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Finale Back to the Start

(January 24th)

It was late on a Friday night: late enough that only moonlight -- moonlight and the glow from passing windows -- illuminated the night. And a young fox, no more than 30-years-old, walked calmly through a suburban street. He was well dressed -- a suit, a tie, and trimmed and professional headfur -- and his paw was wrapped tight around the leather handle of a messenger bag.

He pressed the keyless entry button on his keys and listened as the driver's side door of his car unlocked. He padded up the driveway the car sat parked within, shifted the bag in his paw, and pressed a second keyless button: this one for his trunk. He stopped as he watched it pop open, stepped up to it, and stowed away his leather bag.

And as the fox carefully sat down the bag, a somewhat younger raccoon crept awkwardly along the side of the car...silently stopping alongside the trunk, as well. There were only a few years separating the two, but the raccoon could have easily passed for a college student. And his black and gray fur was disheveled -- more mussed than an average day would warrant -- just like his clothes: an outfit which might have been professional if it were freshly cleaned and wrinkle free.

"Excuse me. Sir?" The raccoon spoke, looking down at the bent over fox, his expression mimicking intimidation...though not entirely sincere, "You got any smokes?"

The older fox looked up at the raccoon, un-phased by the expression as he stood, "Cigarettes? You're old enough to know better." He looked away and closed his trunk, "Those things are terrible for you. Go find a better habit, kid." And without even affording the younger male a second glance, the fox made his way around toward his door.

The raccoon, though, jogged up to the door, as well, and held it closed by leaning against it, "Okay. How about this, then? You just give me your wallet, and I'll see what other kind of habit I can buy." And with that, he unsheathed a butterfly knife from his pocket -- dirtier than anything else the 'coon had on him -- and held it to his side where the fox was sure to see it.

The clean, pressed vulpine nonchalantly turned his eyes to the knife, "You happen to be holding that wrong, if you're expecting to hurt anyone with it."

The fox wasn't sure if that was true, honestly. The best he'd ever done was play with one of those. And besides, a knife's a knife, right? Did it really matter how the guy held it? But it was best to show confidence. It's what he'd done last time, after all. So, he stood...relaxed but making no sudden movements that might startle his would-be assailant. Luckily, the fox had some experience in dealing with angry kids...even if this one was a bit older than he was used to...

And the raccoon feigned a growl, "Just give me your wallet!" He gripped the knife harder and raised it up to wave it at the fox, "Don't make me hurt you."

The fox, though, just stepped closer; clearly, he wasn't in any real danger. "You don't want to do that, kid."

"But I will," the 'coon leaned away...

...and the fox simply smiled, successful in moving the raccoon out of the way of his door. And with that, he grabbed the handle, "Try it on somebody more easily scared," and pulled, forcing the door open and knocking the other male out of the way. He then turned to get into his car...

...but the 'coon quickly grabbed the fox by the shoulder and turned him back around, "Look! Just give me something. Anything! I don't care what it is!"

The fox's shoulder rolled, and he spun his arm...catching the raccoon's arm between his bicep and his side. It was slower than it should have been. More deliberate. But it worked. "Drop the knife, and close your mouth." He twisted his arm, and the younger male immediately listened, letting the knife tumble to the ground. The pain, it seemed, was ample persuasion. "You know..." the fox began, still not letting go, "maybe you shouldn't mug people, unless you're good at it."

The raccoon whined, "Okay! Just let me go! Please...?"

And the fox did just that: swiftly releasing his would-be-attacker's arm. But he did so with a bit too much flair: fanning his suit jacket open and giving the 'coon a clear and perfect glimpse of the bulge in his right front pocket. His wallet. And then, with paw on his hip still holding his jacket open, he continued: "The thug bit doesn't suit you, anyway; you're not tough enough. Maybe you've spent much of your life behind desks to really make it as thug," he smirked. "But look: if you can't get your old job back, why don't you try being a pickpocket, instead?"

"Good advice!"

The raccoon suddenly shoved the fox hard into the car behind him. There was a low but audible pop: the sound of something denting under his weight. For an instant, the 'coon stopped, eyes wide...but the fox gave a quick little shrug, and the younger male's expression hardened again, as he shoved his paw deep into his victim's pocket.

And then, wallet in paw, he turned and ran toward the house beside them.

The fox leaned heavily against his car for a moment, "Ugh. I guess a little dent's a small enough price to pay for such an...interesting Friday night." And with that, he locked his car, tossed his jacket on top of it, rolled up his sleeves, and charged after the younger male.

The raccoon had gotten stalled at the gate to this particular house's back yard. Wooden privacy fence. Metal latch. It was unlocked, now but had still been a moment's hassle. And so, the fox was only feet behind him, as they entered the back yard...where the red furred male burst forward, tackling the 'coon into the grass.

They landed hard. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make the raccoon lose his grip on the wallet, which tumbled off into the shadows. In moments, the fox lying atop him had grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped him onto his back. And there, the raccoon quivered and submitted immediately: simply lying back and looking up, as the fox growled and heaved above him.

They remained there for a few long moments, breaths rushing over one another's muzzles, before finally the fox grabbed the younger male by the shirt and dragged them both to their feet. Two more wide strides, and he'd shoved him hard against the brick back of the back of the house.

And the raccoon only whimpered and squirmed, holding tight to the fox's arm, which still gripped his shirt, "Come on! Relax! I just needed some money, dude!"

"Gimme' my damn wallet back!" The fox pressed his new victim harder against the wall, "Now!"

"I don't have it. It flew into the grass!"

"Like hell!" The vulpine held his former attacker against the wall as best he could manage with only a single paw, and began patting him down with the other. But he felt no bulges on the raccoon's thighs or ass. And he growled again as he lowered his voice, "What did you do? Hide it somewhere you thought I wouldn't look?"

The raccoon went on squirming, though, whimpering as he begged: "I'll do anything...just don't hurt me!"

The fox, though, ignored his pleas, "Where the hell'd you hide it? Somewhere the other street rats wouldn't go looking, either?" and suddenly took hold of his groin, "In here, maybe?"

The 'coon's eyes shot open, "I said I'd do anything, but I didn't mean-" He tried futilely to pull his already swelling package away from the firm grip of the black-gloved paw, "I didn't mean this! Please, don't do this, sir! Please!"

"Oh? Why so worried? Am I warm?" The fox let go of the raccoon's crotch, only to shove his paw quickly into his former assailant's pants. His fingers roamed over the younger male's ridged sheath, its tip already out and dripping. And his own shaft flexed and strained against his suit as his fingers delved lower still, wrapping themselves around the damp, warm, and heavy sack beneath. "Hmm...maybe you were telling the truth. No wallet. No money. Looks like I've found something else in here, though. Doesn't it?"

The raccoon pressed against the paw despite himself, as he stuttered: "Wh-what are you gonna' do to me?"

"Oh...I think you know." The elder male let his paw linger as he massaged the still swelling sheath below. "I mean...I doubt this is your first time, right? And at least one part of you seems very receptive." And he pressed himself against the 'coon as hard as he could, finally pulling his paw out, so he could begin to fiddle with the button on his victim's pants.

"I-I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me."

"You think I'm gonna' be gentle?" The fox swiftly unclasped the button, nimble fingers tracing the zipper below, "After you attacked me?"

"No..." the 'coon whined, his desperately throbbing sheath begging to be let out, into the cold night air...

...as the fox whispered in his ear: "I could fuck you until-"

Only to be cut short by the sound of a sliding glass door reverberating through the empty back yard.

The two immediately stopped what they were doing. Their muzzles, which had been only a hair's width apart, jerked away from one another to look in the direction of the door. Light shown through from the now open blinds. The sounds of a television drifted out from within the house. And a small gray cat stood, arms crossed and one footpaw tapping against the back porch.

"Oh! Uhm...hey kitten!" The fox, Scott Hammond, smiled awkwardly, his paw still on the raccoon's groin, "Everything okay?"

And Jeffery sighed, "I'm sorry to interrupt your little...game? But Mic will NOT stop texting me, asking when I'm gonna' be over. Are you two almost done?"

To which the raccoon, James Callaway, simply coughed, "Not really?" He looked down at the paw on his groin, "We're uhm...just about to get to the good part. Mind if we finish up?"

"The good part?" Jeff arched a brow. "Oh! Do you mean the 'I could fuck you until you bleed, ride you in this alley, and no one would care' part?"

With a smirk, Scott squeezed his raccoon's groin firmly enough to make him yelp and jump, "Pretty much."

And James stifled a moan and a whimper, as Jeff chuckled, dropping down to sit on the cement porch, "Well go on, then. Don't let me stop you."

Scott growled as he turned back to the raccoon, snarling teeth against his 'victim's' neck, "Looks like we've got an audience, kid. Think they'll come to your aid...or just enjoy the show?"

~

Blind, moonless night. Breath in his ear...

A rumbling, whinnying breath, drowned out by a dull but constant ringing. His eyes were crossed; he could feel them even beneath closed lids. His knees were weak. Dizziness and nausea washed over him. Had his head really hit the stonewall that hard? Was he concussed? Again?

And through the ringing, he heard the breath in his ear pause as a voice asked: "Gonna' be a good bitch? Or gonna' make this harder on y'self?"

And Anthony Sutela slowly opened his eyes.

He opened his eyes to a blurred double image of a blind, moonless night. To the stone walls and metal bars of his new life. To the face of the horse pinning him to the wall. He should have known, by now, not to fight. But he tried every time. Tried to make it through unscathed until the next inevitable attempt.

His tail curled between his legs. His eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. He clawed futilely at the arm holding him against the stone. And he whined, "I'm sorry, Sir."

...only to have the breath forced out of him, as his assailant pressed him ever harder into the wall, "That ain't what I asked, is it?"

The black wolf coughed and sputtered, shaking his head as he complied, "I'll...I'll be a good bitch..."

"You'd better be," the horse loosened his grip. "Now how 'bout we get to work? How 'bout you show me that them boys weren't lyin' when they said what a great fuck you were."

Tony's jaw clenched, and he barely managed to mutter: "Just tell me what to do..."

"Good girl. That so hard?" Roughly, the larger male jerked at Tony's wrist, pulling it down and shoving it into his loose-fitting pants, "Who you been bred by so far? Big John? Riley? Duke? Nobody like me. But tonight...we're gonna' make a woman outta' ya'."

The wolf's fingers curled around the heavy, damp, fleshy sheath in his paw. Felt the folds of skin. Felt it throbbing as it swelled...

...and the horse nickered as he mocked the wolf: "Ready to see what a real cock looks like?"

Tony could only whimper and submit. There was no stopping this now. And so, he closed his eyes and nodded...

"Well, then...get to it." His assailant pressed himself into the paw, "Wake 'im up."

And Tony did as he was told. He ran his paw up and down the sweaty length of the sheath. His nose twitched as the musky scent of a horse rose up from those thin, orange pants. He felt the flesh grow heavier and longer as it unfolded...extended in his paw. The horse whinnied and nickered. His hoof tapped the stone floor. And he released his prey, planting his hands on the wall to either side of Tony's head. He'd won. He was in control. He didn't have to hold him there anymore...

And they both knew it.

All too soon, the massive tower of flesh was too much for the horse's pants to contain, and Tony used his free paw to pull away the fabric and set it free. And with a gulp, he slowly slid down the wall...eyes streaming tears as he parted his muzzle.

But the second his tongue touched the bitter, salty tip, the horse jerked away, "Oh no you don't!"

Tony slipped, falling down onto his ass, and staring up at the horse. Reflexively, he reached up and wiped away his tears...and he hated himself for it, immediately. He wasn't supposed to let them see him cry...

"You think I ain't seen the mouth on you, bitch?" the horse went on. "Those teeth ain't gettin' anywhere near my dick."

"Then...you want me to...?"

"Yeah, that's right."

The wolf shook, panting as he stared at the monster swaying in front of his nose. And as if reading his mind, the horse added:

"Don't worry. I'll make it fit."

And with that, Tony was hoisted up from his feet, spun around, and slammed against the wall, yet again. He felt his pants being yanked down. Felt the cold air on his sheathed and flaccid package. And on his hole. A hole still aching and swollen from a bear's girth...still scratched and burning from a lion's barbs...and still split and torn from a Dane's knot.

"Keep that tail nice and high!" the horse ordered. He gave him little say in the matter, though, as he tugged it upward, himself, "I want a nice view of my woman's ass."

The flared head nestled itself under his tail. Pressed hard against his bloodied, scratched, and swollen hole. Slicking it with pre. And Tony yelped. It wasn't even in him yet, and already he cried out. But immediately, the horse's hand closed around his muzzle, snapping it shut to ensure that no one outside their little room would ever hear the wolf's cries.

And as it snapped shut, a tooth pierced his lip. Blood trickled down his chin and into his mouth...metallic and sweet. Blind, moonless night. Weight on his back. Breath in his ear...

...and the horse whispered, "Don't be afraid to cry..." as he thrust in, in a single, brutal strike.

~

An old door creaked, and cold January air rushed into a farmhouse living room.

Michael Taylor's ears perked at the sound, and he turned, looking over the back of the couch to see who, exactly, he was about to greet. "Jeffy!" he chirped, smiling at the little gray cat, flanked by his fathers and stepping through the door. "You're right on time! I was just about to teach Viri, here, how to play a bit o' strip poker." And he waved the kitten over, "Come have a seat!"

"You know," Scott crossed his arms, "you boys could at least try to pretend like James and I are normal adults."

"We could..." Mic smirked...

...and Jeff added, "...but we won't," as he turned back to his fathers and held open the door with a silent, expectant smile of his own. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"

"Hold on, now," James stroked his chin in a deliberate, cartoonish fashion. "It's been a long time since I've played strip poker. Are you sure I couldn't-ACK!"

He was cut short, though, by his collar digging into his throat, as Scott snagged him by his shirt and tugged him out through the door.

"That's enough, Mr. Callaway," the fox over-pronounced his name. "Leave your students alone."

James's expected protests, though, went unheard beneath Jeff and Mic's laughter, and through the immediately closed farmhouse door. And with that, the boys were alone to their Friday night Mic, Jeff, and Viri: the little white folf sitting nestled between Mic's legs in front of the couch.

"Okay!" Mic chirped again. "Come over here and sit down!" he patted the empty seat beside him on the couch, as loudly as he could manage. "I wanna' get this tutorial out of the way, before the others get back."

"Back?" Jeff asked. "They're not here?"

"Nah. They went to get some food," Mic answered as the little cat rounded the couch and plopped down beside him.

"Shouldn't we wait on them? Y'know: so you don't have to explain this twice?"

"Oh, I don't need to explain this to them," the hyena shook his head. "Elliot and Hunter already know how to play. Hell, we'll even be playin' by Elliot's rules! Albeit with a change or two..."

"But...what about Donal'd?" asked the folf between his legs.

"Well..." Mic smirked, "it's not as fun if there's not someone we can hustle, right?"

Jeff and Viri met the answer with short chuckles, and Mic turned himself on the couch. This repositioning, though, also upset Viri's comfortable little nook. So, the folf was forced to turn as well, facing the couch and watching as Mic plucked the pack of playing cards from his pocket. Swiftly, he pulled them from their box, cut them twice, and began laying a few of them out, face up, one-by-one in the empty space between him and Jeff on the cushions of the couch.

"Alright! Here's how this works," he began. "We'll each get dealt five cards. For instance, I just got a five of clubs, a king of diamonds, a ten of hearts, a five of hearts, and..." he laid out the fifth and final card, "...a jack of spades. Don't worry about what cards make what paws just yet. I'll explain that at the end. Okay?"

"Okay," Vir nodded...

...and so did Jeff, "Yeah."

"So, once you've seen your paw, you bet. Your bet is always an item of clothing. And you can choose any item you want, with only one rule: underwear last." The hyena tapped a claw on one of the cards he'd laid out, "So let's say I like this paw. There's a chance I can get somethin' great with it. So, I choose to go bold and bet my pants. Then I can discard however many cards I don't want and snatch up some replacements."

To demonstrate, he slid the two fives away, almost knocking them off the couch completely, and then drew two more to replace them: a two of spaces and a four of clubs.

"And that didn't work out for me at all!" Mic chuckled. "I got nothin' now. So dependin' on what you guys had this round, I'd probably lose my pants. Because the way it works in this game is: only the winner gets to keep the clothes he bets."

"Wait," Jeff stopped him for clarification, "Five of us are gonna' lose something each time?"

And Viri asked: "Won't that make the game too shorrt?"

Mic smiled at that. He had an answer, but it wasn't time yet. So, he just pointed at the little folf and sidestepped the question with: "Ask me that again when I'm done explainin' the rules."

"O-okay..."

"So, now let's talk about the paws," Mic went on. "This'll be dry, but bear with me. First, there's a pair: just any two cards with the same number or face. Two tens, two jacks, or whatever. You can beat that with two pairs: which would be something like two tens AND two jacks. Then you can beat both of those with three of a kind. And after that, things start gettin' a little more complicated." He took a breath, knowing that he would probably only confuse them with the rest, but pressing on nonetheless: "Next up is a straight: five cards in direct order. One, two, three, four, five...or 10, jack, queen, king, ace...or whatever. Then there's a flush, where all of your cards are the same suit. Then four of a kind, which should be self-explanatory. Then a full house, which is when you get both three of a kind AND two of a kind, at once. Then the second-best paw you can get is a straight flush, which, like the name implies, is a mixture of a straight and a flush: all of the cards are in direct order AND they're the same suit." And finally at the end of his little lecture, he smiled as he concluded, "And last: the best paw is the royal flush: the same as the straight flush, but the cards HAVE to be ten through ace. And if no one gets any of that stuff, then high card wins. And, by the way, aces are the highest." He paused, scanning their faces, "You guys follow all of that?"

But, expectedly, he was only met with a part of slack jawed and monochrome, blank stares...

"Yeah. I didn't think so," the hyena chuckled. "Don't worry, though; I made you boys a cheat sheet."

And with that, he leaned forward, thoroughly crowding Viri as he picked up two pieces of paper from the coffee table. One -- the aforementioned cheat sheet -- he pawed to Jeff, but the other, he laid face down in his lap, for now. Jeff only looked at the sheet -- a simple list of paw names and their short descriptions -- for a moment, before nodding and pawing it off to Viri. And as the folf looked it over too, Mic added...

"We'll have that thing sittin' in the middle of the circle, if anybody wants to look at it."

The folf, though, simply sat it aside and asked: "You shaid, when you werre done with the rulesh...I shoul'd ashk you about the game being too shorrt?"

"Right!" Mic nodded. "So, we've got three options for that. Option one! The game might just end the second we see dick. I mean: we aren't known for our self-control, after all. Option two! We could add an extra rule that says: anyone nude can start betting sexual favors. If he loses, then whatever favor he bet, he has to do for the winner. But if he wins, he gets his underwear back! And for option three..." he smiled a wide, toothy grin, plucking the second sheet of paper up from his lap. "I actually have another cheat sheet for that."

And this time, instead of pawing it over, he laid it out on the couch, atop the cards, turned so that both Viri and Jeff could look at it at the same time. Like the last, it was a list of the various paw names, but instead of descriptions beside them, he'd typed out something different:

High Card: Just a Kiss One Pair: A Single Lick Anywhere (give or receive - winner's choice) Two Pair: Free Reign w/ a Single Paw Three of a Kind: Receive a Massage OR Free Reign w/ Both Paws Straight: Free Reign w/ Muzzle or Crotch (no full oral or anal) Flush: Oral (give or receive - winner's choice) Full House: Bondage, Toys, and/or Kinks Four of a Kind: Anything (except anal) Straight Flush: Anal Sex (give or receive - winner's choice) Royal Flush: Complete Servitude

And as they looked over it, Mic explained: "Once some of us start gettin' nude, then these are the uhm...prizes that certain paws could earn you. You can only get 'em from somebody who's already lost all his clothes, though."

Viri tilted his head, "Do you mean that the winnerr woul'd get his...'prrishe' from everryone?"

And Jeff added: "Or would he just get it from the loser? Or maybe he could get to CHOOSE who gave it to him?"

"Closer to the last one," the hyena answered. "But actually, I was thinkin' that EVERYONE would get their prize, whether they won or not." He knew that would take some explaining, though, so: "Say, for instance, I got a flush, Jeff got three of a kind, and poor Vir got nothin'..."

Jeff hummed and ventured a guess: "Then I'd either get a massage from Vir, or I'd get to put my paws anywhere on him I wanted?"

"Right," Mic nodded. "Because even though you didn't win, you still beat him. But because I beat both of you, I could pick either one of you I wanted, and get you to," he glanced at the paper again to make sure he was right, "to suck my dick."

Timidly, Viri asked: "Have...the otherr guysh sheen thish yet?"

"They have not," Mic shook his head...

...and with a devious little grin, Jeff quickly snatched up the paper and slipped it under the couch, "How about we keep it that way, for now? Let it be a surprise?"

~

(January 25th)

Early Saturday morning, Kiliona Anoa'i stood in the waiting room of his new firm.

The office space was new. It was small. And it was empty. It was still being furnished as the otter watched. And his only employee was his secretary and receptionist: a flamboyantly effeminate little pup who'd jumped at the chance to work for such an overtly LGBT friendly company. And, because this was Sibirskaia, he was, of course, a husky.

And as Mr. Anoa'i surveyed his domain, the phone began to ring. Their first call of day.

At the sound, Kiliona turned toward his secretary. The husky's eyes were wide, his muzzle was split in a beaming smile, and he quickly waved his boss over as he coughed and answered the phone. The otter rushed to his side before he'd even said hello, and when he saw the number on the ID, he beamed, just same.

It was the number of his old firm.

"J.L.N. Publishing," the husky's voice was that of a southern belle, but still remarkably professional. "May I ask who's calling?"

There was a pause, and through his continued smile, the husky looked up and mouthed the name: 'Castagnoli.'

"No sir," the young secretary answered, "Mr. Anoa'i is not available right now. But if you'd like to leave a message, I will be sure he receives it as soon as he's free."

And on that cue, Kiliona quickly tapped two buttons on phone's base: speaker and mute. He wanted to hear this, but the last thing he needed was for Castagnoli to hear HIM, too.

And the voice of a dragon boomed through the speaker: "You tell that rudder-assed islander that I am not going to stand for his corporate sabotage!"

"Corporate sabotage?" Kiliona, as if he'd been complimented, put the back of a paw to his forehead, feigning swooning with pride. "It was nothing, really. But do go on!"

"Launching a competing firm is one thing, but stealing my clients and agents is something else entirely! He's trying to destroy me! And if this doesn't stop, the next phone call will be from my lawyers!"

And the little husky limply flicked a wrist at the phone, "And our lawyers will certainly be hearin' this phone call, as well."

"This is being recorded?" Kili asked...

...and his secretary rolled his eyes, "Oh honey. Of course."

"I expected Roark and Masters to jump ship!" Except, of course, 'Masters' hadn't made up his mind, yet. "But this shit is getting ridiculous! Now even Denise has filed an application!"

"Denise?" Anoa'i visibly recoiled. "No way in hell."

"He's picking a fight with the wrong drake! He needs to find his own clients and his own employees and stop trying to shanghai mine, or we're going to have a real problem! You want to give him a message? Give him that! And tell him to call me."

"Of course, Sir," the husky began, "I'll-"

"Ma'am?" but was immediately cut off. "Are you still there?"

"Ma'am!?" the secretary barked at the insinuation he was female. And then, with a poised little cough, he composed himself, unmuted the line, and tried again: "Of course, Sir. I'll be sure he gets the message as soon as he's free. And he should be able to call you back in just about..." but instead of offering a time, he simply tapped the receiver and hung up the call.

And laughter echoed through the empty office.

Nearly doubled over, Mr. Anoa'i gave the younger male a firm, friendly, congratulatory slap on the back, before finally composing himself, "You'll fit in great here, kid." He took a breath and turned to walk away, "Aaron and Will are gonna' love you!"

~

(January 26th)

Sunday, just before noon, the food court at the mall bustled with life.

Children rushed about. Families passed by on their way from one store to the next. Teenagers moved in packs. Every color of fur and scale sat on display, standing in lines, carrying trays of food, and sitting scattered throughout their seats at various tables. And amidst it all, at the edge of the sea of tables, sat a husky and a rabbit, having lunch.

William Masters and Aaron Jones.

"...and I have a meeting with him tomorrow," Aaron's story drew to a close, "to see how we're gonna' proceed from here."

"So Kili's gonna' act as your agent, personally?" Will arched a brow. "He's supposed to be managing the place. He needs to hire people for that."

"Well he keeps trying to hire you!"

"Don't start."

"I know, I know. I'm just teasing," the rabbit flicked a dismissive wrist at his boyfriend. "No, he has people. Or he will, soon enough. But he just wants to make sure this finally gets taken care of for me. I've been waiting a long time." He paused to take another bite of his food, only to jolt as if suddenly remembering something, "Oh! And by the way: he says Castagnoli is pissed!"

"Oh, I'm sure he is!" Will laughed. "And I'm sure Kili is loving every minute of it."

"Thoroughly," Aaron flashed a wide grin...

...and with that, they returned to their food. And to silence. Will and Aaron had only been together for a few months, and this -- silence -- was something they still hadn't gotten used to. When they were younger, silence was a sign of a problem. And early in their relationship, it existed only where it belonged: when one of them was writing, when the television was on, or when it was time for sleep. But something like this? This was a date...or at least a social interaction. This was supposed to be a time for conversation and revelry. Except it wasn't. Not anymore.

They were still a new couple, but they were old friends. They weren't children anymore. And in the last few months, they'd been through years' worth of drama. Perhaps it was coming sooner than they'd expected. But they were running out of things to say. And that was okay. It was a sign of comfort and maturity. Of a real relationship.

Except, of course, for the fact that any amount of silence was an excuse for William's mind to wander. And wander, it did, as he looked out across the mall. At the children with their families. At the children without their families. At the teenagers and twenty-somethings. And he sighed...

"Something wrong?" Aaron asked.

"Not really," the husky shook his head. "I'm just wondering if maybe I'm finally too old for this. Isn't mall hopping for teenagers? Not guys in their 30s?"

Aaron, though, just chuckled. "Okay, first of all, technically, yes: 31 is 'in your 30s,' but just barely." And he waved a paw out at the crowd, "But second: there are plenty of people here older than you."

"Sure there are. But they're all with their kids."

"A mall is a shopping center, Will. There's no age limit."

"No. But there are lots of other places to shop," William argued. "We didn't have to come here. And it would be different if we were actually shopping: just going to the stores we knew we needed something from, and then leaving. But we've just been walking around looking at stuff, and now we're eating here, instead of at a restaurant or something, and..." he sighed again. "It's just that: we made a day out of it, you know? Doesn't that seem like something we should've grown out of?"

And the rabbit stared at him for a long moment before suggesting: "I don't think that's really what's bothering you."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't care what we SHOULD be doing. You just care about how this looks," he asserted. "You're worried that people are staring. That they THINK you're too old to be here."

And Will just looked down in silence.

"Look. I'm gonna' say this really soft so you don't freak out, but..." Aaron leaned across the table to whisper: "last year, you were sleeping with a 14-year-old boy." And he raised his voice, again, to continue, "Clearly he didn't think you were too old. And that should make you feel pretty young."

"Heh..." to that, the husky couldn't help but smile, "...maybe a little."

And his boyfriend leaned back in his chair, smirking with his arms crossed, "I mean, if you really need to feel youthful and invigorated, I guess could give you a day pass with one of the boys. I'm sure any one of them would be willing." Before Will could respond to that, though, Aaron quickly added: "It'd be a two-way street, though! It's been a long time since I've been with a tiger, and lately I get the feeling that Hunter could use some lovin'."

William laughed, proving as ever how easy it was for his boyfriend to cheer him up. "Well, I don't think that's what I need," and he held up a finger, "but that's also not a no."

"And besides!" Despite already succeeding, the rabbit went on: "Shouldn't the mall make you feel extra young? Remind you of more exciting times?" And he leaned to the side, pointing a finger toward something off behind his lover, "After all...isn't that where you...?"

And as Will turned to look, a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over him...as he saw a photo booth in the distance. "It uh...yeah. It is."

He turned back to his boyfriend, and their eyes met for just a moment, before the husky looked away. Despite everything Aaron knew, and everything that had happened in the past few months...despite them now knowing three others -- Scott, James, and Kris -- who'd done the same thing or more...and despite knowing that, joke or not, Aaron was entirely serious about being open to a night with Hunter...

...this subject still embarrassed him. It was hard for him to talk about what he'd done with Elliot. Hard to admit how much he'd enjoyed it, how much he wanted to do it again, and how Elliot wasn't the only one he'd be interested in doing it with. He knew it was playful, but he always felt that his lover was teasing him about it. And so, he averted his eyes, darting them about the table, and proving incapable of looking directly at his rabbit.

Aaron's eyes, though, remained steady: a piercing gaze focused right on the husky. And an evil little grin spread wider and wider across his muzzle until he finally broke the silence...

"You know. I could make you feel like a pup again, right now."

Will jumped as he felt a footpaw gently running up the inside of his leg. And now, his eyes were locked on the bunny's, but he could only cough in response...

"Because," Aaron went on, "you've told me the photo booth story. But I think a demonstration might be in order, too..."

And the husky felt his sheath tingle and twitch before the rabbit's paw even reached his inner thigh. His mind raced. He remembered his and Elliot's visit to the photo booth. He pictured the scene, but with Aaron's mouth around his dick, instead of his nephew's. He felt the bunny's foot inching ever closer to his crotch. He wondered if anyone could see. He wondered how long he should let such a display go on. He imagined cumming right there, grinding against his lover's paw, and having to walk out in stained pants. He imagined the teenagers and kids who might witness it all. He imagined those same kids opening the curtain to the photobooth at the wrong time...

...and before he knew it, he was standing in front of the trashcan, throwing away his leftover food. And after Aaron had done the same, they were off: paw-in-paw toward the photo booth.

When they came upon it, though, Will's paw froze inches from the curtain.

Froze as his ears perked.

Perked to the distinct and unmistakable sound of muted moans coming from within.

His eyes widened and he turned to Aaron, whose expression matched his own. They weren't the only ones with this idea. Another couple -- both male, judging from the timbre of their moans -- was already inside, doing exactly what he and Aaron had intended to do! Or, perhaps not exactly: but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't tame. Maybe they were just kissing. Or maybe one of them was balls deep in the other's ass! Without pulling back the curtain, there was no way to know.

That is, not until they heard the unmistakable sound of the booth's printer and dispenser.

Without a moment's thought -- or a single word to Aaron -- Will plucked the strip of photographs from the side of the machine, and brought them inches from his nose. Teenagers. Elliot's age. A brown otter, with curly, shaggy headfur. A white tiger, who'd dyed the tips of his own headfur blood red. Posing for their picture. Kissing. Making out. Wrapping themselves up in one another in a passionate embrace. And then the tiger was kissing the otter's exposed stomach. The otter's dick was lying across the tiger's nose. Was soon buried in his muzzle. After which, only the blurred image of thrusting and bobbing remained...

William handed the photographs over to Aaron, as he drew in a breath. He couldn't open the curtain. He couldn't join them. He couldn't give the tiger something else to suck, or see if the otter tasted as good as he looked. He had to put his fantasies aside...

...but he didn't have to be an adult, either.

"You know boys," he barked as he leaned against the machine. Suddenly, the whole booth shifted, as the sounds of thumping and shuffling replaced the moans from moments before. "You really shouldn't have taken pictures."

And the husky restrained a laugh, as he listened to the cacophony of profanity and bickering that followed:

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck, fuck!"

"I told you this was a bad idea!"

"Shit!"

"Damnit, Jon! Get off my shirt!"

"What are you doing? Don't say my name!"

And then finally, the husky spoke up again: "Just think it through next time, yeah?" as he heard the soft sound of ripping paper behind him. "Because risking evidence is bad enough, but at least make sure the pictures are gonna' print out inside the booth. Not out here, where anyone can grab them."

The boys behind the curtain didn't say another word. They didn't move. It sounded, in fact, like they weren't even breathing. And Aaron slipped the photos back into Will's paw.

"So, you want 'em back?" he asked, poking them through the narrow gap around the curtain...

...and they were immediately jerked from his fingers, "Th-thank you, sir..."

"No problem, boys."

With a chuckle, the husky turned, sliding an arm around his rabbit's shoulder and padding away. And as he heard one of the boys yell out, from behind him, "Wait! Where are the rest!?" Aaron slipped a ripped piece of paper into his paw:

An otter's dick on a tiger's nose. In his muzzle. And thrusting.

And Will slipped it into his pocket as he and his lover disappeared into the crowd.

~

Elsewhere, Detective John J. Richards belted out a long, vindictive laugh...

...as the local twelve-o-clock news recounted this weekend's breaking story: "...charged with possession and distribution of child pornography."

The squirrel's television screen was split in two. To one side, the image of News Eight's anchors: a female cheetah, and her stallion co-host. To the other, a ferret reporting on location from just outside the doors of the courthouse. Jerry McCollough.

"The Skhalin County Sherrif's Department," the ferret went on, "has declined to comment on the issue for the time being, but a press conference has been scheduled for tomorrow afternoon."

"Jerry?" the cheetah began...

...and the ferret responded, "Emily."

"Detective Peterson works for the sex crimes unit, correct?"

"Yes."

Detective Chris Peterson. Thorough and unrepentant asshole, and the least pleasant partner Richards had ever had. The squirrel had never gotten along with Chris. Seldom agreed with a word that came out of the rabid little dachshund's muzzle.

And he'd been there for the arrest. In fact, he'd been the one who'd read the dog his rights. This story was not news to Detective Richards. But nonetheless, this moment -- as he stood here in his living room, laughing between sips of beer -- was nearly as sweet as when he'd slipped the cuffs around Chris's wrists.

"The pornography in question," Emily went on, "is there any indication as to where he got it? Was it related to his work? Were these pictures and videos of victims from his own cases?"

They were. Small blessing. No new children were hurt. He'd just benefited -- profited -- off those who already had been...

"There's no information on that, at this time," Jerry answered. "Perhaps the press conference tomorrow may shed more light."

"And what of his cases?" the stallion, Allen, interjected. "Will this arrest call any of his existing convictions into question? In particular: wasn't he the lead detective on the Anthony Sutela case?"

He was, unfortunately. But luckily, he wasn't working alone...

"In the DA's statement," Jerry explained, "they did admit that this may be a concern, but when asked specifically about Sutela, they assured us that the case remains air-tight. The wealth of evidence, the sheer number of accusations, Mr. Sutela's own confession, and the fact that this was a joint investigation involving multiple levels of law enforcement, all worked to minimize Detective Peterson's impact."

"For our viewers who may not remember," Emily spoke up again: "Detective Peterson was recently a guest here on News Eight, speaking out against Mr. Hammond, Mr. Callaway, and the others fighting for inclusion in Sibirskaia over the past two months. In fact, he even compared them to Mr. Sutela." And she asked: "Have there been any responses from them?"

"Most have declined to speak," Jerry answered, "but one, who asked to remain anonymous, wanted to make it very clear that they do not see this as a victory."

Lies. The squirrel threw back the last bit of the beer in his paw, sitting it aside and shaking his head. It was a fine, diplomatic response. But if it wasn't a lie, then this anonymous source was a better person than he was. Because for Detective Richards, this definitely was a victory. He had watched Chris ruin people's lives. He'd watched the glee he took in destroying others, whether they deserved it or not...

...and, today, the squirrel would take that same glee in watching the dachshund's downfall. In watching him exposed, at last, for who and what he really was.

Jerry McCollough, though, continued on with the anonymous opinion: "Despite their personal feelings for Detective Peterson, there is no bright side to the news that more children have been victimized in any way."

But as Richard's switched off his TV and padded back to his kitchen, he voiced his brief and eloquent counter argument:

"Fuck you, Chris."

~

And elsewhere, still, Kristoff Masters stood nude beneath the hot water of his shower.

His nose was pointed toward the ceiling and his eyes were closed, as he let the water sting his face and flow over his furry frame. Even once he shook his head and opened his eyes back up, though, his vision remained clouded. Clouded, literally, by the steam filling the shower around him and glowing white from the early afternoon light streaming in through the window...

Before he'd done little more than bask under the falling water, though, he heard the bathroom door open: the click of the knob, the subtle creak of the hinges, the sound of it brushing the tile. And the thud of it closing. Through the steam and the near opaque plastic curtain, however, he couldn't quite make out who'd walked in. He could see only the black outline of someone's form. But in a house full of huskies, that could be anyone...especially taking clothing into account...

Whoever it was, though, they didn't say a word: no 'excuse me,' no 'hello,' nothing...

...and the husky followed suit, as he was reminded of the last time this happened: a drunken night from months before.

That night, his visitor was Aaron. But who was it this afternoon? Had Aaron and Will returned from the mall? No. Too soon. Had Stephen come to visit? No. He wouldn't be this forward while Elliot was home. Had Elliot finally grown bold enough to make another move? No. Probably not with his new boyfriend having stayed the night. But then again, if Donald had already gone home...?

Turning his ears on the intruder, Kris heard the shuffling of cloth, a zipper coming undone, and more than one dull flop: the sound of clothing hitting the floor. Whoever was here, they were undressing. They were about to join him. So, he squinted through the curtain, but still saw only a mostly-black form...and brown paws...

And he smiled. So, that's who it was.

One of those brown paws reached for the curtain, and the husky turned shamelessly to greet his guest. With his wet, bare form on full display, he leaned to the side, palm flat against the wall. And he watched as the curtain pulled back to reveal a nude, black-furred shepherd: already half erect and hanging free from his sheath.

"SHIT!" Donald yelped immediately, "Mr. Masters! I-I-I..."

The boy tried to cover himself up with his paws for a moment, but failed miserably thanks to his girth and arousal. But when Kris didn't move to cover himself, and only smirked back, the shepherd's surprise and fear changed to something else...as his eyes trailed down to the older husky's dripping sheath.

"Looking for Elliot?" Kris asked.

"I...I was..." Donald stammered to answer...

...and Kris chuckled softly at the way the teenager emphasized the word 'was.' "I'll say this much," the husky joked: "at least you didn't have to grab my dick before you figured out who I was, unlike the last guy who made this mistake."

Donald was harder now than when he'd opened the curtain, and trying less and less to hide himself behind his paws. "Yeah," he gulped and twitched, eyes still on Kris's sheath, "I uhm...I'll bet you don't feel anything like Elliot."

Despite himself, Kristoff was swelling, too. He knew the boy could see it. "Maybe I do. I dunno. I've never had anyone compare us." And he knew exactly how much he was teasing the younger dog when he reached down to slowly scratch at himself, every motion of his paw causing both his sheath and balls to bounce.

And with that, Donald's paws fell away from covering himself, and he inched forward as slowly and timidly as a dog his size was likely able to do...

...but Kris stopped him. "Sorry kid," he smirked as he lifted his paw and cupped Donald's chin. The same paw that had been scratching his balls. That still dripped with the water that had been flowing over his sheath. That was likely covered in his scent, "You're not my type. Too big and too dominant."

The shepherd's eyes fluttered and his nostrils flared. And as he opened his mouth to speak, one of Kristoff's fingers slipped in between his lips, "I don't have to be."

The elder husky wouldn't let things go any further than this. Donald wouldn't be stepping into the shower. He wouldn't be tasting the elder dog any more than he was at this very moment. He wouldn't be raising his tail. But Kris still couldn't help but enjoy teasing him. It was all just too damned fun.

And it would be even more fun, later, when he looked back on it, in private.

"Go on now, pup. Find Elliot." Kristoff let go, slowly dragging his finger across Donald's tongue and out of his mouth. "He'll take care of you."

The shepherd blinked and nodded, flushing with embarrassment as Kris pulled the curtain closed once again. And through the plastic the elder dog saw the boy bend down, but...

"No," Kristoff barked...

...and Donald froze.

"Leave your clothes here."

~

(January 29th)

Normally, Principal Rivers hated this part of the job.

It was a Wednesday evening, and the polar bear was sitting in his office, waiting for one of his faculty to arrive for a disciplinary meeting. There'd been a complaint, and it was Rivers' job to handle it. He'd been an assistant principal for a time, and, back then, it had been his job to deal with disciplinary issues with students, not teachers. Now, though, he was the bear in charge. Now, it was the faculty that he had to keep in line.

The problem was: he hated it.

He'd begun as a teacher, many years ago. And he'd hated almost every principal he'd had. Some were pompous blowhards who were terrible at their jobs. One, even, was corrupt: a former football player who eventually lost his job, only to get transferred to a different school. Most, though, were simply doing their jobs. The issue was, of course, that their jobs involved working with the superintendent and the school board, and were more concerned with money and standardized test scores, than with actual students.

Their goals and the goals of their teachers often did not align. Neither did their philosophies or views on what was and was not acceptable behavior. Rivers, in his early years as a teacher, had been called to his principals' offices more than once. And it always made him feel like he was a child, again. Made him remember what it was like to have his parents called. Made him remember the now-long-defunct lash of corporal punishment.

He'd always hated being called down, and even now that he was the one doing the calling, he hated it just the same. Hated putting his faculty through what he'd been through. But it was his job. And he did it. And every great once in a while, he hated it a little less than usual. Occasionally, the faculty member truly deserved the call. Occasionally, he felt like he was doing the right thing: reading them the riot act and scaring them back onto the right path. Occasionally, no matter how unpleasant the interaction, he felt that it was what was best for both his school and his students.

Normally, he hated it. But today, he was almost excited.

Two weeks ago, two of his teachers -- Scott Hammond and James Callaway -- had enacted a change. They had made it official school policy that teachers had to extend the same protections to LGBT students that they did to anyone else. They'd made their anti-queer-discrimination policy a reality. A reality he wished had been in place at his cousins' school: when Michael made the choice to become Erin.

And today? This was Rivers' first chance to enforce the new policy.

A student had overheard a faculty member saying something they shouldn't. That student had complained. And with near-glee, Rivers had called that faculty member to his office, after the last bell of the day.

And so, the polar bear tried his best to restrain the smile on his face, as he sat and waited. Waited for the knock at his door. Waited for it to creak open. And waited for that damned chipmunk...

...for Mr. Chaney to step through.

~

(January 31st)

Hot wings.

Hunter Thurman could smell them on his paws and his muzzle. Vinegar and spice. He'd washed up after they ate, of course. He had to; no amount of napkins could ever really clean that sauce from his paw pads and lips, alone...to say nothing of the fur around. But, despite the most valiant efforts of water and soap, the scent remained.

How he could smell it, at all, over the din of fur around him, though, was a miracle in of itself. Musk -- both natural and non -- assaulted him from every side. Groups gathered around arcade machines or drifted from game to game, bottlenecking here, clustering there...

...and Dewey & Buster's, as ever, was filled from wall to wall, just as he'd expected on a Friday night.

But amidst the sea of life, the tiger stood before his favorite arcade game. It was a rail shooter, and one he made sure to play every time he visited. His D&B point card -- the only option, here, to pay for games -- had been in this machine more than any other, and tonight was no exception. And now, plastic gun in paw, he stood: mowing down increasingly ludicrous monsters, one-by-one. Aim for the head. Don't let them touch you. Avoid the innocents. Fire off screen to reload. And maybe, between it all...try to protect your partner.

And then it happened.

He knew it was coming the second his partner went down. Then he felt it: the flat of a palm against his shoulder, shoving him in a burst of frustration. And he heard the growl rise up in his partner's throat...

...giving way to the deafening howl of a wolf.

"What the fuck!? Carry your weight! Protect me!"

Hunter regained his footing from the shove, only to scoff at the lupine, "Oh, suck a dick, Brandon!"

Brandon Sutela.

For the past two months, Brandon had been anything but a friend, especially not the 'intimate' kind of friend that Mic, Donald, Viri, Jeff, or Elliot had been. He and Hunter had first met in this very arcade, in fact, and had nearly come to blows that same night before Mic stepped in to stop them. And then, after the wolf learned that Hunter and the others weren't straight, he'd dedicated his every waking moment to ruining their lives.

The tiger and the wolf might not have come to blows here, but they did so eventually -- right in the middle of the high school commons -- and were suspended for it. They had hated one another. They had wounded one another, physically and emotionally. And now they were friends!

They were still far from being 'intimate.' Hunter didn't imagine they'd ever have a serious conversation or even hug one another...let alone do any of the things that the tiger did with Mic and the others. But they were here, nonetheless. No Mic or Elliot. Not even Donald, Viri, or Jeff. Just Hunter, Brandon, hot wings, and rail shooters.

"Blow jobs are for winners, kitty cat," Brandon snarled back. "You beat my score, and we'll talk!"

"Oh yeah?" The tiger took a paw off of his gun, just long enough to slide his D&B card closer to his friend, "Well why don't you put your money where my dick's gonna' be, pup?"

"Oh! A bet, is it?" Brandon laughed as he slipped the card into the machine. "Alright! It's been a while since I had me some...pussy!" he spat the last word, sharply,

"Oh, you're just dyin' to be my bitch, aren't ya?"

Paid and loaded back in, the wolf picked up his gun and went back to dropping monsters one-by-one, "I bet wolf dick's gonna' fit real nice in those pretty orange lips, o' yours..."

"Huh? What was that, sweetness? It's hard to hear you with my nuts in your mouth!"

~

In a somewhat less crowded and raucous eatery, Stanley Jones's eyes sat wide and unblinking.

And the Bacchanalian's most popular waiter -- the rainbow painted fox, Nikki -- had no idea why. He knew Stan pretty well by now, of course. The rabbit was the older brother of one of Nikki's exes, and had worked very closely with another of Nikki's exes, on the recent LGBT campaign here in Sibirskaia.

Ahh...

Aaron and James. Nikki missed them. It was nice, of course, to still be friends, and nicer still to see them so happy with their new beaus: Aaron's husky and James's newer and much more masculine fox. And really, they'd never worked. Aaron and Nikki were too much alike, and James needed someone more dominant. But that didn't stop Nikki from quite fondly remembering the times they'd had. How Aaron convinced him to get his dye job. How James was the first to notice its placement: the way it was most visible when the fox raised his tail.

But it was Friday night at the Bacch! Nikki didn't have time for memory lane. This place was always busy on the weekends, but its clientele had recently soared thanks to their media coverage and the victory that followed. And Stan was at least one small part of that. Nikki assumed it was a show of solidarity. The Bacch, after all, had been part of the fight! It was, like that otter's new firm, one of the few LGBT friendly places in town, and Stanley wanted to support them. He'd never said it, but Nikki knew. Why else would he eat here alone, so often? The big dusty rabbit was pretty easy to read.

Or, at least, he usually was. Tonight, though, Nikki was mystified. Why was Stanley so bug-eyed?

The fox followed the trail of his eyes, and as best as he could tell, Stan was just looking at some husky. But what was so special about a husky? Especially in Sib. Would it be rude to ask? Maybe he should ask. Oh, of course he would ask!

With a trademark swish of his hips, Nikki stepped away from the bar and made his way toward Stan. This wasn't supposed to be his table, tonight, but he always asked for his friends when they showed up. And as he stopped alongside, the rabbit blinked, shaking his head and looking up at the fox.

"Hey there sweetie, everything okay?" he placed a paw on his customer's shoulder...

...and Stanley smiled, "It is. Thank you. I may order a drink, though."

"Oh, of course! Straight liquor, as usual? Or do you got a taste for somethin' fruitier, tonight?"

The rabbit looked back in the direction he'd been staring before, "I believe something stout is in order."

Again, Nikki followed his line of sight, "You know, honey? I wasn't actually askin' if your food was okay. I noticed you been starin' over there, and I can't help but be a bit nosey." He looked back to Stan, who met his eye, "What's so interesting about a husky eatin' by herself?"

"I assumed you knew." Stanley shrugged, "But no. Of course not. You never did meet her, did you?"

"I can't say I have," the fox shook his head...

...and Stan took in a deep breath to explain: "Until very recently, Nikki, that was William's sister-in-law." He paused as the waiter recoiled. "Kristoff's wife."

And Nikki put a paw to his chest, as he turned to look at her, yet again, "Little Elliot's mom?"

The rabbit nodded, "That...is Robyn Kharski."

"What in the rainbow hell is she doin' at the Bacch??" Nikki yelped.

"Thus, my friend: the wide-eyed stare."

And the fox, now, was staring just the same. He caught his breath and composed himself, but never looked back at the rabbit, even as he continued on with his duties as a waiter...

...with the short exchange: "Whiskey?"

"Brandy," Stanley corrected. "You know my brand."

"I do."

And Nikki was off. He made his way back to the bar, put in an order for a double of his friend's favorite Brandy, and then spun, marching directly toward the husky's table. She wasn't his. And he hoped Emilio wouldn't feel like he was invading his territory. But he had to speak with her.

When he came upon her, though, he was struck silent. He took in the sight of her. Her shoulders were slumped, she was bent over her plate, and her eyes were cast down. She was defensive and uncomfortable. It was as if she were trying to ball up and protect herself from everything around her. She'd chosen to come here. She must have known what sort of clientele and staff the Bacch had...but she wasn't really prepared...

When she looked up at him, he expected to see a great many things in her eyes. Hatred and disgust. Helplessness, silently pleading for rescue. Even terror. But he saw none of these things. Instead, her eyes were sharp and determined. Like she was here on a mission. And there was a glint of something else: a spark of curiosity and wonder.

Nikki smiled, and she timidly smiled back.

He knew why she was here.

He wanted to lay a paw on her shoulder, but he knew she wasn't ready, so he simply offered a gentle greeting, "First time here, sweetie?"

"Yes," she nodded, setting her fork aside. "It is."

"Straight as they come, right?" the fox winked. "Not used to..." and he lifted his rainbow tail up where she could see, "...well, to this sort of thing?"

To that, Robyn took in a deep breath and forced a smile, "Pretty much, yeah."

"So!" Nikki crossed his arms. "Who're you doin' this for?"

"Hmm?" the husky blinked...

...but Nikki just chuckled, "You're not our first, honey." He flashed her the warmest smile he could, "I know it may feel like you just jumped into the deep end, but this really is the best place to dip your toes." And he boldly placed a paw on top of hers, on the table, hoping it wouldn't be too forward, "I know it's more than just a gesture. A gesture's only good if they're here to see it. But I know they'd appreciate it, if they did."

Robyn looked at their paws, but didn't pull away, "You think so?"

"Well...I appreciated it, when my mom did it for me."

Her head shot back up, and their eyes locked. At once, her shoulders relaxed, and she finally smiled in earnest. Mom. That one word was all it took. It let her know that he knew. Gave her the confirmation that she needed. The assurance that she was doing the right thing...

...and beneath his paw, hers slowly turned over and firmly took hold of his. "My son," she murmured, "his name is Elliot." Tears collected in her eyes, as she squeezed the fox's paw, "And we...we used to be so close..."

~

(February 1st)

Saturday afternoon, a young husky sat alone in his living room.

The apartment lay empty, save for him. His father was at work. His uncles were visiting a friend: an otter he'd only seen on TV. Donald was too busy with some family event to hang out. And the rest of his friends had other various obligations of their own. And so, Elliot Masters lounged alone on the couch...

...nude and with his sheath in his paw.

There was something about the living room television. The big TV. Porn just looked so much better when it was blown up so large. He'd connected his laptop via the HDMI almost the instant he'd been left alone, and the screen was currently filled with Elliot's favorite genre of pornography: amateur video of risky public sex.

Just outside, however, a kangaroo was approaching the apartment door...

Stephen didn't think to call ahead. He didn't assume that Kris might have been at work, and he definitely didn't know what Elliot was up to, inside. When he knocked, he didn't hear the mad rush within. He couldn't see Elliot frantically unplugging the computer and bumbling his way into his clothes. And he had no idea that the boy was stalling after shoving his erection into his pants...waiting for it shrink: to be a less obvious tent.

All Stephen knew was that it was taking far too long for someone to answer the door. And so, he rang the doorbell, knocked, and playfully called out, "This is why I need a key, Toffy!"

Finally, the door opened, and Elliot smiled awkwardly at the kangaroo from inside, "H-hey, Stephen."

"Hey buddy!" Stephen beamed back with a smile of his own. "What took so long?"

"I uhm..." the little husky stammered, "I was in the bathroom."

"And no one else could answer the door?" Stephen craned his neck to look inside...

...and Elliot answered, "No one else is here."

"Oh? Where's your dad gotten off to?"

"Work."

"On a Saturday?" the kangaroo tilted his head. "You know how long he'll be gone?"

"He said it wouldn't be too long," Elliot shrugged, "but I don't know what that means."

"Well, do you mind if I come in and wait?" Again, Stephen smiled a wide and friendly smile. He hadn't spent nearly enough time with Elliot. As his father's boyfriend, he felt it was best they bond. The boy seemed to consider Aaron his uncle, after all, and Stephen very much wanted to be a part of the family, too. "You and I haven't hung out together since you were a cub. And we could watch a movie or Netflix or something while we wait!"

The husky averted his eyes, though, and only mumbled a half-hearted: "Yeah, I guess."

Stephen, of course, didn't know why Elliot was so thoroughly un-enthused. He didn't know that the boy had just been 'watching a movie' of his own and was disappointed by the interruption. He didn't know that, in any other circumstance, Elliot would've been excited to spend time with his dad's oldest friend and newest partner. Stephen, naturally, just assumed that this was a case of a teenager being a teenager...

After all, what fourteen-year-old really wants to hang out with someone in their 30s? So, as he stepped into the apartment, he did his best to make the arrangement sound more appealing: "Oh, come on! I'll let you pick the show..."

Elliot chuckled softly and nodded, "Okay."

And to the couch they went...

...where Stephen's nose began to twitch. He didn't know what Elliot had been doing, right here where they were sitting, only moments before. But his nose had taken the hint. Had caught a scent that he was very familiar with: the wet coppery smell of canine dick, and the salty musk of sweaty balls. But the scent had faded considerably since Elliot had slipped back into his clothes. It was only a passing, momentary whiff, by now. And then it was gone...

...gone so quickly that the kangaroo barely noticed it, and believed he might have only imagined it, even then. And so, he sat side-by-side with Elliot, as the boy brought up Netflix and pressed play on a mid-season episode of a show that Stephen had already seen. He wasn't sure if he should say anything. On the one paw, the husky might warm up to him if he knew that they liked the same show. But on the other, he didn't want Elliot to feel like he had to change it just because he had already seen it.

So, instead, Stephen said nothing, and simply settled in to watch the show. And boldly, he slipped an arm around Elliot's shoulder and pulled him close to his side. He was prepared, of course, to immediately let go if the teenager put up any resistance -- to play it off like a momentary hug -- but he couldn't help but remember a certain puppy who absolutely adored this sort of affection, and he hoped that, since Elliot was gay, he wasn't so concerned with being 'masculine,' that he might turn it away, now.

And the dog tensed, but he didn't pull away. Shock? Discomfort? Surprise? Stephen wasn't sure. But after a moment, the little husky relaxed, and leaned into the kangaroo's side. And Stephen smiled, believing he'd broken down a barrier that he didn't realize had never really existed. So, he gave the boy a gentle squeeze, and settled in as well. Enjoyed the illusion that he could be a father-figure for Elliot...that he was becoming a part of the family so quickly...

But then, his nose twitched again.

Toffy.

And his eyes closed as he slipped away: forgetting about the show or the boy in his arm, and simply thinking of Toffy. The husky's groin against his face after a long day trapped in his clothes. The musk of a canine coating every hair of his heavy, white, sack...and soaking, slowly, into the kangaroo's muzzle, as it grew sharper with every beat of his heart. That same beautiful scent slowly drifted into his nose. Toffy's scent. Not the copper and salt of before, but the pure, unrestrained musk of a horny husky.

And Stephen felt himself stir. Felt his sheath swell and open. Felt his balls -- nestled above his sheath, like any kangaroo -- being poked by his tip, and then being pushed aside as his member slowly extended. He smelled his own scent mingling with Toffy's, just as it did every time they paused to enjoy one another's company. He felt the weight of a head on his chest...

...and, at once, his eyes shot open!

He was not startled by his arousal, though...nor by Elliot's head against his chest...nor even by the tent he might soon be pitching in front of the boy. No, he was shocked by the simple realization that Toffy wasn't here. He wasn't smelling his new boyfriend. His own scent wasn't mingling with Kristoff's. And he wasn't being turned on by his oldest friend and lover...

This scent? Was Elliot.

He remembered the passing hint of copper and salt from before. And it occurred to him just what the boy had probably been doing: why he'd smelled what he'd smelled. He realized what he'd interrupted. He understood, at once, that he was holding a horny teenager beneath his arm. A fourteen-year-old. And he didn't know what to do! He couldn't pull away. He didn't want to make the situation more awkward than it already was. But he was swelling, too; the scent was just too much for him to ignore. And what if Elliot could smell him, just the same? What if the boy noticed his own soon-to-be-obvious tent? He couldn't just sit here and hope things would pass on their own!

But he didn't let go. He was frozen in indecision. He drank in the scent. And he swelled...

...as the boy whispered, "You smell good."

He looked down at Elliot, who was staring directly at the kangaroo's crotch. The tent wasn't noticeable, yet, but the smell definitely was. And despite himself, Stephen muttered back: "So do you."

"Is that what got you going?" his words were direct, but the little husky's voice was soft and timid. "Smelling me?"

"Yeah," the kangaroo admitted, breathlessly. "You, uhm...you smell a lot like your dad." And he tremored. He wanted to push the boy off of him and run for the door. But he looked at him, and he remembered a teenaged Toffy. A teenaged Billy. He remembered all the things they'd done...and imagined all the things Elliot might be doing with his friends. And, instead of running, he asked: "What got YOU going?"

"You," Elliot answered directly, but then elaborated in short, choppy phrases: "Was already there, really. Looking at porn before you got here. Didn't finish. Then you put your arm around me, and..."

One of Elliot's arms, at some point, had wound itself around Stephen's back, but the kangaroo hadn't noticed. The other, though, was free. And Stephen watched as the husky touched himself, gripping his eager, insistent, young bulge through the fabric of his pants. Stephen felt the boy grip him tighter, pull himself closer, and then take in a long, deep breath through his nose. But the kangaroo didn't say a word.

"Does," Elliot slowly went on, "does my dad like the way you smell, too?"

"He seems to..." Stephen twitched inside of his pants. His now obvious tent moved before Elliot's eyes. And he could feel his underwear growing wet. There would be a dark spot, soon enough...

"But..." he could feel the little husky quiver against him, as he added, "...he gets a lot more up-close-and-personal sniffs than this...doesn't he?"

"He does." This was going too far. But the kangaroo's dick flexed and leaked -- and that dark spot finally began to spread at the top of his tent -- when he realized the reality of the situation. It was going too far. But he wasn't going to stop it. "Right from the source."

Slowly -- and as silently as possible -- Elliot unzipped his pants. Stephen caught a flash of white fur from inside, and finally realized why the smell was so strong. Elliot wasn't wearing underwear. And as the boy's paw boldly dipped inside of his fly, touching himself directly, Elliot growled, "I bet it smells so much better there."

"Your dad seems to think so," Stephen reached down, adjusting his rigid tent, and holding it...as if on display for the boy.

"And...your uhm...your balls...?" The husky's paw moved beneath the cloth, shameless and free. The kangaroo envied such boldness...

...and he answered the question before the pup could finish it, "Yeah. They're on top."

"Can I see...?"

Yes. Saying 'yes' was a bridge too far. It was a line Stephen just couldn't cross. But he wouldn't say no. Because, silent or not: the answer WAS yes. And so, he moved his paw and adjusted his posture on the couch. He shifted himself forward, offering easier access to his lap, and hoped that the boy would take the hint.

Which he did.

Elliot's paw, still sticky from his own dick, slid free from his pants and lit on the older male's lap. The button and the zipper were open before Stephen knew what had happened. And suddenly, a fourteen-year-old's face was in his pants.

The husky's nose rooted itself into the fly of his boxers, and he felt a tongue trail the length of his shaft, inside. The boy breathed in and shivered, and soon, he was on all fours: his face buried in Stephen's groin, and his paws frantically removing his own pants.

The kangaroo felt a cold nose against his balls, felt hot breaths washing over his groin, felt a probing tongue in his sheath, and then -- nearly the instant his dick was free of his boxers, and in the open air -- felt it swallowed up by the husky's muzzle. He moaned aloud and bucked up into the hungry little mouth, and Elliot whimpered and took him as deep into his throat as he could go...without even an instant's resistance or hesitation.

Stephen knew this was wrong. He and Toffy had talked. They weren't exclusive. They couldn't be: not with Billy, Rimmer, Josh, and those teachers around. So, really, he wasn't cheating. But this was something far beyond infidelity. He was a grown man, and Elliot was barely a teenager. He hadn't gotten his dick sucked by a 14-year-old, since he was a teenager himself. And this 14-year-old was his boyfriend's son!

But honestly? He didn't care.

He let that eager, young throat wrap itself around him. Let it pulse and squeeze his most sensitive flesh. And he savored the sight: the spitting image of a young Toffy, nude from the waist down, and pawing madly at himself as he swallowed the kangaroo's dick. It was like he'd traveled back in time...

And he reached out to grab the pup. He slid a paw down Elliot's back, and took an ass-cheek firmly in his palm. He felt his fingers curl around the flesh, and let them trail up from the boy's balls, along his crack, and to his warm, waiting tailhole. It twitched at his touch. And in a single swift motion, he pulled his paw away, wetted a finger into his muzzle, and returned it to its target.

And Elliot whined around Stephen's shaft...

...as the kangaroo's digit slipped inside.

The older male threw back his head in a moan, thrusting into the boy's mouth as he felt the heat of that tight, young hole squeezing his finger. He wiggled it inside, gently pistoning it in and out. He felt the boy loosen with every motion. And he imagined bending him over the arm of the couch and-

-he came.

It was all just too much. The reality of what he'd let himself do. The surprisingly expert technique of the boy in his lap. And the thought of sinking himself deep beneath that little husky's tail. He was done. And no sooner that he begun to pulse and flood his potential step-son's muzzle...than he felt the soft thump of Elliot's own seed hitting his thigh and the couch between them...

Stephen sank into the cushions. Elliot slid to the floor, with his head against the kangaroo's knee. And all was silent but for their breaths, as they basked in the afterglow. The tingling, post-coital high. Such simple bliss, thugh, could only last so long...

...before Stephen began to feel it erode away. Before it began to dissolve as bolts of terror raced through his body. As the long, deep breaths of his afterglow began to quicken. As his stomach tied itself into a knot.

And at once, he sat up, head in his paws, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Hmm?" Elliot barely shifted on the floor, looking up at his potential step father, "What's wrong, Stephen?"

"What's wrong!?" the kangaroo yelled out. "What's wrong, is that your dad is gonna' kill me!"

"Is that all?" Elliot, though, only met his frantic dread with an earnest little laugh, "Y'know? I think he might surprise you..."

~

There will come a day your part may change, and strangers fill your cast mates' roles, yet your script will likely stay the same...

To steal a line: "the world's a stage." And though your part is all you know, there may come a day that part will change.

The faces you know will fade away, as novice players join the show. But your script will likely stay the same...

Last week's devil's an angel today. And no matter how cherished your role, There will come a day your part may change.

But do not bow to despair and rage, for this new part may yet feel like home, as your script will likely stay the same...

So, live your lines, and own your stage, and make a point to steal your show. For there'll come a day your part will change, yet, with hope, your script will stay the same...