FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I was quite surprised to see people actually paying attention to chapter 2! I didn't see any reception at all to chapter 1 on this site, or to any other stories that don't feature first-chapter sex.

Thanks to all of those who left comments on the second chapter--it's you guys who have convinced me it's worth posting the rest of these.

(Also, psst, I'd totally be willing to commission art of these two.)

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Fox awoke to nothing but the dull whir of old electronics around him. The room looked more like an old abandoned storage closet than a prison cell, but the cuffs fastened behind his back made his situation crystal clear.

It'd be too easy to panic, and most men in his situation would: there was something terrifying about ordering your hands to move and being denied the result with a hard, painful catch on the wrist. Training kicked in: Fox closed his eyes and focused on his senses, on the sounds and sensations around him, and he noticed there was perhaps a bit too much give than his captors would have hoped for if he worked his hands a particular way...

He pulled his legs up against his chest. It took quite some time, but finally, he did it; he managed to coax his flexible form into forcing his hands underneath his rump, so that his hands were now bound in front of his chest. From there, it was matter of bringing the cuffs up to his mouth and getting his teeth to do to the work a proper pick was meant for.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but finally, the damned things snapped off. He set them behind him, and resumed the same position as before; seated, hands folded behind his back. No one would know the difference.

Minutes ticked by, and he was sure he was going to piss himself if no one came to get him. Finally, the door slid open and in stepped that damn chameleon. The freak stepped forward, licking his lips. Fox didn't know what he had planned and he didn't care; once he was close, Fox's hands lashed out and sealed around the lizard's neck.

Leon may have been many things--cruel, deranged, cunning--but all that aside, he was frail, and when he lacked trickery and surprise, he was weak. Fox felt little sympathy as the chameleon's scales discolored, his scaled hands grasped feebly at Fox's wrist, and slowly, his eyes rolled up.

Not dead. Still breathing. Unconscious. Good. He fastened the cuffs around Leon's wrist and pushed him into a corner, leaving him alone. Fox reached for his communicator and punched in the passcode. He gave a quick scan to the area to ensure there were no cameras, then opened the channel.

Ten seconds later, a holo of Peppy's grim face materialized. "Fox? Is that--"

"I'm Fox," he said. "I don't have much time. I'll keep it quick. I'm on Wolf's base. He might be our enemy, but he's not the enemy here. He doesn't know who I am yet, but I don't think I have any choice but to make myself known and cooperate with him if I want to get to the bottom of this."

Peppy frowned. "If he's not behind the attacks, then who--"

"I don't know, Peppy. I've got a bad feeling about this. I think something's seriously wrong here if someone's outfighting Wolf's gang in his territory."

"Are you in danger? Do you think he'll cooperate?"

Fox shook his head. "I haven't got the faintest idea. Look, Peppy, I need to run before they find out I've escaped." He ignored the concerned raise of the hare's brows at that word. "I'm going to schedule four messages from my comm. One in two hours, one in four, one in eight, and one in twenty-four. Okay? Write this down."

Peppy's face disappeared for a moment, then materialized again a moment later. "Two, four, eight, twenty-four. Yes?"

"Yes. If you receive any of these messages, then something has gone wrong. I'll cancel them all one-by-one if the time nears and I'm safe. Alright? If you get a message from me, then I want you to grab whatever mercs you can, and I want you to storm this place, alright?"

"What place?"

Fox grunted. "The message will contain the coordinates."

Peppy frowned. "So I won't know where you are unless you're in danger? I don't like this, Fox."

"You need to trust me, Peppy. I don't want anyone to know where I am and what I'm doing. No one. Got it?"

Peppy sighed. "Alright, Fox. I'll be on the lookout."

"Good. I've got to run. I'll be in contact, hopefully later rather than sooner."

He didn't wait for a response to end the call. Once the messages were scheduled, he headed over to Leon's limp form and grabbed the access card from his back pocket, then tugged away his blaster, too, for good measure. It took a single swipe to unlock the door, and out he went.

...into the mess of halls he could never hope to fathom. "Dammit," he muttered. How the hell was he supposed to find Wolf?

A single pair of footsteps caught his ear, down the turn in the hallway to his right. A somber grin came over his snout as he hefted Leon's blaster.

That was how.

It'd taken only two minutes with a blaster pointed at the ape's skull to get the location, and a whole ten to find it. Fox was scared out of his mind, but fear was no excuse. This had to be done.

Seventh floor. 744. Fox swiped Leon's key in the door, knowing full and well it would fail--and knowing that resulting whine the security system made could be heard inside.

A minute later, the door slid open. His previous encounter with Wolf had done little to steel him for a second. It wasn't anger that met him on Wolf's grizzled snout, though, but curiosity; a tilted snout, a forward lean, and of course, the customary blaster pointed straight at Fox's face.

"You escape your hold... and you run back to me?"

The question did a fantastic job of making Fox feel like an idiot. "Let me in. I need to talk to you."

"Talk here." Wolf spat the words.

"Alone."

Wolf growled. His arm extended forward, just a single inch; it was all that was necessary to nearly push the bayonet clipped to his blaster against Fox's suit. "I won't play your games. I'm sick of them. What do you want? Do you want to fight? You want a job? You want to fuck? Because unless you identify yourself right now, I'm going to--"

Fox snarled. "Wolf!" Think, Fox, think. He needed a way to identify himself, one that wouldn't give himself away if there were someone else watching the cameras monitoring the halls.

The words came to him. Echoes of words once spoken to him, the words that rang in his head during the final moments of the aparoid queen's life. "You want to shoot me? Then get on with it. Don't hesitate. Just act." He met Wolf's eye as he said those final four words.

Wolf was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. His eye deadened. Then narrowed. Then widened. His grip on the blaster loosened, and the arm fell to his side.

Had it really been less than a year since Wolf had said those words to him? It felt like an eternity, like the words had been etched somewhere deep in his brain for as long as he could remember. He'd lost count of the number of times they'd spurred him to action. Uttering them in that moment was as much a confession of his identity to Wolf was it was a confession of how the older man's words had stuck with him so deeply ever since that fateful day in the smoky remnants of Corneria city.

Fox wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting when he made the reveal. Disbelief, anger, irritation. Never sadness. But Wolf's posture drooped like that was exactly what he was feeling.

"Fox fucking McCloud. No one else knows those words. No one." Wolf sounded tired, and his eyes didn't leave Fox. "No one."

It was a meeting a long time coming. Wolf's eyes locked on his and the fur on the back of Fox's neck rose. What he saw on Wolf's snout was eerily reminiscent of what had no doubt been on his own earlier: finally, seeing the one who'd given you so much hell for ten years in person... it felt different than he'd expected, somehow.

And then Wolf was snarling. His arm jerked out, and the sharp metal of the door-frame groaned out as Wolf struck it. "Get in." The few seconds of hesitation Fox had was enough for the same hand that had almost destroyed the frame to reach in and grasp hold of Fox's wrist, jerking him sharply inside. "Get in," Wolf hissed.

Fox stumbled to keep his balance, but the moment he regained his footing, Wolf was shoving him towards the bathroom. The brute of a wolf was pushing him around like some kind of child.

"Go wash that off." His eye was on Fox's white fur.

Fox bared his teeth. "You have no idea how long it took to--"

"I don't care." Wolf placed a hand on Fox's chest and shoved him back, drawing a swear and a low, annoyed grumble. "No more hiding, Fox."

He could sense his rival's frustration. A moment passed before he nodded. It felt a bit strange when he realized he was agreeing more out of sympathy than fear.

It was the longest, most discomfiting shower Fox had ever taken. It felt like twenty minutes later when he finally emerged, pulled his clothes up around his now-orange fur, and strapped his communicator back on. He stared at himself in the mirror for far too long in a failed attempt at procrastination before stepping back out.

Wolf was quiet. Fox was, too. The older canine had taken a seat at the base of his bed, and when Fox emerged, Wolf barely so much as sent him a glance. Fox padded over and sat down beside the male, and the silence carried on.

It'd been ten years since they'd first met in the skies. Ten years of bitter rivalry. Countless crossings on missions. Countless duels in the sky. Countless flashes of panic when Fox thought he saw the red glint of his rival's Wolfen on even the most mundane of missions. There had been only a single pause in their seemingly interminable standoff, and that was only when the entire galaxy was crumbling around them.

"You just can't stay well enough away, can you, Fox?"

Fox rolled his eyes. "I follow trouble. Funny how it keeps leading to you."

Wolf laughed. "You've got the whole damn system wanting to suck your dick, and you still go sneaking away looking for trouble."

"Look, I'm not out to fight you, if that's what you're worried about. Those ships need--"

"Bullshit."

Fox frowned. "All I want is to pro--"

Wolf leaned over closer. "Bullshit."

Fox growled. He sat up straighter and turned to face his rival. His pulse was shooting up. "Can you listen? I--"

"Bullllllllllllshit." Fox snarled and his hands tightened into fists. If that word had droned on for just a single second longer, he would have punched Wolf right there. "You don't give a fuck about those ships. Don't play that goody-two-shoes game with me, like you're some kind of goddamn sain--"

Fox jumped at him.

That was a mistake.

Fox's arms groaned out in protest as Wolf's snared him in a grapple and forced him back. Wolf leaned in and let out a roar that made Fox's ears flatten to his skull. Fox pulled away, jerked his arms free, and--

And Wolf was on top of him, snarling in his face. Inch-long fangs snapped just a couple of inches from Fox's nose, spurring the automated, so very prey reflex of ducking his head down to cover his neck. Fox bared his own teeth in response, but it did nothing but expose how vulnerable he felt, like a scared, cornered dog--and how, despite his most valiant attempts to puff himself up, even in his fiercest moments, he couldn't compete with Wolf. It spurred a primal fear in him that Fox had rarely ever confronted, one that made him back away and barely quell a whimper.

Wolf leaned in so close Fox could nearly feel his breath, but Fox's eyes couldn't leave those teeth. They weren't as pretty as Fox's, that was for sure: they were thick and long, meant to kill. "You should know better than to take fights you can't win, Fox."

Fox was no stranger to a brawl, but Wolf probably spent his whole life in fist-fights; a mercenary overlord like him didn't stay on top if he couldn't hold his own in a scrap. Years and years of fights just like this one had engineered a marvel of a combatant in Wolf, one that knew exactly where to apply pressure to prevent movement, exactly where to direct that lone eye to hunt out weaknesses, and exactly what moves would get the biggest rise out of Fox.

All throughout this time, Wolf's eye had been unblinkingly staring down at him, drinking and relishing in the fear his prey displayed, no doubt a catch that he'd been waiting on for years. His nose-tip twitched, blatantly drinking in the scent of Fox's fear as ardently as Fox refused to take in Wolf's.

Wolf was toying with him. He held Fox down with his body weight and a single arm, and the other one pressed a claw along Fox's neck, drawing a line of fire on the sensitive skin under his coat. "I could kill you right here, if I wanted." All it would take is one flick of the wrist. "I've killed men for less hell than you've given me." Again, lower his snout went, until his lips were an inch from the bowl of Fox's ear. "You're lucky I like you."

He spoke the words as if they weren't utterly absurd, coming from a man with a claw to his neck like that. Wolf straddled the line of death so expertly and effortlessly that it almost felt erotic. The air was thick with pungent scents: tension, fear, and something else Fox couldn't place.

"Wolf. Please."

Wolf threw his head back and laughed. Fox closed his eyes, defeated. Wolf picked his weight up off Fox's chest, but the smaller male still didn't move until his heart stopped pounding. It must have been an eternity. Somewhere deep inside, Fox had hoped that unmasking his identity would give their relationship more equity than he'd seen wearing Renard's white coat, but Wolf was so quick to remind him that it didn't matter who he was dealing with: he was always overbearing, and whatever hopes Fox had of putting on a strong face for his old rival had fallen flat.

Wolf stood in front of him, thick arms crossed. Fox sat up, staring up at his rival.

What was the proper response, here? To lunge at him, again, just to be served the same humiliation? To give in and embrace the defeat? To pull out a blaster he didn't have, just to get laughed at down its barrel? To tell Peppy to get the hell over here and lock this bastard up?

He ought to be angry and infuriated--and he was--but he hated that in that moment, his mission needed Wolf, and Fox needed his mission. "You're the only lead I've got. I need your help." He drew in a deep breath. And it wasn't until he saw Wolf's mouth curl into an unironic grin that he realized how desperate he'd sounded.

Wolf pointed a finger down at Fox, brandishing that same claw that'd earlier toyed with his neck. "I don't want to work with you."

He said it with such finality that it made Fox's ears wilt, and the moment the words died on the air, Wolf was turning away, heading over to the little fridge in the corner of his room, like the conversation was done. Fox managed to sit up. "Why?"

"You're a damn good pilot. But you're a lousy partner." Wolf had grabbed a small bottle of water, and he tilted it up his lips, downing a few swallows. He wasn't even looking at Fox.

"What do you know about working with me? We flew together once--and we crushed."

"Good pilot. Lousy partner."

"Drop the act. You remember that time I rode on your wing. We were fine partners. Dammit, Wolf, look at me."

Wolf turned and met his gaze. It was eerie as always, staring at someone with only one eye. Fox wasn't sure where to look; the intensity of Wolf's stare was piercing, and the words that followed were laced with bitterness.

"Where were you?"

"Where... when?"

"You know what I mean, Fox. Where the fuck were you when that planet blew up?"

Was that hurt in his voice? "After the Aparoids, you mean? I thought..."

Wolf closed the distance between them, so he was standing right in front of the sitting Fox. "You left me to die."

"I thought..."

What had he thought?

It was a distant memory now. Eight months that felt like eight years. He remembered firing the program into the Aparoid Queen, then just barely boosting his team out of the planet's core before it fractured and exploded. Fear--he remembered that clearly enough, once he realized that the whole damn planet was like one living aparoid freakshow and it was all coming down around him. Relief, once he received the signal that Peppy'd managed to jettison himself out the escape pod and survive after all. And giddiness, as he realized that the nightmare-turn-massacre was finally over.

And, an afterthought. Maybe Wolf had managed to survive, too. But there was no time for that. No, he had to get back and deliver the news. He had a million people reaching out to him. Call after all. Endless cheering from his teammates. Dwindling vitals from Peppy. It would have been ludicrous to delay to scan the empty space for Wolf.

He'd been quiet for a while, and Wolf was still staring down at him with the same pointed look.

"You really expect me to sit here and listen to you lecture me about morality?"

"Yes," Wolf snapped. "Because it was fucked up, and even I know it."

What did Wolf want, an apology? "You don't know what it's like. I had the entire system waiting on me, and Peppy needed aid. I figured you'd find a way to make it. You're clever. You..."

"Next." The word came out like he was firing bullets at Fox, and apparently, he had a whole clip. "Even if you couldn't spare a minute of your precious time then, where were you when the dust settled? It's been eight months."

"Corneria needed help. Hundreds needed rescuing."

"You got your big, fat paycheck and sat on your heels. Where was my cut, to pay for the base you destroyed?" Fox opened his mouth to speak--the paycheck was barely enough to cover debt he'd inherited from James for the first Great Fox, let alone pay for another to get him out on the skies again--but Wolf kept going. "Where was my cut, to pay for putting my ass on the line just as many times as you had?"

"If it's money you want, I can try ta--"

"And where, McCloud, where... was even a single damn mention of my name? A single damn thanks?"

Fox had nothing to say to that.

There'd only been a few times in his life anyone had talked to him like this. Sure, he'd gotten shit before, but this? It was scolding: legitimate, deserved scolding, and it hurt, because he knew Wolf was right.

And it struck him in that moment that he knew precious little about the older man. For as long as he could remember, Wolf had existed as nothing but a standard by which to measure himself, and that had been one of the few real constants in his life: the notion that, no matter how good Fox got, Wolf was always out there, and he never gave up, never stopped lusting for a fight, and never stopped improving. Never had Fox given any thought to the man behind that brutish figure that so often snarled at him from behind the comms. In retrospect, he'd always thought of Wolf like a machine, of sorts: unfeeling, constantly evolving in a search for any chance to capitalize on Fox's weakness.

"I'm sorry," he said. The words were feeble and unconvincing. "But it's not like I could just show up on your doorstep and thank you, and don't act like you wouldn't be insulted if I offered to help you out. It's not like we have a history of being nice. You said yourself that you only saved me because..."

Wolf had let out a sigh and turned around, pacing. He didn't look angry anymore; just sad. And somehow, that was worse. Fox didn't know Wolf well enough to gauge if he should be trying to comfort him, or trying to piss him off again.

"...because," Fox continued on auto-pilot, dimly aware that he wasn't doing a good job of either of those, "you wanted to be the one to..."

Wolf shook his head, slowly, then pointed an arm toward the door. "...just go."

It took Fox a moment to steady his voice. "I can make this right, Wolf."

"Right. As soon as it's convenient to you. But I can't afford to waste my day arguing with you. Go."

"I can't exactly go waltzing out of here. I don't want the whole damn station to know who I--"

Wolf growled, then stepped away. He opened the closet across from the bathroom's entrance, and tossed what looked like a shrouded mask over at Fox. It landed on his snout and obscured his vision.

Wolf didn't say another word. They were done.

Five nervous minutes later, he was back in his ship, pulling Wolf's garment off his head and pushing it under his seat.

His disguise was ruined. His mission was failed. All his life he'd had his team behind him and it had seemed so easy to make the right move, but now, solo, he'd wasted a week on this pointless mission and he had nothing to show for it but one of Wolf's masks and the insight that the man was both more real and more bitter than he expected.

And now his ship smelled like Wolf. Fox found himself breathing through his mouth, because just that hint of his old rival's scent was enough bring back the feeling of utter helplessness he'd felt beneath the ruffian.

He'd failed with Wolf, who'd treated him like a toy--keeping him around for just as long as it was entertaining to fuck with him, before throwing him out. So, who could he turn to? What friends did he really have? If he opened up his comm and scrolled down the contacts, he'd have to sort through the mass of politicians, military, and tech company reps to find the few he really cared about.

Peppy. He had a job now, and he was damn good at it. Lylat needed him. Politics needed him. And even if that weren't all true, there'd always been that divide between them, the knowledge that Peppy had once flown alongside James. Peppy was more stepfather than friend.

Slippy. No, Slippy was living the life. A dream job at a perfect tech company. And that girl he had--Fox would have never thought Slippy had it in him to date, but to get engaged? He couldn't fuck with that.

Krystal. A failure of a relationship had left things nothing but bitter between them. And even before things soured, he couldn't even get near her without feeling that creeping feeling on the nape of his neck that she was peering into his skull, reading things she had no right to see.

Falco. Falco... Fox shook his head.

All that had come to mind were former teammates. If he thought back to academy days, there were still a few he was decent friends with. Bill, for instance. But hell, he didn't even know what the husky was up to these days. It left a sour feeling in his gut that some of the most genuine conversation of late he'd had was with Valen.

Fox wondered to what extent Wolf was a lost cause. His rival had been both bitter and unfair. Fox wanted to fix things, but then again, if he thought back, there wasn't exactly anything to fix, was there? At least he'd walked away with his head intact.

Fox grabbed his tablet.

Peppy,

I've finished investigating Star Wolf. They're uncooperative, but with reasonable certainty I can report that they aren't attacking the ships. I'll provide a more detailed report tomorrow. There's likely not much more I can do here on my own. It's too dangerous.

Forward me the details of the escort mission. I'll accompany the next ship.

Bestm,

Fox

He didn't notice the typo until after he sent it. He wanted the hurl the damned thing, and he likely would have if he had enough room in the cockpit to wind back his arm. Instead, he took a deep breath and opened his calendar.

Banquet on Tuesday. Academy lesson Wednesday. Outreach event downtown on Thursday. One by one, the boxes in his schedule filled in, a combination of obligations and commissions with paychecks he couldn't turn down, paychecks he needed to stay afloat. Finally, he came to Saturday. There were more than enough offers to fill it up that space, but in his off-time, a wide-open Saturday was a sacred tradition.

_You want to find work, I can help you out. _He still remembered Valen's words. That was a lead if he'd ever had one, Wolf be damned.

A few seconds later, the box read Meteo. Damn if his curiosity didn't get the better of him. He wanted to put the tablet aside, again, but once more... something gave him pause. He'd already sent one message to Peppy--could another hurt?

Fox opened another window and started typing.

Peppy, _he started. _Can we chat sometime about Wolf?