FSE

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He needed as much as he could get.

"Make it eight." Silver's tail curled in anticipation, patting the car as if his very touch would increase its value. "I got bills to pay, and it still runs."Sorta....

Unimpressed, the bull seemed to stare him down, nostrils flaring as he snorted. Giving the car, a rust-stained Elantra that may have been a brimming red once upon a time, another nonchalant glance, he said, "Five hundred. Take it or leave it."

"Seven?"

"Five."

"Six?"

The bull paused, as if he were debating whether or not just to walk away, and the horns that curled from his head seemed sharper than they were moments before. Then,_one_last time, the husky knew: "Five."

The deal spun through his mind like a disc in its player. The bull was a mechanic for crying out loud--he could easily fix it up, no sweat. But there were no other takers and the husky had his car posted for sale online for several weeks now; he was lucky enough to receive the bull's phone call just moments ago. But with rent due, an empty fridge, limited unemployment wages, and his annual car registration next month that he couldn't afford....

The husky waved his tail about. "Certainly there's something else I could do to get you more_bang_ for your buck?"

"Don't need anything else. I'll be dumping money into this thing just to get it running smooth. Five's being generous."

Silver smiled. "Well, with all the work you've been doing fixing up all those cars, there must be some pent up energy you need releasing."

The bull raised eyebrows and snorted again.

"And as big as you look under the hood," Silver continued, sizing up the bulge in the bull's overalls, "it's nothing I can't handle, or make pleasurable for the both of us."

"You must be desperate, kid." The bull seemed to almost laugh in understanding. "Even if I dug other men, the thing would still be worth five-hundred. I'll give you five-fifty. Deal?"

Silver sighed. "Deal." A couple hours later, he had five-fifty in his right pocket, and a key missing from the other. The spot where his car once parked every night was nothing but oil stains on old asphalt now.

He had to make his way to the town's only music shop,To The Max!, and he took off down the road in a light jog, a tiny breeze sifting through his silver-toned fur that earned him his nickname, his pointy ears swiveling to the noise of cars passing, or to an argument between couples in the distance. Although Aston was barely big enough to make it on the weather reports occasionally, it was a place that was brimming with creativity, from the few coffee shops that sported paintings by local artists on their walls and housed open mics for acoustic guitarists and spoken word poets (Silver once grew a pair, reading a grouping of words he used to call a poem, the lukewarm reception almost frightening him from ever writing again), to their local venue,Good Ol' Time, that supported touring bands as well as local acts. It was there where he discovered his favorite band before they were signed, before their faces robbed airtime on the radios and television, as well as the front covers of music magazines from other bands. His studio apartment became a haven for their posters, the magazines on which they appeared, their official studio release, as well as their original demo on a cheap CD-R. Silver had every shirt the band ever released, all their designs fashioned by their bass player, Luke, himself--and the husky made sure they never littered the floor before laundry day as his other clothes: they were neatly hung to avoid damage to the print, and washed meticulously by paw.

His adoration for the band even crept in on his sleep, the husky having once dreamed he snuck a kiss with their singer, the member he idolized most--a dream Silver kept reliving in his mind.

Ahead of him,To The Max!'s open sign flickered. Already the sun was hotfooting towards the finish line of the horizon, and he knew the place would be closed soon. Just as he approached, an employee he recognized turned the sign off. Silver hustled into the familiar smell of vinyl records in their aging sleeves before the employee could lock the door, but was promptly told that they were closed.

"Please, I just need to buy a ticket for tomorrow's show." He knew he shouldn't be such a spendthrift when he didn't have a job, but his favorite band was coming. He missed them last time because of money issues, and this time around he had to survive witnessing the tickets sold online deplete until unavailable. He wouldn't miss them again. He knew this was the band's last stop before stepping into the studios to record album número_ dos_, which would take God knows how long. He_couldn't_ miss them again.

"Oh, for caTechism at_Good Ol' Time_?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Sorry, sold out. Shouldn't wait til the last minute to buy tickets, especially for such a popular band. In their hometown, no less!"

"Yeah, I'll work on that next time."

Dejected, Silver stepped into the sun's dying light as the employee locked the door behind him with an audible click. Above, the husky watched as a plane began its slow descent to the airport nearby, and somehow he knew that tomorrow he'd be stopping by_Good Ol' Time_. And that he'd make his way inside somehow. His tail curled in anticipation.

Missing them again was not an option.

* * *

For better or worse, Lazu couldn't believe how far he'd come.

Car after car zipped past as the tour bus rumbled down the darkening stretch of highway, the airport disappearing into the distance. Lazu peered out his window, squeezing at the stress reliever that was a miniature version of himself, thinking back to the overseas tour he and his band had completed--the crazy tide of fans surging like a giant creature with too many arms and eyes, the new sights and sounds of each country they visited (he loved the endless fields of green that inhabited one country whose name he dared not mispronounce again after offending a fan when he'd wanted to ask about their culture), the great food, and the stress.

The drummer and bass player, leopard twins named Matt and Luke, respectively, who'd founded the band with Lazu, were asleep in the back, their snores perforating the white noise of twilit traffic. Their keyboardist, a black panther named Kev, was camouflaged somewhere in the darkness of the bus, probably thinking up lyrics or a new melody to later share with Lazu instead of sleeping. It was rare for Lazu to see the panther catching some Zs, always hyped up on energy drinks and Starbucks. Instead the guy was always busy with the letters that comprised the musical scale as he hummed out new songs, head bobbing, mind endlessly composing away. Ahead, their guitarist named Michael-John, or MJ, as he preferred, sat with a girl cradled in an arm. The rest of them didn't even know who she was. The girl, some canine that looked like a cross between a Siberian Husky and a Shiba Inu--a Siberian Inu, Lazu supposed--had tagged along during the last stretch of the tour and was apparently invited to their trip home by MJ, who, as a ruggedly handsome lion with shredding skills that often stripped the very shirt off their female fans' backs, never had any trouble getting the ladies to offer their services after a show.

And there Lazu sat, a shiver glancing across his spine although he wasn't cold. Having just turned eighteen several weeks ago and being the youngest in the band, for the past couple years he would play the underage card as the reason for not getting in on any of the action. But ever since the title of "legal adult" attached to him like a downward-pointing sign above his head, Lazu had much difficulty finding a good reason to turn down the legion of girls with backstage passes. Even fumbled when MJ took the initiative to pull a girl backstage who had the same light-blue and white color scheme as Lazu did, much to the bemusement of the others who were rarely as "lucky." Lazu wondered why he was such a magnet for the opposite sex.

Because he was the singer, and a damn good one at that, at least to the media, which always touted him into one of the first ten spots in those Top 100 lists, proclaiming him a child prodigy, the next big thing in the world of metal, or the world of music as a whole. But Lazu didn't care about any of that--he just wanted to sing. But he was the_frontman_ of the band, the first face everyone saw in the magazines, every photo ever taken of them even when Lazu had insisted that the other band members share some of the spotlight. It was all business. As soon as they signed on the dotted line, their label had taken almost everything over. ("The band needs a face--and that face is you, kitty-boy.") Even after he had frosted blue the whites of his fur to compliment the intense blues of his eyes, he wondered if this were something he really wanted to do, or if this was the result of the label's subtle and persuasive manipulation, to elevate his appeal to Everest levels.

But he was happy, he guessed, that their music had such vast appeal, and that they were able to share it on a much broader scale than weekends jamming in a friend's basement. However, it had all happened so fast. One moment they were playing local shows, then after a video of their performance went viral online, they were whisked away into the world of pushy A&R executives, recording studios, and touring. After two years, they were ready to hit the studios again and record their sophomore effort. Tour again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Lazu shuddered, growing more scornful as the Siberian Inu or whatever-the-hell looked back at him with a yawn before snuggling against the lion, her new man who had seen more pussy than their band had CD sales. Just a few thousand more and they would go platinum, and finally see a decent paycheck, after everyone else had been paid: all the work that went into making their album, a music video, setting up the tour, advertising the band, etc., etc., etc. Of course, the CEO, the vice-president, and every other higher-up needed a cut, too.

But none of that mattered, really. Next to him, he felt the chill of someone not by his side and he was thankful their tour was making its final stop at a small venue in their hometown of Aston, open only to a limited number of fans: 500, if Lazu remembered correctly, with tickets going at $50 a pop, a price that sickened him--don't even get him started with merchandise prices. He missed the days when a few bucks for the entry fee would garner a night full of entertainment for family, friends, and fans. But, again, it was the will of the label, concert promoters, and their pesky contracts. Lazu hoped the meet-and-greet at the end of the show would make the cost worth it, along with the few t-shirt and signed CD giveaways. Lazu would have to give his paw a good stretching for all the signing he would have to perform, but he was more than happy to oblige, especially since he expected some of his most diehard fans in attendance; however, the thought of fan-girl legions bombarding him like needy younger siblings had him worried. He worried about what would happen if everyone were to finally find out. Lazu could imagine it now: their band name, caTechism, plastered on the wall as they rocked onstage, on the shirts of their fans, on every CD cover held in their paws and the disgust it would bring everyone just to read it. He could imagine his own mother (who had agreed to cosign the record contract after Lazu, who was underage at the time, had convinced her that caTechism was a Christian band) and her disappointment--that I-told-you-so look on her face for not following his deceased father's footsteps, a great vocalist in his own right who lived a humble life as a pastor and inspirer, a clean and reverent man who did everything by the Good Book. He worried that his success would be his ultimate downfall.

But then there was hope, too, which kept him going--that, for once, a man would ask him to the back for that quality alone time. And that he wouldn't be too afraid to oblige. And that no one would ever find out and he could continue to sing, to do what he loved. Then maybe all of this would be worth it.

* * *

The big rottweiler was tired of it. Watching as fan after fan lined up outside the venue's glass doors, he cracked his knuckles, feeling his muscles tense beneath black and dark-tan fur. He'd spent the past couple years or so bulking up to handle a surge of wet, scrawny teenagers, but after tonight it wouldn't matter: it was back to teaching a classroom full of teenagers he could control with his voice instead of his brawn, with threats of detention and phone calls to impatient, hot-tempered parents. A layoff had forced him into taking a job like this. But now that schools were hiring again, his career would shimmy back on track.

Eying each individual and how, in a paradoxical sort of simultaneity, they looked both different from each other and the same, he took note of all the piercings, the fur died unnatural colors, all the band-shirts and the different designs. Varied, but still homogenous: They were worse than a school uniform policy.

"Dio, you're frowning again," came the gruff voice from a muscly black bear, the head of security, who seemed as tall as he was wide.

"Oh?"

"What's up with you? When you first started, you always had a clever joke to crack. But these past few months, you've looked as if death stopped by your happiness bank and made a complete withdrawal."

"Well, a little piece of me dies inside to know where our youth are heading: to a future as indentured servants to drugs, sex, and rock 'n' roll."

"Oh, come now. They're not all like that."

"It wouldn't be so bad if the music were decent. But, these days, we're not even afforded that. Hell, everyone thinks I'm named after some metal band. I don't think none of these punks know what a mathematician is."

"Well, thanks to you, I'll be able to take the million dollar question if asked about the father of algebra. Regardless, you should enjoy your last day, Dio. I'm gonna miss having you around. Relaunching your teaching career better damn well make you happy. Or do I need to stop by once a week and shove my boot up your ass till you puke rainbows and sunshine?"

Dio chuckled, immediately noticing that this was the first time today he had smiled. "Will do, boss. You and I need to keep in touch over a few drinks every now again, you hear?"

"Deal. Now back to work."

Dio watched as the bear turned away to mark off the clipboarded checklist in his paw, making sure everything was complete. The rottweiler knew his boss shot straighter than parallel lines, so he dared not make any moves. The bear had two daughters, one each from two failed marriages. But he sure did like watching his swagger, how his muscles strained against the yellow security shirt, possibly a size too small. Sometimes he'd watch him wrestle rowdy audience members; his aggression, his power on display, would always send a charge through all the right places. Ever since he'd started he'd been lusting for him, and even now he was hornier than a class full of 16-year-olds--had to resist pulling the bear in for a kiss and a quick fuck in the back. Later, he'd have to settle for a simple handshake and goodbye.

"Damn..." Dio's heart sank. He didn't want to quit, but he couldn't lay his entire future on fantasies--and all the awful music that bore through his ears night after night after night.

* * *

Silver watched from a safe, but close distance at the line that had formed before_Good Ol' Time_, a red-brick place sandwiched between two closed-down businesses. Fliers for local bands were plastered all over the windows--on the venue itself and the closed businesses--and stickers and decals for at least a hundred different bands swallowed the doors, each other, the lampposts, and even chunks of the sidewalk.

It was about an hour before the doors would open and he only had one thing on his mind: scalpers.

The thought of buying from one had Silver both hopeful and worried. Before struggling to sleep last night, he pondered and wondered if someone could sell him a ticket without murdering his wallet, or if he would have to settle for listening from the wrong side of the venue walls.

"Fuck that." Silver marched across the street, decked in his favorite caTechism shirt. The design was a lion's gaping mouth with the band's name forming the teeth (he had a feeling the design was MJ's idea), the tongue curling out to an absurd length, tapering to a forked tip. It wasn't long before he found a person, a shady-looking mutt with giant ears, scalping tickets.

"How much?"

"One-fifty."

"One hundred and fifty bucks? You gotta be kidding!" If Silver had a job and this was the only way of getting a ticket, he would've spent the money in a heartbeat. He silently cursed the failing economy and his last employer's company-wide layoffs.

"Hey, it's their last show. Limited number of tickets. Come back when you change your mind."

"How about a hundred?" Even that was too much.

"Sorry. Slap one-five-oh in my paw and you've got it."

Silver was getting the feeling that haggling wasn't his strong suit. The mutt walked off, looking for potential buyers, and the husky felt more and more like a fish floundering for a bed of water. The five hundred plus he got yesterday coupled with his unemployment wages would've afforded him a couple months leeway. But he was expecting to buy a ticket at the original fifty dollar cost. But triple that? It was a stretch.

Silver bit his lower lip, and waited.

* * *

"You ready for this, Lazu?" MJ flashed his teeth in a grin, his girl still around one arm as if she were a conjoined twin. Lazu watched as she stroked his auburn mane. At least she kept herself busy.

"Of course. Last show. We've done several dozen already."

The bus rumbled towards_Good Ol' Time_, a venue with which the lot of them were more than familiar, having played so many shows there as a local, unknown band.

"No, not the show--" MJ glanced at his girl who batted eyelashes, "you ready to finally get that cherry popped? It's close to bursting already, I can tell!"

Lazu's whiskers twitched as his face twisted into a scowl.

"And no, not with this gal, either," MJ laughed. "She's with me. But don't worry. I'll do all the legwork and find you a cute girl of your own. Just do your singing thing and you'll nail one. Get your first real kiss." The lion winked.

"Yeah, great," Lazu replied with a forced smile as the bus pulled in behind the venue, an old memory popping into mind--a memory of a kiss he had dared not further explore. "Looking forward to it."

* * *

Music blared from inside the building. The anticipation was burgeoning in Silver's gut like an alien parasite. The local band was awful, which was fine, but that meant caTechism would be playing soon. The husky already tried walking in, acting as if he already had his ticket checked and his wrist lassoed with a blue band, but the security-man at the door wasn't dumb by any means and was twice Silver's size.

A tour bus pulled in as the husky stepped into the cool evening, and he knew at once caTechism had arrived. Forking over the money was the last hurdle. He wanted to see them. He'd even stashed in his pocket their original demo CD, and a stress reliever that looked like their singer (something they sold in very limited amounts before they got their record contract) for them to sign. Looking back and forth for the greedy mutt and his tickets, he was surprised to see the scalper approaching him.

"Hey," he said. "Couldn't find any takers: I'm at a loss. I'll do it for a hundred, if you still want it."

What luck! He would've preferred fifty dollars, but a hundred was better than a hundred-fifty. Not wanting the guy to change his mind, Silver decided not to haggle him down further and yipped, "Ok."

Ticket in paw and a hundred dollars lighter, Silver strolled back inside to the ticket booth, glad that he could finally get in.

The lady, a black cat that almost disappeared inside the dark booth, scanned his ticket under a special light before handing it back. "Sorry, my man. Ticket's fake."

Silver's stomach turned. "What?"

"Scalper got you?"

"Y-yeah."

The black cat pointed to the sign by her window that he'd seen before: NEVER BUY FROM SCALPERS. Silver secretly wondered if what they say about black cats and luck were true. He made a mental note to fully obey all warning signs from this day forward.

"Sucks, I know, but we still can't let you in. If I could, I would, but I'm in no hurry for a pink slip."

"I understand." He didn't, really. What difference did it make if one person were allowed in, real ticket or not?

Ears flattening against his head, tail slinking between his legs like a broken guitar string, the husky felt the rush of evening air through the doors a second time. Pissed that someone would take advantage of him. Pissed that he was a hundred dollars short with nothing to show for it. Pissed that watching his favorite band had to take so much damn effort. Tears burned at the edges of his eyes, which only made him feel worse. Pulling the stress reliever from his pocket, he squeezed it with all his might, and took a quick glance around, hoping the mutt was nearby so he could pound his face in, although the crook would've been long gone by now.

Seeing caTechism's parked tour bus as he approached the street, Silver had one last idea.

* * *

The boss was kind enough to let Dio have backdoor duty, although the rottweiler was hoping he meant in another way. Watching the back was easy: on occasion, a fan or two would come by, hoping to sneak a one-on-one with a band member, but most of the fans were inside, watching the bands perform. It was after the show he was worried about, although there was usually backup by then. However, since tonight's show was a limited viewing, the place ran a skeleton crew for security.

Yawning, taking in the cool, summer air, he was happy to be away from the mugginess of inside where hundreds of people spat hot breath, brushed dank fur along each other as they roared. Mouth snapping shut, he almost jumped when he noticed a husky on the approach. Tensing up, the rottweiler was ready to send the bugger away.

"Excuse me," the husky said. At least he was polite. "A guy sold me a fake ticket and I couldn't get in and I'm broke as hell... I'm a big fan of caTechism and I really need to see them."

"That's what they all say about every band. Sucks about the dishonest scalper, but you should've known better. Can't let you in, buddy."

"I know, I know...." Silver glanced inside the doorway, hoping to get a peek at Lazu or one of the others. No one--not even the tech guys or road crew. They must be getting everything ready for caTechism's appearance. "Look, let me be frank: my life isn't where I want it to be. I just got laid off. I've been looking for work for the past couple months with nothing. All I wanted to do is see my favorite band play. I lost a hundred bucks out of the five I got after selling my car for fake tickets. Please...."

Dio's heart softened to this. He understood completely the stress of a layoff, the months of job-searching, the limited income. But he still had a job to do.

"I feel your pain. Really, I do. But no is no."

"There must be something I can do."

"Well, unless you intend on giving me some muzzle action to celebrate my last day here, I would go home, kid."

The husky gave a contemplative look as if he were giving his half-joking gesture some serious thought, which only got the wheels turning in the rottweiler's mind. It was_half_a joke, after all. He'd been fighting back the embarrassment of an erection all day since the naked version of his boss kept cropping up in his head like bad weeds.

"You serious?" the husky finally said.

"No," Dio tested, "of course not."

"Please... I'll do it. I don't care. You look good enough, even with all that muscle."

The big rottweiler glanced around. Fuck it. It was his last night. His boss wouldn't fire him. Waving the husky over to a private corner behind stage he knew people rarely looked, he unzipped his fly and let out the large bulge of his sheath and balls.

"Make it quick," Dio whispered, which almost came out as a bark. His heart was pounding and he'd been aching for release by other means than his paw as he took his morning showers.

Silver's eyes went wide. Even unaroused, he could tell the rottweiler would mean business in the size department once he got going. It had been awhile since he fooled with anybody. It wasn't like he had many friends or connections. But he had to admit, he liked what he saw, and hesitated no further. Cupping the imposing sheath with one paw, and the rottweiler's big, loose balls in the other, he fondled him until a few quiet moans escaped the security guard's maw, until the red tip of his dick slid out, his rod thickening with every heartbeat, pulsing as it grew and grew.

Dio kept his eyes closed, the pleasure of somebody else's paw pleasuring him in ways he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. The entire time, he imagined the bear, his boss, was pawing him off, his erection throbbing from its furry prepuce so quickly he thought he would ejaculate in a matter of seconds.

"Man, you're big," the husky said. "Really big. Would've been worried if you'd ask to stick it in my other side."

Dio hushed the pup, warning against giving him any ideas.

Grasping the base of the rottweiler's cock as the knot ballooned to its full size, Silver engulfed the tip in his muzzle, sucking at it, his saliva dripping down the thick, red shaft. Inching his way down its length, he almost gagged as Dio's cock prodded the back of his throat.

Dio listened, eyes still shut, at the sucking sounds, as the husky moaned, licked the tip, took as much of his length as he could. The rottweiler rubbed his own body, feeling the firmness of his chest muscles, his hardened nipples. All the while, he imagined the bear sucking him off, touching him just so. He imagined his naked, fully muscled frame, and the bear's own meaty erection. A tingly warmth radiated from his crotch to the rest of his body, and every now and again he would shudder, the husky's rough tongue sending spikes of stimulation up his spine to the tip of his tail. The tingly warmth swelled into a gnawing pleasure, then into a sharp sensation that signaled his impending climax.

The rottweiler wanted the feeling to last forever, his tail, even docked, betraying his enjoyment as it thumped against the wall. He wanted to tell the husky to slow down, but the feeling was too great. This was something he'd been wanting, been craving. Clutching at the husky's head and his thick fur, he thrust hips, unloading a volley of hot cum deep into his maw.

Silver swallowed, and swallowed again as the rottweiler tensed, sending another stream of hot cum into his mouth. Sucking harder at Dio's dick, he drained the rottweiler for what he was worth, which, to Silver's amazement, was an impressive amount. The final few ounces spurted onto his tongue, and Silver swallowed, saltiness and all.

Dio looked down, expecting a mess. Clean as a whistle: his dick; the husky's face. As his shaft softened, slowly retreating back into its sheath, there was no evidence that anything happened between them. Zipping up (or doing his best to), Dio gestured for Silver to go backstage just as the local band began bringing back their equipment, their set finished, telling him to quickly blend in with the audience before anyone noticed.

Husky thanked the rottweiler. Before taking off inside, he said, "So who was it?"

"Who was who?"

"The guy you were thinking about. You said someone's name while I was--you know...."

The rottweiler's face burned. He didn't even remember saying his boss's name.

"Well, whoever it is, you should just tell him."

"Tell him what?" Dio couldn't believe how obvious his desire was.

"Just tell him. You know."

And the husky turned tail. His favorite band was on next.

* * *

Keyboards haunted the small enclosure with its melancholy song, a whisper of melody which seemed to lull the audience into a quiet trance as they waited. Then double bass drums pounded; a guitar solo sprang to life. The crowd roared, lifting devil horns, a mosh pit exploding in the direct center of the audience, pushing all those with no desire to participate into the rest of the crowd.

Silver was held tight against the wall, cradled between a scrawny wolf whose fur looked like it was transmogrifying into water, and a bitch with breasts he thought would pop if the crowd were to squash together any more.

But the husky didn't mind. He was here and his band was on stage. Just like the good ol' days, sans the overload of people. And now the audience thundered with more applause as Lazu, the light blue-and-white Himalayan cat with his dark point coloration, stepped to the microphone, opened his mouth, and unloaded his voice.

For the next hour or so the other people did not even exist. Silver didn't just watch: he analyzed every move and gesture, especially Luke, the bass player, who made a habit of pounding at the strings of his instrument as it lay flat on the ground, as if he were clawing at raw earth to make the biggest hole anyone has ever dug. Silver sang his guts out with every piece they played, knowing by heart all the lyrics, and headbanged to the staccato attack of the guitars. Even Matt offered the craziest drum solo he'd ever seen him perform, his drumsticks becoming nothing but a blur as he assaulted every tom-tom and cymbal, dizzying his hearing with syncopated rhythms, odd time signatures, and plenty of fucking cowbell.

When the show came to its climax--or its anti-climax, the band members laying down their instruments except for MJ, who had armed himself with an acoustic guitar--the five of them together sang a very old piece to which only a few people in the crowd mumbled the lyrics. The song had never made it to their major label debut, nor on their demo CD. It was one of their first songs, although the version they played was altered a bit, more polished. But it was a song they used to sing when they were local and unknown. A song about the tragedy of, not loss, but not being able to lose. Because how do you lose something you've never had?

Silver sang at the top of his lungs with all his might.

* * *

The crowd dispersed, as they did after every show, to the booths for shirts and other memorabilia, those few who were new to the band handing over their money for a copy of caTechism's album. The rest of the crowd congregated by their tour bus where many stood in line for a chance to touch paw to paw with the band, and have them sign their shirts and album copies.

Silver had everything the booth offered, much to his relief as he didn't want to spend his limited funds on new merchandise. There was only one thing left, and that was for a signing. Then he could go home happy. From the back, he noticed how slowly the actual signing and pawshake was going--there was an entire crowd to please, and the husky could tell the pressure the band was under as every fan had something to say, and it was near-impossible for them to offer their undivided attention.

Silver waited. He wasn't like those other fans. He waited until security came and shooed everyone away, the band making their getaway back into the venue, or inside the tour bus. And then when security wasn't looking, he approached the backdoor as he did earlier, sneaking inside.

Tech guys and stage crew were busy with all the gear, and Silver could hear laughter from another room somewhere down a small hallway. Curious, he snuck towards the noise, but stopped short as a member of security in his loud, yellow shirt, turned the corner. The rottweiler!

"What are you doing back?"

"Just wanted the band to sign my CD."

"Signing's over. Back to bed with you, kid."

"Kid? You don't look much older!"

"Probably." The rottweiler gestured for the husky to turn around.

"So are you gonna tell him?"

"Tell him?" The rottweiler hesitated for a moment. "Actually, I already did... a few moments ago, to be exact. But he thought I was being jokester of the year. I'll try again when he's hammered, though. Rum and Coke time!" Dio looked the husky over with a frown. "You're lucky the band loves their fans, especially that kitty-boy singer. He and the keyboardist are down the hall."

"Thanks. And good luck with that bear. I can see why you like him."

Dio looked stunned. "How did you know?"

"What? That you're head-over-heels for the head of security?"

"Y-yeah...."

"I'm a repeat customer. I've seen you before--and how you look at him. My guess is you'll be surprised what he'll do when he's drunk." Silver winked. "I think he's the type."

Dio's stump of a tail waved yearningly at the thought, and he disappeared outside with the second smile of the day stretching his muzzle wide.

* * *

"You ready to hit the studios?" Kev, the black panther, said before taking another sip of Red Bull, a drink responsible for late night song ideas and for his ability to perform onstage without taking a nose dive into his Casio for a mid-show snooze.

"I suppose," Lazu replied. "Although it would be nice to take a break, live a normal life a little."

"Normal life?" Kev nodded. "Need some time to get a girlfriend or something? We gotta get you cured from that virgin curse somehow!"

"Yeah...." Lazu sighed. "Perhaps I should take a few notes from MJ. He's probably tinkering under the hood of his car-of-the-week he's been calling a girlfriend. Will he be able to concentrate on songwriting?"

"I wouldn't worry about him. We all know it's you and I that get down-n-dirty when it comes to writing the songs." Kev's thin tail whipped about. "Besides, to me it sounds like you're a little jealous."

Lazu scoffed. "Is it that obvious, or is all that Red Bull making you psychic now, too?"

"No need for psychic powers when you expose yourself high-and-dry in your lyrics." Kev killed the rest of the can. "Speaking of which, it's time for another one." Kev laughed as he made for the exit, tossing the can into the trash. "See you outside. Oh, look--" Silver appeared like a lost child, his heart pounding at the sight of the keyboardist. The panther wrapped an arm around the husky. "Got around security, I see. One of the lucky ones. Where should I sign?"

Silver mumbled dumbly as he searched his pockets for the old demo CD he had. Pulling it out, Kev let out a gasp, impressed.

"You're old school. Been around since the dawn of our existence!" He lifted his paw for a high five, which Silver obliged with a geeky laugh. Kev whipped out a black marker and signed the disc before handing it back. Silver wanted to melt as the signed CD found its way back into his paws. He was becoming a fan-girl, and he hated it. But it couldn't be helped, like an addiction.

"Anyways, I better find more of this red stuff or I'll drop dead-asleep in a minute here. Have a good night!"

"G-good night," Silver muttered, before turning his attention to the young cat before him. This was the moment he'd been waiting for most. He felt lucky just making it to the room, as the security dudes seemed to be busy taking a piss break or something. Lazu smiled. Silver swore his legs were melting.

"Hi, there... an old fan, I see."

"Yeah. I've known you guys since you were local, even with your old guitarist before MJ."

"Oh, that old? I couldn't even legally drive yet."

Silver chortled like some high school geek asking the head cheerleader to prom. "You get this a lot, I know, but I'm a pretty big fan. You wouldn't believe what I had to go through just to get here." And the husky laid it bare: the black hole of unemployment, selling his car to make rent and to afford the show, the sold out tickets, the scalper with his fake one. Then he introduced himself with an apology for the TMI--said his nickname matched the color of his fur that offset the accents of white. Useless information, Silver knew, but he didn't know what else to say.

Saddened and humbled, it killed Lazu to know that limited number of tickets and the inflated prices had reduced someone to going through all that. Indebted, Lazu signed the old demo that felt nostalgic in his paws--he remembered so many nights of handing these out for free after shows, hoping that more would listen rather than let it gather dust on some desk, or become a cheap beer coaster, another discarded item in a garbage can. "It's been awhile since I've seen one of these, actually. I wonder if I have one sitting around my mother's house."

"Is that where you're heading, down on Clark Street?"

"Oh, you've seen my Mom's place?" Memories of an old show when Lazu's mother was out of town came to mind. "Really old fan... I'm ashamed to say I don't remember seeing you, but then again I see so many faces nowadays, it's difficult to remember each one. Yeah, I'll be there, but I'll be packing bags soon and rooming with Kev so we have a central place to write songs." Lazu's ears swiveled, his blue eyes going wide. "Is that really what I think it is?"

"Will you sign this, too?" In Silver's paw was the stress reliever, the mini-version of the singer. "You're pretty cute this size."

Lazu's pointed ears swiveled at the compliment, which made him wonder. "Dang, you really are a fan--we barely sold any of these! Biggest waste of the band's money at the time." Squeezing the stress reliever, a few twists of his wrist and it was signed. As he returned it: "I think I do remember you. I saw you in the crowd today, singing our old acoustic song at the top of your lungs."

"Guilty!"

"And I remember you at an old show, right before we made it big." Lazu had seen so many people over the past couple years, many of them looking too much alike. But the fans from this old town of Aston held a special place in his memory after all. He knew this husky. "You kissed me once."

"K-kissed?" Silver's dream!--or was it? He remembered watching them play a house show, when he'd barely turned 20. Too many beers, he guessed, despite being underage. So he really did make a move, when Lazu was only 16, no less.

"Not that I minded." Lazu immediately wondered if he should have said that, but then he was curious....

Silver's heart thumped, his tail curling harder than it did when he was selling his Elantra. "What do you think about another one?"

The thrashing in Lazu's chest was worse. Glancing down the hall first, to the safety of its emptiness, he said, "We can try that. This time I can return the favor."

Auto-Silver kicked on. Intuition had whispered its hopeful tune that Lazu would be into this... but he wasn't sure if it was hope and wishful thinking--as a fan, he'd locked away the lust aspect for so long to avoid disappointment. But now here he was, with a singer giving him permission for a kiss, one he would remember this time. Silver stepped in close and came to realize, as Lazu looked up to meet his gaze, that he was taller, and still older. Fame and talent had their way of elevating people to another level, but as the canine and feline locked together, those barriers dissipated.

They kissed.

Whiskers touched, sending pinpricks of pleasure as they tasted each other, enjoying the roughness of tongue, the warmth of their arms. Lazu released, fear and lust pounding through his temples. He felt lightheaded. What if he were caught?

"What's wrong?" Silver let go. Too forward? Too soon?

"You won't believe how much I've been wanting this... but everyone else... What if I ruin the band?"

"Somehow, I don't see that happening." Silver slid the door closed: locked, ready. The husky turned back with a grin, his sharp, white teeth almost glistening under the dull lighting. Lazu didn't know what to say, which was an odd feeling: he had no problem expressing himself lyrically. But now he was at a loss for words. Backing into an old, brown sofa that occupied one side of the room, the two fell into an osculatory jumble, their paws exploring how each other felt.

Pulling off Lazu's black shirt, Silver slid his paws over the singer's slimmer body, combing through light blue fur, the white underbelly. The husky's shirt soon followed suit, and Lazu, for once, enjoyed the feeling of another male: the firm musculature underneath the husky's thick pelage, the bulge of his crotch as both bodies betrayed their arousal.

Neither knew what was happening. Among all the kissing and the lust-high buzz in their heads, the rest of their clothing escaped, allowing Silver's paw to sneak down Lazu's trim belly, through the playful thickness of pubic fur to the waiting sheath. Testing its thickness, the cat's pink shaft expanded almost immediately to his touch. The husky grinned, stroking the cat's thickening member in singular, downward motions to avoid the prick of back-turning barbs. Lazu's breaths shallowed, the first touch from another sending his head into a spin, the pleasure of it all unwinding every muscle.

Eagerness was pent up in the husky like music inside muted speakers. Volume ten was his goal--he needed to let the music blare like he did so many nights in his apartment, angry neighbors knocking against the walls as he sang along. Guiding the young cat around and bending him over the sofa, Silver raised Lazu's white-tipped tail to explore the globes of his rear-side. A curious, saliva-wet finger probed the never-before-touched ring of the cat's tail-hole, and Lazu knew that this was something he wanted. Needed. Been yearning for.

Tensing, he gasped as the finger slipped in. Unable to wait any longer, and the threat of his band members curious about his whereabouts looming overhead, he goaded the husky to hurry and do it. Brimming with lust, the husky's tail curled, he pulled in close, and slid in.

Lazu hissed softly, arching in his back as the husky's cock prodded his insides. Silver panted as the pleasure of something so tight engulfed his member, that someone so beautiful and talented was his, and he thrust in and out without abandon, pulling the cat in tighter.

Not expecting this kind of pain, Lazu's claws dug into the sofa that supported him, gasped as the husky's cock grew longer, thicker, as it probed him in places that felt both uncomfortable and amazing.

"Damn, you feel good..." Silver groaned, his tongue lolling out to one side. He clutched Lazu's hips with both paws, each hard thrust yielding muffled cries from the slim cat who couldn't help but toss his head back, adjust his body to the onslaught of the husky's lust. Moans became plentiful, louder, and both cat and dog let out a loud sigh as Silver's still-growing knot finally slipped in before expanding to its full, fist-round size, tying them together.

Silver gave out a loud pant as he shot the first of his load into Lazu. Silver's dick pulsed and throbbed so hard that his head felt dizzy from how good this felt. He bucked and shoved his dick inside as deep as he could, shooting more of his spunk deep into his idol. "God, you feel good...."

Lazu huffed between winces, the dog's knot tugging and pushing his innards in weird, but pleasurable ways. "Glad being good on the ears isn't my--" another huff "--only talent."

When the last of Silver's dick was spent, the two collapsed on the sofa, still tied together, both panting. Shifting to find some way to rest comfortably, the two finally settled for a sitting position on the couch, the cat nestled comfortably atop the dog's lap and against his chest, dick buried deep inside.

"This is bad," Lazu said, although the warmth emanating from the dog seemed to say otherwise. It felt so good having another body against his.

"What is?" Silver replied, worried that he may have done something wrong.

"How long does it take for... you know." Paws held together in prayer, he parted them as if showing the size of a fish he'd caught. Except the fish was Silver's dick, still hard inside the cat.

"Well, on my own it goes soft in less than a minute or two. Never had the pleasure of being inside someone before, which feels ten times better, believe me. This could take awhile."

"We'll be caught." The cat gulped, his own dick still hard and wanting attention. "None of my band mates know about me liking this... stuff. Actually, no one knows, except you."

"Are you worried?"

"Of course... what would everyone think? As you may already know, I come from a religious household. And the media will have a heyday if this gets out. What will all the fans think?"

"Well, as a fan myself, I'm quite chuffed, given the circumstances." This brought a nervous laugh from Lazu. "Are you worried about losing your popularity?"

"Only the record label would be worried about that... and probably MJ. I just want everyone to be happy. Which is why I love what I do, as everyone singing along and enjoying themselves... it makes me so glad to see, like you belting out to our acoustic song."

"That will still happen, you know. How many greats have come out? Heck, we have Halford in arguably one of the most well-known metal bands still kicking! You'll have legions of fans who'll back you up against the few naysayers out there."

"Yeah, but what about my Mom? My late father? What if the band breaks up over this?"

"If it's a big deal, just give it some time. I've seen the interviews. Your band mates seem like good guys... okay, MJ may be questionable, like a tuna sandwich that's been out too long."

"Perhaps you're right--"

"Hot damn, I should have known!" MJ stood at the doorway, beer bottle in hand.

"H-how did you get in?" Lazu cried, covering his crotch. All Silver could do was look on as the two were still tied together, his heart jumping into his throat. "It was locked!"

"Damn, didn't know this venue doubled as some homo-sausage fest arena. Heck, even the security guys were too busy making out with each other. They tossed me the keys for the door so I wouldn't bug 'em. I had no idea you were getting busy, holy shit!" The lion took a swig of his beer, a giant smirk still wide across his face. "Wait til the boys get a load of this."

"P-please don't say anything!"

Embarrassment surged through both Silver and Lazu, and the dog could feel his dick going soft mighty quick. "Go easy on Lazu, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have--" Lazu, sensing the pressure within his tail-hole subsiding, decided to make a getaway, Silver's dick sliding out with an audible slurp. Lazu gunned for his pants on the floor.

"Shouldn't have what?" MJ cried, blocking the sex scene with a paw as the husky's red dick interrupted his view. He tossed his empty bottle to the floor. "I've been trying to get this sucker laid for months! If I had known he liked dudes, I wouldn't have turned so many guys away for him."

The lion gave a hearty laugh as he stumbled into the room, offering the cat a pat on the back while he was slipping on his pants, Silver getting up to do the same. Lazu, still embarrassed, was at least relieved MJ was more open to the thought of him with another guy than he had thought. "Come on," MJ said, "you still have some fans outside waiting for you. What's this?"

Silver's copy of their old demo had slipped out of his pants. The lion picked it up, examining the disc back and front. "Man, you must be an O.G. fan or something. We recorded this when I was like, what? A year into the band? Lemme sign this for you. Looks like you need the drummer and bassist in on this action, too."

Lazu and Silver exchanged glances.

When the three of them finally emerged back outside to join the rest of the band, only a few stray fans were left. Before entering the cool night air, Silver could have sworn he saw two large guys in yellow security shirts at the end of a dark hallway making out, but he was too distracted with how fast everything was happening to investigate further. MJ passed the old CD around, eliciting excitement from the final two members of the band over the artifact that bespoke their band's history. Rewarding Silver's loyalty, Matt gave him a pair of his drumsticks, having signed both of them on the spot. Luke promised twenty virgins, all big-boobed and ready, eliciting a guffaw from his leopard twin. MJ broke the laughter with a loud_ahem_, nudging Lazu.

"Don't be shy. I got you."

"Oh, no. He's leaving the band," Kev cried. "I knew something was bugging you all day, with this being our last show of the tour and all..."

"No, it's not that, Kev," Lazu exclaimed, "come on."

"What is it then?"

Lazu looked up at Silver, who only nodded back, then to the few fans standing around, eyes wide as they waited for the big reveal. The lion gave a hearty laugh before blurting, "Dude, Lazu is--"

The rest of the band wasn't surprised when Lazu cut the lion off with his admittance, which made MJ's jaw dropped to the floor, as well as the remaining fans there. MJ wondered aloud if he was an idiot. Luke apparently had spilled the beans when he saw Lazu smooching some guy a few years back after one of their house shows, but all of them kept it a secret save, even from MJ who was always busy with some girl to participate in band gossip.

"We were just waiting for you to come out and say it," Matt explained.

"And you finally did, I'm so proud!" Luke cried, offering a faux-sniffle, while the few fans remaining around nodded their approval. "What made you decide to finally leap out of that rickety closet of yours?"

"I guess getting caught being boned by this guy," Lazu said, seeking one of Silver's paws with his. "My number one fan Luke saw kiss me."

"I knew you were familiar!" Luke cried.

Silver would always recall the rest of the night as a blast. MJ passed around beers (Lazu thought the occasion was right to sneak a sip) and pulled out his acoustic guitar. Members of the group joined in on songs they knew, taking turns feeding the flames of the pit whenever they grew faint. Lazu even snuck a few kisses and a nuzzle with Silver, feeling for the second time the tickle of dog-whiskers against the feline version of his own. Heart pounding, Lazu decided to whisper Silver a question. After all, he had made all this effort just to get here. And, without the husky and his persistence, the cat knew he may never have been able to finally be himself. He even felt more confident with the idea of coming out to his mother, knowing the band would have his back... and perhaps his first boyfriend. He knew this was a big leap so soon, but he had to ask, although he had a feeling, all things considered, that the response would be favorable.

"Move in with me?"