I’m just glad that he’s…uhh…safe? I’m happy for you." Roger gave an unamused laugh. Closed his eyes. "Cory. I saw the way you were looking at him this morning." Cory's stomach dropped. "Dad, I wasn't —" "You were. And I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it, and I'm not going to pretend I don't know what it means." Roger's voice was tired. "You're an adult. I can't tell you who to be attracted to. But I can tell you that your mother can't stand him. Never could. And honestly? I get why. I put up with him in spite of his toxic machismo, not because of it. Quite frankly I think you can do way better.” Cory didn't say anything. Roger picked up the remote. Unmuted the TV. "Just... be careful. Okay?" "Okay." They watched the game. Neither of them was really seeing it. Around ten, Cory pulled out the futon and said goodnight. Roger retreated to his bedroom and closed the door. For once, his phone didn't ring with a work emergency. It was just a normal Friday night — father and son, a trailer, and a lot of things neither of them was saying. Cory lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, thinking about gold chains and tank tops and the way a rhino's eyes could feel like hands. In his bedroom, Roger lay awake, staring at his own ceiling, wondering if his dad’s ‘because i said so’ decrees made more parenting sense in this moment than the open minded rationality he had chosen to blindly adopt. Neither of them slept well. Cory woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices. He lay on the futon for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, orienting himself. Trailer. Weekend. Dad's place. Right. The voices were coming from the kitchen. One was Roger — low, morning-rough, the way he always sounded before his first cup. The other was deeper. Louder. Unmistakable. Larry. Cory sat up, rubbing his eyes. He could hear fragments — Larry talking about a pipe, Roger making noncommittal sounds, the clink of a coffee mug. Just a regular morning. Just Larry being the landlord. He grabbed his towel and toiletry bag and headed for the bathroom. As he passed the kitchen doorway, he caught a glimpse — Roger at the counter with his back turned, Larry leaning against the fridge with one of his dad’s mugs. The rhino's eyes flicked toward Cory for half a second. “Sup. Cody right?” “Cory.” “Cory. I’m Larry. Your dad’s landlord. Are you getting enough water pressure in the showers?” “I mean I guess? I’m about to find out.” No smirk this time. No comment. Just a nod and a grunt. Cory escaped into the bathroom and locked the door. He turned on the shower, letting the water heat up, and stood there in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. The golden fur on his face was sleep-mussed, his fohawk flattened on one side. He looked like a kid. He felt like a kid. The bathroom was small — barely room to turn around — and the walls were thin. He could still hear them talking. He wasn't trying to listen, but it wasn't like he had a choice. "—told you, the guy's a pain in my ass." Larry's voice, carrying easily through the wall. "Complaining about the water pressure again. I fixed it twice already. Some people just like to bitch." "Maybe if you didn't call his wife a—" "She started it." Roger said something too quiet to hear. Larry laughed. Then the tone shifted. Cory couldn't have said exactly when it happened, but suddenly the rhythm was different. Less casual. More... charged. “Speakin’ about pipes-” "—keep your voice down." Roger's voice, sharp. "Why? Kid's in the shower." Larry's volume didn't drop. If anything, it rose. "Besides, water's running. At a perfectly respectable water pressure I might add! He can't hear shit." Cory's hand stilled on the counter. "Sniffies has been blowing up lately. Got three more of my buddies lined up to fuck you later next Tuesday. My cock photos attract em’ like flies on shit -" Cory's ears went flat against his skull. He shouldn't be hearing this. He knew he shouldn't be hearing this. But his feet weren't moving toward the shower. "A good snap of your sloppy hole would be a good addition to the spank bank." Roger's voice, strained: "Larry—" "What? You love showing off for my old polaroid." The sounds of movement — Larry shifting his weight, maybe. "Gotta make it up to you for yesterday. I know you get cranky when you don't get your way." "I'm not cranky, I'm—" "Horny. Same thing, with you." A pause. Then Roger, quieter but still audible: "You're disgusting." "Yeah, and you love it." There was a pause, then “HAH! See you can’t hide that smile from me fucker.” “Okay fine. But you don’t have to be obnoxious about it.” Cory stood frozen in the bathroom, steam rising from the shower behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sniffies. The word had landed like a stone in still water. He already had an account and used it to cruise before, and apparently Larry was on it. Cory's hands were gripping the edge of the sink hard enough that his knuckles ached. He should step into the shower. He should let the water cover the sound, stop listening, stop thinking about this. This was his dad's business. His dad's sex life. Not his. But all he could think about was: pictures. Larry had pictures online. The front door opened and closed. Larry's truck engine turned over a moment later, rumbling away down the cracked asphalt road. Cory stood in the steam for a long time, not moving, not thinking about anything except whether he should or not. He stepped into the shower eventually. Washed on autopilot. Didn't remember a single thing about it afterward. Roger's phone rang during lunch. Cory watched his dad's face go through the familiar sequence — a glance at the screen, a sigh, the reluctant answer. "Yeah? ...When? ...No, I — okay. Yeah. I'll be there." He hung up and set the phone down on the table like it had personally offended him. "Sunday," Roger said. "There's an issue with the HVAC at the Greenfield complex. Whole system's down. They need me on-site by seven." Cory tried not to let his disappointment show. "It's fine, Dad." "It's not fine." Roger rubbed his face with both paws. "I told them I had my kid this weekend. They said 'we'll compensate you for the inconvenience.' Like that's the point." "It's your job." "Yeah, well." Roger stared at the phone for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Okay. New plan. Today — right now — we're doing something. I don't care what. What do you want to do?" Cory shrugged. "I don't know. What's around here?" "There's a trail. About twenty minutes out. Ridge loop — nothing crazy, just a few miles. Good views." Roger was already standing up, clearing the lunch dishes. "We could be there by two, back by five. I'll make dinner when we get back. Something decent, not spaghetti again." Cory smiled despite himself. "Yeah, okay." The trail was better than Cory expected. It wound up through a stretch of state forest, the kind of scrubby pine and oak that covered most of the hills around here. The air was cooler under the canopy, thick with the smell of sap and damp earth. Roger set a steady pace — not fast, just consistent — and Cory fell into step beside him. They didn't talk much. Didn't need to. The quiet was comfortable, filled with the sounds of their footsteps and the occasional bird call. Roger pointed out a hawk circling overhead at one point, and Cory watched it bank against the blue sky until it disappeared behind the treeline. The ridge opened up about halfway through, a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley. They stopped there, drinking water and catching their breath. "This is nice," Cory said. "Found it a few years back. Come here when I need to clear my head." Roger settled onto a flat rock, stretching his legs out. "Should've brought you sooner." "Yeah, you should have." Roger gave him a look, but there was no heat in it. "Don't start." Cory grinned and sat down next to him. They stayed for a while, not talking, just looking. The valley spread out below them — farmland, a thin ribbon of highway, the distant smudge of the trailer park. From up here, it looked small. Manageable. "Thanks for this," Cory said eventually. "Thanks for not being a pain in the ass about tomorrow." "Mom does the same thing, and my friend’s parents do the same thing. I think at this point working weekends is just normal." "You know, I think you and your friends might be onto something with those anti-capitalism posts on Facebook. It wasn’t like this when I was your age." Cory smiled. It wasn’t every day he got told his political opinions were valid by his parents. They hiked back down in the same easy silence. The afternoon light had gone golden by the time they reached the car, everything soft and warm. Cory's legs ached in a good way. Roger blasted the AC on the way back, which offered some much needed relief from the summer heat. Back at the trailer, Roger started dinner — real dinner this time, chicken thighs in the oven and rice on the stove. Cory sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone and pretending he wasn't thinking about anything in particular. "Hey, Cory?" "Hmm?" Roger was leaning against the counter, arms crossed. He looked uncomfortable. "About tomorrow. I'll be gone most of the day. Probably won't be back until dinner. There's leftover chicken in the fridge, and I think there's a frozen enchilada in the freezer —" "Dad, I'll be fine." "I know. I just —" He stopped. Started again. "I wish I had the money to give you for the movies or something. Keep you occupied. I hate the idea of you sitting around here all day with nothing to do." "I can keep myself entertained." Cory kept his eyes on his phone. "I'll be fine, Dad. Really." Roger studied him for a moment. Then he nodded, turning back to the stove. "Okay. Just — don't do anything I wouldn't do." Cory snorted. "That's not exactly a short list." "Brat." But Roger was smiling when he said it. The trailer was quiet after Roger went to bed. Cory lay on the futon, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The sheets were tangled around his legs from tossing and turning. The AC hummed in the window, struggling against the July heat. His phone sat on the floor beside him. He'd plugged it in to charge, screen facing down, like that would help. It didn't. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain circled back to the same thing. Larry leaning against the fridge that morning, mug in hand, acting like he owned the place. The stretch and yawn yesterday, the shirt riding up. The gold chain catching the light. Sniffies. The word kept surfacing like a bubble he couldn't pop. He knew the app. He'd had it for months — used it a handful of times to hook up with guys in his area. The interface was burned into his brain: the map, the grid, the dots. Every dot was a profile photo, and most of them were exactly what you'd expect. Close-ups of dicks. Asses spread for the camera. Guys in jockstraps bending over. The kind of photos that left nothing to the imagination. Which meant he couldn't open it. Not here. Not in his dad's trailer. Because if Roger had a profile — and based on what Cory had overheard this morning, he almost certainly did — his dot would be right there on the map, center and largest on the screen. And there was no universe in which Cory could survive seeing his father's gaping creampie. He'd rather accidentally see his AP calculus textbook from high school again, and THAT was saying something. He rolled onto his side, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape. It didn't help. The thing was — and he hated that he was thinking about this — the thing was that Larry had specifically mentioned his cock photos. My cock photos attract 'em like flies on shit. That meant Larry's profile picture was probably exactly what it sounded like. Explicit. Unapologetic. The kind of photo that told you everything you needed to know about a man before you even messaged him. And Cory wanted to see it. He wanted to see what Larry looked like under those tank tops. Under those jeans. He wanted to know if the rest of him matched what he'd already seen — the gut, the chest hair, the thick forearms. He wanted to know if rhinos were built the way he was starting to imagine they were. His father was the authority he respected most in life, level-headed, calm under pressure, and strong enough to survive a divorce with relative grace while his mom made an ass out of herself. He was the very definition of reliable, and what he thought a man should be. So he wanted to know what kind of man could get -that- to submit into doing all the dirty filthy things he overheard. Stop it. Cory pressed his face into the pillow. His dick was half-hard against his boxers, which was just great. Thinking about his dad's fuck buddy was not a road he wanted to go down, but apparently his cock hadn't gotten the memo. He reached for his phone. Stopped. His hand hovered over the screen. Larry's cock versus what it did to his father. He measured the pros and cons again. No. He put the phone back down. Screen still facing down. Still charging. Tomorrow. Tomorrow Roger would be gone all day, and his dot wouldn’t be in the immediate area. Cory would be alone in the trailer with nothing to do and nowhere to be. He'd have hours to kill. Maybe by then he'd have talked himself out of it. Maybe. Cory closed his eyes and tried to think about literally anything else. The hike. The chicken dinner. The hawk circling over the ridge. It didn't work. He lay awake for a long time, listening to the sounds of the trailer park at night, thinking about gold chains and tank tops and an app he couldn't bring himself to open. Sleep came eventually, but it was thin and restless, full of shapes he couldn't quite see and a voice he recognized too well. Cory woke up to silence. The trailer was empty. No coffee smell, no sounds from the kitchen, no quiet murmur of the TV. Just the hum of the AC and the distant caw of a crow somewhere outside. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and found the note on the kitchen counter. Gone to Greenfield. Back by dinner. Enchilada in the freezer. Don't burn the place down. — Dad Cory stared at the note for a moment. Roger's handwriting was neat, practical — the same way he did everything. Underneath the signature, he'd added a postscript: P.S. — Larry's doing maintenance rounds today. If he stops by, just tell him I'm at work. Cory set the note down. Poured himself a glass of orange juice. Drank it standing at the sink, looking out the window at the trailer park. It was already hot — not quite noon yet, but the sun was brutal, the air thick with humidity. A few people were out: a woman walking a dog, an old guy washing his truck, a couple of kids on bikes. And Larry. The rhino was two trailers down, checking something on the side of a unit. Tank top, jeans, work boots. The usual. He had a tool belt slung low on his hips, which Cory had never seen him wear before. It emphasized the gut, the width of his shoulders, the way his jeans sat on his hips. Cory watched him for longer than he should have. Larry glanced toward the trailer. Saw Cory in the window. Gave him a nod — the same one he'd given yesterday morning. Nothing more. No smirk, no comment, no acknowledgment that they were anything other than landlord and tenant's kid. Then he went back to work. Cory stepped away from the window. The gazebo was at the center of the trailer park, a weathered but well maintained wooden structure with a few picnic tables and a communal grill. It gave Cory somewhere to be that wasn't the trailer. He sat at one of the tables, elbows on his knees, staring at his phone. The screen was dark. He hadn't unlocked it yet. This is my chance. Roger was at work. Miles away. His dot wouldn't be anywhere near this location. Cory unlocked the phone. Opened the browser. Typed in the URL. His thumb hovered over the enter key. He closed the browser. Locked the phone. Set it face-down on the table. Stared at it for a long moment. Then he picked it up again. Opened the browser—the URL was still there, waiting. Of course it was. He pressed enter. The interface loaded, and Cory immediately noticed a cluster of profiles in the area. A headless torso of a rottweiler, a blank profile, and a mule. But then he saw it. Cory felt his pants tighten slightly. AfghanVet79 was the username, but it was undoubtedly Larry. The dot on the map showed the rhino leaning back in a chair, bottomless, legs spread, beer in one hand, and looking at the camera like he dared the viewer to say something. Cory zoomed into the crotch. Then felt gross about zooming in. Then zoomed in again anyway. Rhinos, it turned out, were well-endowed. Larry's cock was thick, uncut, resting against his thigh in a way that made it clear he wasn't even hard. The shaft was the same color as the rest of his skin, but the tip that peeked out from his foreskin was a darker grey. He had trimmed his pubes conservatively, keeping himself hairy without looking overgrown. His balls sagged heavily, the one on the left further down than the one of the right. Cory felt his pulse quicken as he tapped on the dot to open his profile. Larry hadn't skimped on content — the man knew what he was selling and he was selling it hard. The second pic was a torso shot where his gut was on full display, thick mat of black chest hair, gold chain dangling between pecs. The tank top was pushed up, not removed, bunched under his arms like he couldn't be bothered to take it off. One hand was resting on his belly, highlighting his happy trail, like he was saying this is what you're getting, take it or leave it. The third photo was shot from behind, jeans around his ankles, flexing his arms to show off his shoulders while his bare ass was on full display. He had broad shoulders tapering to a thick waist, hairy lower back, and an ass that was surprisingly solid for a man with that much gut. Cory noticed that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. It was hard to take his eyes off of the pictures, but his curiosity for the profile description overrode the urge to stare. When the trailer’s rockin’ don’t come knockin’. Or do, the more the merrier. Into all kinds of kinky shit. Exhibition. Voyeurism. Daddy/boy. Rough play. Breeding. Camera friendly. Open to groups and other ideas, just ask. And then, at the bottom: Yes I'm the landlord. Yes I've probably fucked your neighbor. And yes, I have ideas for how you can lower your rent. Cory let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He was hard. Painfully, obviously hard, his dick straining against his shorts. He hunched over to hide his erection, unable to stop staring at nudes of his dad’s fuck buddy. He zoomed in on the dick pic again. Studied it. Imagined what it would feel like — the weight of it, the thickness, the way it would stretch him open. My dad takes this. And he probably takes it hard and rough. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and instead of being disgusted, he just got harder. He scrolled back to the profile description. Read it again. Then again. His thumb was moving on autopilot, zooming in on details — the chest hair, the gut, the gold chain, the smirk that was visible even in the photos that weren't face shots. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice the dot moving closer and closer to him. Nor did he hear the footsteps on the gravel path, or the shadow falling across the picnic table. The voice — deep, familiar, amused — startled him when it said: "Whatcha looking at, kid?" Cory's whole body locked up. His first instinct was to throw the phone. Just launch it into the woods and pretend it had never existed. His second instinct was to close the browser, delete his history, throw the phone into the lake, and move to another country. He went with something in between — fumbling the phone, nearly dropping it, finally managing to turn the screen off and shove it face-down on the picnic table. Like that would help. Like Larry hadn't already seen exactly what he was looking at. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat. Larry stood at the edge of the gazebo, a paper grocery bag tucked under one arm and phone in his hand. He could see the marinate bottle for steaks poking out of the bag, and realized he was on his way to the communal grill. His expression was smug. Those dark eyes moving from Cory's face to the phone to the very obvious tent in Cory's shorts. “Well hot damn, looks like I still got it. You like what you see that much eh?” Cory's hands flew to his lap, pressing down uselessly. "I — I wasn't —" "Weren't what?" Larry set the grocery bag on the table. Casual. Like this was a normal conversation. "Weren't looking at my dick on Sniffies? 'Cause that's a funny way of not doing it, with the zooming and all." Cory's throat tightened. His ears had gone flat against his skull, and he could feel the heat radiating off his fur. "I wasn't — I mean — I was just —" "Kid." Larry pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking his time. "It’s fine. Cruising for cock is a time honored tradition.” Cory couldn't speak. His throat had closed up, his brain short-circuiting under the weight of being caught. He'd been so careless — looking at sniffies in the open instead of hiding in the trailer. Larry had walked up behind him while he was zooming in on his dick. His dick. Larry took another drag, watching him squirm. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled as if reading his mind. "Pro tip. You’ve got to pay to use the invisible mode and the map at the same time. Otherwise when you see me, I can see you." He waved his phone in his hand to emphasize the point. “Although I guess that solves the mystery of what pictureless profile is suddenly 300 feet from my trailer.” "I’m so sorry! I swear I’ll -" "Relax. I’m flattered, not angry." Larry sat down across from him, the picnic table creaking under his weight. He set the cigarette in the groove of an old burn mark — there were dozens of them, a graveyard of past smokes — and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "Let me ask you something." His voice was calmer now, almost conversational. "There's like three other dudes with my build within walking distance of this spot. Bigger guys, older guys, guys who'd be happy to show a nineteen-year-old a good time." He tilted his head. "But you're not looking at them, are you?" Cory's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "You've got the hots for me specifically, don'tcha?" The word hung in the air between them. Cory's chest tightened with the mortification of it. "I —" His voice cracked. He swallowed. "Yeah. I guess I do." “But let’s not beat around the bush. You’re not just the standard chaser wanting the rhino to impale them with his other horn.” Larry chuckled. “I’m fucking your old man, and you already know that.” Cory was too shocked to really speak. Larry regarded him for a long moment. The smirk was there, but it was different now. Less performative. More like he was genuinely considering something. “I ain’t judging.” He said, looking at his watch. “Hell, I’ve even got time. I’m down to fuck if you are. But I need to know why, if that's what happens." The words landed like a stone in water. Cory felt the ripples spreading through his chest, his stomach, lower. "But it’s ok to just want to look at my profile too," Larry continued, "Don’t feel pressured into having to tell me. It’s never fun if the other guy’s second guessing themselves the entire time. You can walk back to your dad’s trailer and jack off to my pictures by yourself. I won't bring it up, I won't make it weird, and you can go back to eye fucking me from a distance while i pretend not to notice." Cory sat at the picnic table as he processed his options. His heart was pounding, dick still hard, phone forgotten. The summer sun beat down on his shoulders. Somewhere in the distance, a kid was laughing. A dog was barking. The world was going on like normal, like he wasn’t about to make a decision that could change things forever. He picked up his phone. Closed the browser. “Okay, yeah. I’ll tell you.” “You sure?” “I want to.” Cory said quietly. Then added “You're my dad's friend, his landlord, and I know you guys…” He paused, searching for the words. “I’m clapping his cheeks on the regular” Larry provided. Cory nodded, embarrassed. “I've heard things. Through the walls. And I know it's weird, but —" He stopped. Started again. "My dad's the strongest person I know. Not physically, I mean — just, like, the most together. The most reliable. The most..." He struggled for the word. "The most in control. and you make him..." Cory's voice dropped. "You make him not in control. And I guess I wanted to know what that felt like. What kind of man could do that to someone like my dad.” Silence. The cigarette burned down another centimeter. Then Larry nodded, slowly, like Cory had just confirmed something he'd already suspected. "Yeah," he said. "That tracks." Cory blinked. "It does?" "Kid, do you think you’re the only one that’s got a fetish tied to some fucked up sounding stuff? There’s always fucked up stuff going on in the background when it comes to kinky sex." Larry picked up the cigarette, took a drag. "Why do you think the shrinks always go for the crotch when they’ve got people on the couch?” “I guess that makes sense. Everyone’s pretty weird then?” Larry chuckled. “You want to see why your old man keeps coming back for more. That's just curiosity and pretty low on the weirdness scale in my book.” Cory paused, nodded, then blurted out, “Do you have a weird thing?” Larry snorted. “Aw what the hell, you were honest with me. Sure, I'll tell ya. I like feeling in control because there was a time in my life where I really wasn’t." His mind flashed back to the user profile. AfghanVet79. The username suddenly made a lot more sense. Cory recognized that was a minefield, and quickly decided that some things were best not prodded. “Oh, I see,” He paused, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “Cool.” The rhino snorted. Then stubbed out the last of his cigarette butt. “Well I finished my smoke, and the steaks are starting to get a little warm. What’s it gonna be?” The Sheprador blushed while staring at the table. Then he looked at Larry. Then at the trailer. Then he stood up, tucked his phone in his pocket, and said, "Yeah…Yeah okay. Come on in.” Then Cory led Larry back to his father’s trailer. The trailer door closed behind them with a soft click. Cory stood in the entryway, suddenly aware of how small the space felt with Larry in it. The rhino took up room just by existing — his shoulders nearly brushing the doorframe, his presence filling the kitchen-living area like he'd been poured into it. It was like the trailer shrank around him. The smell hit Cory next. Laundry detergent, coffee, something warm and distinctly Roger. The scent of his father's space, the same one he'd been breathing all weekend. But now there was something underneath it — cigarette smoke and musk and the faint tang of sweat. Larry. Layered on top. Mixing with something that was already there. Because Larry had been here before. Many times. In this exact space. Doing things Cory had only heard through thin walls. His stomach flipped. Larry seemed to switch gears as soon as he was invited inside. He moved through the trailer like he owned it — which, technically, he did own the land it sat on. Opened the fridge, set his steaks inside, then grabbed one of Roger's beers. He leaned back and watched Cory, as if taking him in. Then with a fluid motion, he popped the cap on the counter edge. The same move he'd pulled Friday afternoon, like it was his God-given right. "So." Larry set the beer down. "You ready to find out why your old man's always moaning into his pillow?" The question landed like a slap. Direct. Unflinching. No dancing around it. Cory's throat was dry. "I — yeah." Larry smirked. "I could see your cock twitching a little when I just mentioned him. It turns you on, doesn’t it?" Cory swallowed hard. "Yeah." Larry took another sip of his beer. Set it down. Then he pushed off the counter and took a step toward Cory — just one, but it was enough. The trailer shrank again. Larry's presence was a physical thing, a gravity well that Cory couldn't escape. "I can work with that," Larry said. His voice was lower now. Rougher. "I'm happy to push those buttons for you, kid. Show you what your old man can't stop coming back for." Cory's pulse was racing. His dick was straining against his shorts again, and there was no hiding it this time. Larry's eyes flicked down, noted it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "But I got rules." Larry held up a finger. "One — you tell me if something's wrong. I'm not a mind reader, and I don't do the whole 'guess what I'm thinking' bullshit. If it hurts in a bad way, you say so. Clear?" Cory nodded. "Two — We don’t keep secrets from your father. He trusts me, and I only screw over his ass, not his life. If he straight up asks me I’m going to tell him the truth, and I expect you to not lie about it either. The law says you’re an adult, so I’m going to treat you like one. If you want this cock, you have to be mature enough to handle the consequences." Cory paused, then slowly said "Okay." Larry raised an eyebrow. “And in case you can’t read between the lines, he suspects something already. That question is coming, and he will find out.” Cory sighed and nodded. “No, I get it. Like you said, I’m an adult. Awkward conversations are a part of growing up.” “Good" Larry paused “And finally rule three. "You're not doing this because you feel like you owe me something. You're here because you want to be. Right?" "Right." Cory's voice was firm. "I want this." Larry studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded, something almost like respect flickering across his features. "Good." He turned and walked into the living room, settling onto the couch like he'd done it a thousand times. Because he had. Cory had seen him there Friday morning, drinking Roger's coffee like it was his own. Larry grabbed the TV remote and flipped it on. A baseball game — the same kind of thing Roger always had on. Then he reached for his belt. "Come here," he said, not looking up from the screen. "Show me what you can do." Cory crossed the room on unsteady legs. Larry was already settled into the futon - the same place where Cory slept - one arm draped along the back, legs spread wide, eyes on the baseball game. He patted the seat next to him. Cory took the seat next to him. For a moment, he didn't know what to do with his hands. They hung at his sides, useless, while his heart hammered against his ribs and his dick throbbed in his shorts. Larry didn't look at him. “You ever fish another man’s cock out of his pants before?” “N-no. They’ve always whipped it out for me.” “Well you’re gonna learn. Unfasten my belt.” Cory fumbled with it. Larry seemed amused at his frustration. “Gotta work for it, kid.” But Cory was determined. On his third attempt he managed to undo the prong from its hole. The button on his jeans proved to have similar issues; undressing someone else was way harder than he thought it would be. “Unfasten the button on your own jeans slowly, and watch what your hands do automatically from muscle memory.” Larry instructed. “See what part of the button goes through the hole first?” Cory followed the instructions, then it clicked. “Oh…it goes up and to the left on me ... so up and to the right on you.” The button popped free without issue. “Thanks for the tip.” Larry smirked. “No problem, kid. You’re almost there… just got the zipper.” Cory’s hand trembled with anticipation, then tugged the rhino’s zipper down. His cock spilled out — heavy, thick, exactly like the photos. But photos didn't capture the weight of it, the way it hung against his thigh, the way it looked even bigger in person. Uncut, the head just peeking out from the foreskin, the same darker grey as in the pictures. It wasn't hard yet, just resting there against the worn denim of his jeans. Larry finally glanced up. "Well? Go on. Touch it." Cory didn’t grab so much as reverently scoop up the rhino’s cock into his hand, hefting it up and down experimentally. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.” The rhino grew slightly in his open palm. “You got softer hands than your dad. Softer than most of the people around here actually. I dig it.” Cory was mesmerized. He gave it a few squeezes as it grew bigger and bigger. The rhino kept his relaxed casual posture as he let the curious dog fondle him. Then Cory startled slightly when the rhino grabbed his wrist and guided his hands to his balls. “Don’t forget these. I bet they’re heavier than you’re used to too.” “Y-yeah.” Cory blinked, taking his time and rolling them in his hands experimentally. He took a few minutes feeling up Larry’s cock and balls, before sinking his face down. He stopped half way to Larry’s crotch, surprised by his own eagerness, and met his eyes. “Go for it kid.” He leaned forward awkwardly on the sofa seat, hands hovering, unsure where to put them. Larry's cock was right there, inches from his face, and he could smell it — cheap cologne, cigarette smoke and something underneath that was just Larry. His mouth watered. Cory reached out and wrapped his hand around the shaft. It was warm, heavier than he expected, and he felt it twitch in his grip. He leaned in and took the head into his mouth. Too fast. Way too fast. He gagged immediately, eyes watering, pulling back with a cough. Larry didn't laugh. Didn't make fun of him. Just reached down and grabbed the back of Cory's head — not pushing, just holding. Grounding. "Slow down," Larry said, his voice calm. Almost patient. "You're not trying to win a race. Besides — no one can deep throat all of me to the base. Use your hands to help." Cory blinked up at him, watery-eyed from the sudden strain. “Sorry.” "Don't be sorry. You think your old man takes it all on the first try? Shit, it took him a month to get halfway." Larry's thumb stroked the back of Cory's head, almost absently. "Do you want me to show you how your dad does it?" Cory’s erection jumped in his tented pants as he nodded, embarrassed. “Kneel on the carpet, right between my knees.” Cory did as he was told and sank to his knees. The carpet was rough under his kneecaps — cheap trailer carpet, the kind that had been here since the place was new. He'd never thought about it before. Now he was going to remember this carpet every time he saw it. "Scooch to the right." Cory shifted, confused. "There." Larry's hand guided him slightly. "That's the exact same spot your dad kneels when he's giving me head." Cory's cock jerked hard against his shorts. Larry chuckled as his eyes went to Cory’s crotch. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that." He took a sip of his beer. "I can see the resemblance to him when you're down there. Same eager look in your eyes. Although the mouth feels different, it must be your mothers." Cory whined bashfully as the rhino guided his muzzle. “Before Roger blows me, he always puts his nose where my shaft meets my balls…like that.” Larry gave a sleazy grin. “Then he huffs it.” Cory followed suit, his tail wagged as his mind fogged. “You smell….good.” “Uh-huh.” Larry leaned back and relaxed in his chair while Cory sniffed him, and returned his attention to the game. A few minutes passed. Cory was touching himself through his jeans while huffing the rhino’s balls. Larry’s voice snapped him out of it. “When you’re ready, go for my tip first. Take your time, don’t impale yourself.” Cory opened his mouth and took him in, slower this time. He wrapped his lips around the head, tongue exploring the texture of it — the foreskin, the slit, the way it was already starting to firm up in his mouth. His hand worked the shaft, matching the rhythm of his mouth, and Larry let out a low sound of approval. "There you go. That's better." Cory found a rhythm. It wasn't pretty — he was sloppy, drooling, his jaw already starting to ache — but Larry didn't seem to mind. He just sat there, one hand on the back of Cory's head, the other holding his beer, watching the game like getting head was just another Sunday activity. He moaned around Larry's dick, the sound muffled, and Larry chuckled. “God, you even sound like him.” Heat crawled up Cory’s neck, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. His jaw was straining, but he ignored it. The game droned on in the background. Some team was winning. Cory didn't care. All he could focus on was the cock in his mouth, the hand on his head, the low rumble of Larry's voice giving him instructions. "Firmer with your hand. Yeah, like that." "Use your tongue more on the underside. Right there. Good." "Play with my balls. They don't bite." Cory obeyed every instruction. His knees ached. His jaw ached. His dick was so hard it hurt, straining against his shorts, now untouched and ignored. He didn't care. He just wanted to be good at this. Wanted Larry to tell him he was good at this. "Getting close," Larry said eventually, his voice rougher than before. The hand on Cory's head tightened. "Gonna blow, and you're not gonna waste a drop. Swallow." Cory nodded as best he could with his mouth full. Larry's breathing became heavy, and hips jerked once, twice — Cory’s eyes went wide as he desperately fought back the urge to gag when he was being prodded. Then he shot, thick and bitter, flooding Cory's mouth faster than he could swallow. Cory choked, sputtered, and some of it started to dribble out of his mouth. He felt the rhino’s rough fingers catch the strands that escaped, and closed the sides of his mouth to force a seal. Cory’s tail wagged enthusiastically, as he forced himself to keep going, swallowing around the head, not wanting to spill a drop. When it was over, Larry let out a long breath. His grip on Cory's head loosened, and Cory pulled back, gasping, wiping his chin. The rhino let him catch his breath, then casually put his fingers in Cory’s mouth, and Cory licked them clean. Cory shuddered. His cock was still hard, still untouched, and he felt like he might lose his mind if he didn't get some friction soon. But Larry didn't offer. He just sat there, lightly tapped his rapidly softening dick against Cory’s snout. He got the hint, and started licking the tip clean. The rhino ran his finger along the bottom of his shaft, squeezing out the last few drops. "Good boy." Larry's voice was lazy, satisfied. "Your dad's gonna smell me on your breath later." Then he reached for his beer like nothing had happened. The game was still on. Some player was rounding second base. Cory stood on shaky legs. "I'm — can I get some water?" "Go ahead." Cory fled to the kitchen, head swimming, legs unsteady. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap and drank it in several long gulps. His jaw was sore. His knees ached from the carpet. His dick was still straining against his shorts, a wet spot forming where the head pressed against the fabric. When he came back, Larry was exactly where he'd left him. Beer in one hand, eyes on the TV, dick still out. Like this was normal. Like getting blown by his tenant’s kid on his dad's couch was just another Sunday. Cory hovered, uncertain. "Do you want me to —" "Sit down." Larry gestured at the other end of the couch. "Game's not over yet." Cory sat. Carefully. His dick was still hard, and every movement reminded him of it. Larry glanced over. Saw the obvious bulge, the wet spot. Smirked. "What? You didn't think I was gonna bust and jet, did you?" He took a drag of his beer. "The game ain't over, and I reckon I got another load brewin' in me." Cory's dick gave a visible kick against the fabric. Larry noticed. His smirk widened. "Yeah. You're definitely your father's kid." He paused to stretch and popped his neck. “The 4th inning is almost over. Why don’t you clean out? Your dad keeps a douche in his nightstand on the lower bottom shelf.” Cory’s heart skipped at the thought that Larry knew where his father kept his supplies, but went to retrieve it and cleaned himself out like he was told. Instead of a bulb, it used a pump design similar to a soap bottle, but with a hose attached to a tapered wand. He’d have to file that away for later, it worked way better than the cheap one he had at home. When Cory finished, he settled back onto the futon. Larry casually let him rest his head on his chest, which he liked. They sat there for a while — Larry watching the game, Cory trying not to squirm. Every now and then, Larry would reach over and casually grope Cory through his shorts, just enough to keep him on edge, then go back to his beer like nothing had happened. It was maddening. It was perfect. The game ended eventually. Larry set down his beer, stubbed out a cigarette Cory didn't remember him lighting, and stood. "Alright," he said, tucking himself back into his jeans. "Game’s done and I’m ready for round two. Bedroom." He didn't wait for Cory to respond. Just walked toward the hallway, toward Roger's bedroom, like he owned the place. Cory followed. When he reached the door to Roger's bedroom, he stopped. It already felt weird going in there for the douche. But this was different. “We’re not going to do it on the futon?” He asked. “You were curious about the full experience your dad got, right? That means fucking on his bed. Unless you prefer the futon.” Cory’s pulse quickened, and he felt something flutter in his stomach from the arousal. “No, the bed sounds hot.” He stepped into Roger’s room, and noticed it smelled like him. Cory had been in here before — brief visits, grabbing something his dad asked for — but he'd never stood in the doorway and really looked at it. The bed was a queen, pushed against the far wall, with a plain blue comforter and two pillows that were slightly mismatched. A nightstand on each side, the one on the left cluttered with reading glasses, a book, a phone charger. The one on the right was bare except for a lamp and a small bottle of lube. Larry's side. Of course he had a side. The closet was open slightly, and Cory could see Roger's work clothes hanging inside — the slacks, the button-downs, all neatly pressed. A single pair of jeans was folded on the shelf above. There was a shoe rack on the door with three pairs of practical shoes and one pair of sneakers that looked ancient. It was sparse. Functional. Everything Roger was. And now Larry was walking into it like he belonged here, sat on the edge of the bed and kicking off his boots, the mattress creaking under his weight. He bounced once. Twice. "Your dad's got a nice bed." Larry shifted, testing the frame. "Sturdy. Needs to be." Cory’s breath shuddered. Larry didn't seem to notice — or didn't care. He was already moving, crossing to Roger's dresser like he owned it. Which, in a way, he did. He pulled open the second drawer and rummaged, pushing aside socks and underwear until he found what he was looking for. He held it up. A jockstrap. Off-white, well-worn, the elastic slightly frayed at the edges. The pouch was soft from use, the fabric stretched in a way that suggested it had been filled many times. "Put this on." Cory stared at it. "M-my dad’s jockstrap?" "Yup." Larry's voice was flat. Unbothered. "I'm the one that bought it for him." He tossed it to Cory. Didn't repeat himself. Cory caught it. Stood there for a moment, the jockstrap in his hands, feeling the worn fabric, the slight dampness of the waistband from whatever drawer it had been sitting in. His dad's jockstrap. The one Larry had bought for him. The one Roger wore when— He stripped. Pulled off his polo, his khakis, his boxers. Stood naked for a moment, feeling exposed, then stepped into the jockstrap and pulled it up. It was a little loose. Roger had a slightly bigger frame — more meat on his hips, a thicker waist. But it fit well enough. The pouch was worn soft from use, and Cory's cock filled it, straining against the fabric that had cradled his father's cock countless times. Larry looked him over. Slowly. Appraisingly. Then he crossed the room and traced a finger along the strap, following the line of it across Cory's hip. He snapped it against Cory's skin — a sharp, stinging crack that made Cory flinch and his dick twitch simultaneously. "Looks good on you." Larry's voice was lower now. Rougher. "You fill out the pouch just as well as your dad." His hand slid around, cupping Cory's ass through the strap, squeezing. "He's got a fatter ass, though." Cory's pulse was hammering in his neck. His cock was hard in the jockstrap, the head poking slightly above the worn fabric, leaking precum into the material that had absorbed God knows how many loads before. Larry stepped back. His smirk was sharp, knowing. "I make your old man wear this when I'm fucking him." He reached down and grabbed his tank top, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. "Now it's going to be a family tradition." The full effect hit Cory like a wave. Larry standing there in nothing but his unbuttoned jeans, gold chain glinting against the mat of black chest hair. The gut — soft and heavy, resting over his waistband, the happy trail disappearing into his open fly. The shoulders, broad enough to block a doorway. The arms, thick and powerful, the kind that could pin someone down without trying. Cory had seen the photos. This wasn't the same. "Go ahead," Larry said, noticing Cory's stare. "Touch me." Cory didn't need to be told twice. He stepped forward and put his hands on Larry's chest. The hair was coarse under his palms, thick and curly, and he could feel the warmth radiating off Larry's skin. He traced the curve of Larry's pecs, the softness of his belly, the weight of him. His fingers found the gold chain and followed it down, down, until it disappeared into the forest of hair below. He spent a long time exploring. The thickness of Larry's arms, the solid mass of his shoulders, the curve of his gut. He ran his hands down Larry's sides, felt the way his body shifted when he breathed, the way his belly pressed against Cory's hands when he moved closer. Larry let him. Stood there with his arms at his sides, watching Cory's face, his expression somewhere between amused and pleased. "Most guys just go straight for my cock," Larry said eventually. "But you really like what you see, huh?" He reached down and ruffled the fur between Cory's ears. "Man, you really are just like Roger." Cory leaned into the touch without thinking. His tail wagged. Larry's hand stayed on his head for a moment, then dropped. "So. The other guys you've been with. What was that like?" Cory blinked, thrown by the shift. "What do you mean?" "I mean — you said you've hooked up with older guys before. Tell me about them." Cory shifted, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't know. There was... a guy I met on Grindr. Forty-something. We hooked up a few times at his place. He was okay, I guess." He shrugged. "There was a professor at community college — not mine, just someone I met at a party. We did it in his office once." Larry raised an eyebrow. "Adventurous." "Not really. It was kind of rushed. He was nervous about getting caught." Cory's hands were still on Larry's belly, fingers tracing idle patterns in the hair. "There was a guy at a bar who bought me a drink. Took me to his car in the parking lot. That was... fine." "Fine," Larry repeated. "That's the best you've got?" Cory hesitated. "Most of them were just... in a hurry, I guess. They wanted to get off and leave. Nobody really—" He stopped. Started again. "This is the first time anyone's offered to, like, push my buttons. Most guys just wanted me to blow them or bend over, and then they were done." Larry was quiet for a moment. Then he grunted. "Sounds like they rushed you." "Maybe." "No maybe about it." Larry's hand came up, cupping the back of Cory's neck. Squeezing slightly. "Listen to me, kid. You're young. You're hot. You've got your whole life ahead of you to settle for mediocre dick. Don't do it now." His thumb stroked the soft fur behind Cory's ear. "I'll show you a better time than any of those assholes. And you shouldn't settle for less." Cory's throat was tight. Something about the way Larry said it — not romantic, not sweet, just matter-of-fact — made it land harder than any compliment could have. "Okay," he said quietly. Larry's hand tightened on his neck. Then he pushed. Cory stumbled backward, landing on the bed with a bounce, and Larry was on him immediately — flipping him over, pressing him down into the mattress. Face-first into the pillow. The pillow that smelled like Roger. Cory's breath caught. His hands fisted in the sheets — his dad's sheets — and he buried his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply. Laundry detergent. That warm, familiar scent. And underneath it, faint but unmistakable, the faint smell of Larry’s cheap cologne. The same smell that was currently pressing him into the mattress. Larry's weight settled on top of him. The rhino's belly against his lower back, heavy and warm, the gold chain cold between his shoulder blades. Larry's hands gripped his hips, positioning him, and Cory heard the nightstand drawer open, the slick sound of lube being squeezed. "Relax." Larry's finger circled Cory's hole. "You're too tight. Breathe." Cory breathed. In through his nose — Roger's scent filling his lungs — and out through his mouth. Larry's finger pushed in, thick, insistent, and cold and slick from the lube. Cory gasped into the pillow. One finger, then two. Rough but not cruel. Larry worked him open with the same patience he'd shown before, but there was an edge to it now — less instruction, more possession. Like he was claiming territory. "You're doing good," Larry said, his voice low. "Your dad's looser than you, but he's had more practice. You'll get there." Cory whined into the pillow. His cock was straining against the jockstrap, the fabric damp with precum, and every time Larry's fingers moved, his hips jerked involuntarily. Then Larry's fingers withdrew, and there was a wet splurt of more lube being applied. Then something much thicker than a finger probed at Cory’s hole. The head of Larry's cock pressed against Cory's entrance — rock hard, slick, blunt — and began to push in. Cory's mouth fell open against the pillow. The stretch was overwhelming, bordering on pain, and he couldn't stop the sound that escaped him — a high, needy whine that was swallowed by the fabric. Larry stopped, slowly slid out, only to immediately creep back in. Back and forth, slow but steady, pushing a little further each time. The burn began to shift into something else — a deep, aching fullness that made Cory's cock throb in the jockstrap. The rhino was relentless until his hips were flush against Cory's ass, his belly pressed warm and heavy against Cory's lower back. "Good boy," Larry murmured. "Take it." He began to move. The first thrust pushed Cory's head into Roger's pillow. The second made the headboard knock against the wall. By the third, Cory had lost count of everything except the rhythm — the thick slide of Larry's cock, the warm weight of his body, the scent of cigarettes, Larry and Roger mixing together, and the creak of the mattress beneath them. This. This was what he'd heard through the walls. This was what his dad had been trying to muffle. The headboard, the creaking, the low grunts that Larry made with every thrust. "Your dad makes this bed shake harder than this." Larry's voice was rough in Cory's ear. "Let me hear you." Cory moaned. He couldn't help it. The sound was dragged out of him with every thrust, muffled by the pillow but still audible — still desperate and needy and nothing like the person he usually was. "You're soaking his jockstrap every bit as much as he does." Larry's hand came around, pressing against the damp fabric, feeling the wet heat of Cory's cock through the worn material. "You must really like wearing it." Cory's hips jerked. He felt himself pulse against the worn fabric, straining against the material that had cradled his father so many times before. "Yeah, you do." Larry's thrusts got harder. "You like wearing your dad's jockstrap while I fuck you. You like knowing he was right here, in this same spot, making the same sounds you're making now." Cory was cussing in the pillow. His hands were fisted so tight in the sheets that his knuckles ached. Every thrust hit that spot inside him, white-hot pleasure shooting through his body, and he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but take it. Larry’s heavy balls hit against the back of Cory’s bulge, jostling it in rhythm that made being fucked by the rhino seem hot and filthy. Then he felt a light slap on his ass, the sound ringing loudly in the bedroom. “God I've missed that youthful bounce.” Larry growled into his ear before putting his nose into Cory’s neck. He inhaled deeply, aggressively. “You got that scent on you. Eager bitch. Young and fresh.” Cory let out another pleasurable whimper as the rhino continued to ravage him “Oh god—" "Not god. Just me." Larry's thrusts got harder, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Say my name." "Larry—" "Louder." "Larry—" "There it is," Larry said, his voice rough. "That's the sound your dad makes when I'm really giving it to him. Keep saying it.” "Larry— Oh god. Give it to me." “Who? Who's giving it to you?” “Larry! Oh god! LARRY!” The rhino's hand closed around Cory's throat — not squeezing, just holding. Claiming. An aggressive breath through the rhino’s nose. Then a snarl, and a huff. The bedframe had gone from thumping to full on smashing against the wall with how hard they were fucking. Then Cory felt it. Felt the pulse of Larry's cock inside him, the heat of it, the way Larry's weight pressed him into the mattress. He kept fucking him as he spurt rope after rope into his ass, and for a few seconds afterwards. Then the rhino collapsed forward, driving his full weight into Cory, pinning him into the bed frame. They stayed like that for a moment while Larry caught his breath. His face buried in the crook of Cory's neck, his cock softening inside, and the load he had just pounded inside the young canine’s ass was starting to dribble on the bed sheets. Then Larry pulled out, rolled onto his back, and pulled Cory with him. Cory ended up sprawled on Larry's chest, the rhino's arm around his shoulders, his face pressed against the mat of black hair. Larry’s hairy chest was slick from sweat, but Cory didn’t mind. Larry's other hand found his hole — still slick, still open, leaking — and pushed two fingers inside. Casual. Possessive. Cory whimpered, oversensitive, but didn't pull away. Larry's fingers moved slowly, stroking his wrecked hole, and his other hand came up to tilt Cory's mouth toward his. They kissed — the first time, slow and deep and rough, Larry's tongue exploring Cory's mouth with the same thoroughness he'd explored his body. It was electric Larry's hand found Cory's cock through the jockstrap. Still hard, still straining, still sensitive. He stroked it through the fabric — the same fabric that was already soaked with Cory's precum — and Cory gasped into his mouth. "You're close," Larry murmured against his lips. "I can feel your asshole starting to seize. Don’t fight it. Fill your daddy’s jockstrap." Cory bucked his hips. Larry's fingers were still in his ass, still stroking that spot, and his hand was working Cory's cock through the jockstrap with a steady, relentless rhythm. It was too much. It wasn't enough. Cory felt like he was being taken apart and put back together, piece by piece. His orgasm wrecked him, head lulling back and howling out a passionate “FUCK YES!” while his cock shot rope after rope into the already-soaked fabric. Larry didn’t stop pressing against his prostate and jacking him off while he came. It was intense, Cory felt drunk off of sensation, and the rhino was with him every moment. When he finished, his body went boneless against Larry's chest. Larry held him through it. Stroked his back, his ears, the base of his tail. When Cory finally caught his breath, Larry reached for the nightstand and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. He took a long drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling, and looked down at Cory with something that might have been affection. "You did good, kid." Cory closed his eyes and let himself float. They dozed. Cory didn't mean to fall asleep, but Larry's chest was warm and solid beneath him, the rhino's breathing slow and even, and the afternoon light had gone soft and golden through the blinds. The cigarette had burned down to nothing in the ashtray on the nightstand. The sheets were a mess — lube and sweat and other things that Cory tried not to think about too hard. Larry had lit another cigarette at some point, one arm draped around Cory's shoulders, the other holding the smoke to his lips. Casual. Possessive. Like having a naked nineteen-year-old draped over him was just how Sunday afternoons went. Which, Cory supposed, maybe it was. He was drifting somewhere between awake and asleep when he heard it. The crunch of tires on gravel. The rumble of an engine cutting off. The slam of a truck door. Footsteps on the porch. Cory's eyes snapped open. His body went rigid. "Larry—" "I hear it." Larry's voice was calm. Too calm. He took a drag of his cigarette like he had all the time in the world. The front door opened. "Cory? You here? They let me go early — the part won't be in until tomorrow, so—" Roger's voice carried through the trailer, familiar and warm. Footsteps moving through the living room. Pausing. Then moving again, closer, down the hallway. “In here Rog.” Larry called out. “What are you doing?” Cory hissed. The doorknob twisted. He froze. Tried to move. Couldn't. His body was locked in place from panic alone, Larry's arm still around his shoulders, his bare skin pressed against the rhino's chest. The rhino’s callused hands gave Cory’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. The bedroom door opened. Roger stood in the doorway. He was still in his work clothes — the button-down with the sleeves rolled up, the slacks, the practical shoes. His fur was damp with sweat, his ears slightly drooping from exhaustion. He looked tired. He looked like he'd been looking forward to coming home and seeing his kid. Now he was looking at his best friend smoking in his bed, with his naked kid in his arms. His eyes moved slowly around the room. The rumpled sheets. The lube on the nightstand. The ashtray with Larry's cigarette. The jockstrap Cory was wearing — his jockstrap, the one Larry had bought him, the one he knew the feel of because he'd worn it a hundred times. Cory's mouth opened. "Dad, I can explain, I just—!" He tried to cover himself. Couldn't. There was nothing to cover with, and Larry's arm was still around his shoulders, and the sheets were tangled at the foot of the bed, and there was nowhere to hide. Larry didn't move. Took a drag. Let the smoke curl from his nostrils. "Can ya believe it?" His voice was casual, almost lazy. "A single fuckin' day and it’s the first thing he does. He came to me like a bee to honey. Apple doesn't fall from the tree, does it?" Roger's jaw tightened. The muscle in his cheek twitched. "Damn it, Larry!" His voice was sharp, controlled, the kind of controlled that meant he was holding back something much louder. Then his eyes went to Cory, and something shifted. "Are you ok, Cory?" The floor seemed to drop out from under Cory. His ears were flat against his skull, his tail curled tight around his leg. He felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being mostly naked. "I'm fine Dad." Larry exhaled smoke. "See? He's okay." Roger turned on him. The control cracked, just slightly, anger bleeding through. "This is not okay! He's a teenager and you're a middle-aged pervert!" Larry didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He ashed his cigarette on the nightstand — Roger's nightstand — and met Roger's glare with the same unhurried calm he did everything. "He's legally an adult and doesn't need your permission." Larry's voice was steady. "And I'm not his first middle-aged man. Like I said before — am I really so bad compared to the alternative?" Roger groaned in exasperation. His hands came up, pressing against his face, and he stood there for a moment, breathing, shoulders tight with tension. “Do it.” Larry said. “I’m not a teenager. I can control my emotions.” Roger snipped. “You’ll feel better.” The rhino said, in a sing-song voice. “I need to set a good example for Cory.” “I kind of deserve it.” Larry sang, as if offering him candy. “Fine.” Roger said, seeming not to need any more convincing. Then he threw a haymaker and punched Larry right in the mouth. “DAD!” Cory shrieked. But Larry was laughing, completely unphased, except for a slightly red mark on his lip. “Relax kid, I’m a rhino. You could break a sledgehammer over my head and I would be fine.” Cory looked back and forth between Larry and his father, who was shaking his hand. “Ow!” “Feel better?” Larry offered. “A little.” The middle aged dog pouted. Larry watched him. Tried to take a drag of his cigarette only to find it squished against his face. He looked at it with mild annoyance, then put it in the ashtray. Then, casually, like he was proposing a weekend trip instead of an ongoing sexual arrangement: "Tell ya what. I'll knock $400 off your rent so you don't have to be on call. Saturday he's all yours to spend time with. Sunday he's mine for a few hours." He glanced down at Cory. "And Cory — you promise to give up your Sniffies cruising habit with randos so there's only one middle-aged pervert cumming in you instead of twenty. How's that?" Cory blinked. His brain was still short-circuiting from the walk-in, from the embarrassment, from the sheer absurdity of this conversation happening at all. But underneath all of that, something else was surfacing — something that felt almost like relief. "Okay" He heard himself say it before he'd even finished thinking it. "Please, Dad?" Roger stared at him. Then at Larry. The urge to punch Larry a second time over his brazen audacity conflicted with the possibility of being able to spend more time with his son. “I’m going to get a glass of water and think.” He said. “Give me like ten minutes.” And with that, he marched out of the room. Cory went to chase after him out of concern, but Larry pulled him back. “Don’t. He’s overwhelmed. Give him his ten minutes of space otherwise his brain will fry.” Cory sighed, then nodded. Roger forgot to shut the door, so it was obvious he was just standing there with the glass of water staring at the wall. Those were the longest ten minutes of Cory’s life. No one spoke. No one did anything. It was just awkward, tense silence. Then suddenly Roger drained his glass of water in a few gulps, and marched back into the room. “Alright. Fine…..It’s fine god damn it.” “Huh?” Cory said. “If it keeps you safer, then fine.” Roger said, clearly resigned. “But I’m not whoring out my son to you for $400 Larry. This isn’t like our arrangement.” Cory winced. He had a feeling there was something to that considering his profile and the way Larry worded it as “extra.” He added softly. “Wouldn’t that let you consistently spend time with me rather than having to volunteer to be on call every weekend?” The lab looked at his son—really looked at him— and saw that he was okay. Roger deflated. “Okay. I may be whoring out my son to you for $400 Larry. But only if he wants to.” Larry shrugged. “Well yeah, I'm not going to force the kid to put out. I’m not a monster. That’s against rule number three: don’t have sex just because you feel like you owe someone.” Roger looked at them both. “You already have rules?” “Yeah!” Cory chimed in. “We tell each other if something’s wrong, we don’t keep secrets, and we don’t owe each other sex.” Roger sighed. “This is weird, and I might need some time to-” Then his eyes found the jockstrap. "Aww man.” He whined, all the fight gone from his voice. “Is that my jockstrap? Don’t you have your own underwear?" Larry smirked. "Don't bother. I'm gonna make him wear yours anyways." Roger stared at him. The silence stretched. Long. Heavy. Larry held his gaze, that infuriating smirk still on his face. Cory held his breath and looked at his father with pleading eyes. “I swear to god you’re both going to give me an aneurysm.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Closed his eyes. Let out a breath that seemed to deflate something in his shoulders. “Yes!” Cory pumped his fist in victory. “Although we’re amending rule two.” Roger added. “Hm?” Cory tilted his head. “We are definitely not telling your mother."