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Tommy slipped as quietly as possible out of the wolf's bed. The beds at the Venetian were good, and so didn't betray him with the rusty squeaking of the local Motel Six or by causing the chubby fellow to shift too much.

The gentle snoring coming from the wolf--Tommy didn't bother learning their names anymore--was almost endearing. Tommy smiled, admiring his small pudge of a belly and long neck, and those black plastic-rimmed glasses. The coyote smiled at the memory of the wolf, all shifty-eyed and shaking, trying to work up the courage to open the door of Le Café, all the while desperately trying to look like that wasn't what he was doing.

Tommy had discreetly suggested that the wolf might find it easier to go to either the Red Barn or Maxine's, or just wink at attractive guys on the Fruit Loop until one followed him home. The wolf had puffed up and called Tommy cocksucker_and _faggot and made all the usual super masculine blustering and threats.

Listen cutie, let's cut to the chase, ok? You want to get your dick wet and I want a big one under my tail. I'm clean. Don't do drugs. No clap, crabs, fleas, mange, syphilis, or anything else that Ajax won't take off. Now you have a hotel room for this or do you just want to bend me over the dumpster out back so we can both get on with our night?

It had been an athletic romp once the wolf had gotten just enough liquor in him to drop the macho act.

After dressing, the coyote slipped a playing card out of the thin remainder of the deck in his jacket pocket. Eight of spades. He flipped the card around, admiring the six-striped rainbow design on the back.

Smiling, he drew a little heart on the face of the card and laid it next to the wolf's glasses on the nightstand.

"I do set my bow in the clouds..." He whispered, taking one last look at the sleeping lupine before padding quietly out the door.

Once the door had shut silently behind him, Tommy scratched at his neck fur, wincing where the wolf had gotten a love bite in. The tenderness of the flesh on his neck paled next to the growing throbbing and stinging he felt under his tail that sent pulses of pain through his body.

The palatial Venetian lobby was crowded, even at midnight--some would say especially at midnight. A variety of creatures came and went amidst its gold-topped columns, ceiling frescoes, and sensual statuary. Tommy waved the tiny scent neutralizer at his nose, feeling the familiar cold, numbing sensation as the mist did its work. He could still smell, but now the odors of tobacco smoke and a churning throng of creatures oozing sweat and nervous tension could be pushed aside.

As Tommy reached the foyer, he glanced back at the hotel's patrons, wondering briefly when the next time he might see the inside of this place might be. In the distance, at the far end of the corridor of columns--who was that? Dressed in a black jacket and slacks, white shirt and tie, the figure bore the russet fur and general bearing of a fox. Was he staring at Tommy? The crowd moved around him, churning and swirling as Las Vegas did. Larger mammals obscured the coyote's vision as they passed, until finally he could see all the way to the shining golden statuary. Two vixens, nude from the waist up, held bowls above their heads, but there was no sign of the fox Tommy thought he'd seen.

Simon...?

Tommy sighed, and slipped out of the Venetian, into the glowing neon night of the Strip.

---

"What're you up to in the deck now?"

"Last night's was the eight of spades," Tommy said, grinning and holding up the thin stack of cards, "but they're out of order. Almost done with a run through the pack."

Doris, whose real name was Samuel, was a drag queen of some renown. He not only changed into a convincing woman on stage, but also swapped species. A coyote himself, Samuel would brush an array of color into his fur, and slipped into an evening gown so tight that Tommy couldn't figure how he breathed, and became the lusty, busty, vivacious Doris. Samuel sipped an afternoon martini with the refined air of a rich New England glamour queen, pinky outstretched.

"Listen honey," he said sipping his martini, "I know you're making up for lost time, but you should settle down a little. Maybe try dating somebody instead of hopping beds every night."

"I don't date."

"You just haven't met the right one yet, sweetie."

Tommy leaned forward, crossed arms resting on the scarred wood of the booth table.

"Trust me. That's not the problem. And anyway, don't turn into a prude on me now. I've only got a few cards left to go."

"Honey listen--"

"I've been fine so far. I'll be fine through the end of the deck. Then, no matter what else happens, I know I've done my part for each of them."

Samuel reached across the table, and took Tommy's paw, entwining their fingers.

"Listen, boo. Please. You don't have anything to prove to anybody. Not to God, not to those sick fucks you call parents. You're you. You don't have to fuck every hard dick that wanders into view to get payback. Why don't you find yourself a nice little fox and settle down?"

Tommy accepted the words. They were old ones between him and Samuel now. Ever-practical Samuel, trying to protect him.

"You know my answer to that."

The coyote stood and gave Samuel's cheek ruff a gentle stroke, then headed out the door, leaving Samuel to stare silently after him.

---

The wolf had really done a number on him. Tommy hadn't expected that walking would still be uncomfortable two days after the fact. He hadn't even let the wolf knot in him.

No, no, baby. You're drunk, I'm tired. I don't want to wake you up trying to get you out of me once you pass out.

Better for tonight, he thought, to go home and rest, so he could be in top form to finish out the deck. Maybe he'd be able to snag one of the big cats that worked as strippers for rich women's bachelorette parties. Most of those happened on the weekends, only a few days away, and at least a few of them might like the chance to get their rocks off so they didn't get too excited during a show.

Maybe he'd catch a fox.

The air here in Paradise smelled of weed and tobacco and Mexican spices from the little food carts that made their living here during the daylight hours. Tommy breathed it in with relish. It was different from the air on the Strip, where the constantly opening doors of Casinos blew out cold, air-conditioned air leaden with the stench of tobacco smoke. Tommy stayed the hell off the Casino floors unless he was gambling, and then he spritzed himself liberally with scented oils to keep the stink out of his fur. He carried a scent neutralizer to sniff when he needed to, and always wore disposable clothes. Usually, that meant Hawaiian shirts and linen suits he picked up from the most unscrupulous of pawn shops or thrift stores like the Salvation Army. They made good disguises, at least. For a few minutes, Tommy got to feel like a secret agent.

The ubiquitous glow from the Strip felt like the gentle rise of the sun just before it peeked above the mountaintops. It was always there. Vegas, the den of iniquity. America's Sodom. Tommy remembered, with a smile, when he had arrived, and spent his time counting the sins he could see in public alone.

He paused outside the Guardian Angel Cathedral, that monument to "satanic Catholicism," with its stained glass mural depicting Vegas casinos burning in the fires of judgment. Tommy sighed. The church's God had no power or authority in Vegas, and yet the church tried. It carried on, in spite of everything being arrayed against it. Spiritual warfare at its most basic and subtle level, definitely not what those crazies back east would call the flaming sword of Christ.

Tommy kept walking, his back to the glow of the Strip, as he headed for home, a small one-bedroom railroad cottage on the outskirts of the unincorporated township of Paradise. The coyote let out a harsh laugh. The city of Las Vegas itself, by its every existence, violated God's commandments.

Thou shalt not kill. Well, Vegas killed thousands of creatures a year, either directly, by starving or by accident, or indirectly, by the actions of the mob murdering rivals. Thou shalt not steal? Well, the casinos certainly were a master of that. False Witness? The fact that the majority of the Las Vegas Strip was actually in an unincorporated adjacent town pretty much sealed that one. Tommy went down the rest of the list. No other gods? Money. Keep the Sabbath? The casinos never closed. The entire city was built on coveting one's neighbor's everything. Adultery? Tommy grinned at the memory of just how many "straight" married men had fallen all over themselves to take him to bed. The poor males, trapped in marriages they hadn't wanted and that pushed them close to suicide, made the best lovers. They, like so many other gay males, needed to feel that someone loved them for who they were, and who would not judge them.

Their names. Their names were dangerous. They tempted Tommy towards idolatry. The strip was full of graven images of every sort and description. Golden idols all. Names, though, were different. They had a very old power, one that threatened to swallow Tommy whole if he let one worm its way into his heart, as he'd already done too many times.

One ear on a casino floor for thirty seconds would pick up the cries of "Please, Iesus!" so there went taking the name of the Lord in vain.

As the coyote arrived at his door, red paint cracked and peeling in the desert heat, one commandment remained. Honor thy father and they mother.

He spat at the thought.

Inside the dark house, he made his way past his few meager sticks of furniture and collapsed onto his bed. The mattress springs squealed and squeaked as the bouncing stopped. He really should do something special for the last card. Maybe, he thought, he could break into one of the churches around here and get railed on the altar in front of a sobbing crucified Iesus.

No. Your fight isn't with God.

The coyote stared at the wall, his eyes tracing a long crack in the plaster. It spread from one corner, halfway across the wall, the up along the ceiling. Maybe he should mix up some plaster and work on fixing that.

No. That was the landlord's job, and that overweight old vole wouldn't lift a paw to fix anything if the state inspectors didn't force him. And they wouldn't, because the sleaze bag owned enough rental properties to bribe the right people. He owed the vole nothing but the rent every month. This wasn't home where he had to pitch in for compound upkeep.

That thought turned Tommy's mood sour in an instant. The compound. Last bastion of morality in a corrupt and decayed world that would be burned in God's vengeful fire at the time of the rapture. The Pack was God's true chosen of course.

He smiled, though, remembering the good times. The music and the singing had been wonderful. They'd been community, almost family. The tambourines and the guitars and the hymns of praise...that had been great.

Then, there had been that fateful Christmas season when he was sixteen. The lectures on purity and Christian conduct around the female coyotes of the pack who were kept mostly isolated from the boys. Their scents had been different. He'd gotten hard in his pants sometimes and then spent days praying for God to take the filth away.

It never worked. Of course it never worked, and so Tommy had spent more time with boys than around the females that caused his soul such harm. That had led to the discovery that boys made the filthy thoughts worse. Then he'd been caught.

Tommy wiped away tears.

"Don't dwell on it now, Tommy. You've got hot males to bed," he said aloud.

He'd been a good little Christian soldier. He'd done more than his share of chores, always listened to the pastor, and even started preaching himself.

The day had come when he and another male, this one a frail slip of a fox whose parents had joined the Pack with Tommy's, when he was little, before they'd moved into the compound, had been sniffing around near the females' special dormitory, a low Quonset hut set away from the main center of the compound

Tommy had gotten hard again from the scent of the females, or so he had thought. In hindsight he realized that it had been the fox's scent that had caused his arousal.

Lying on the poking springs of his barely padded mattress, the coyote let his paw drift against his crotch.

The fox had been hesitant. Tommy had been scared as hell

of Hell

but when the electric charge of his erection rubbing against the rough fabric of his trousers reached a level of need that the coyote had never before felt, he had pounced, pressing his muzzle to the fox's, and grinding his hardness against against his pelvis.

And speaking of hardness, the coyote unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them off.

The scent of his own arousal made his mouth water. He could feel his pulse throb rhythmically in the stiff red shaft. He gave his pawpad a lick, wetting it down thoroughly, and wrapped his fingers around his cock. Gentle stroking, at first. Slow and sensual.

"Aw, yeah," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Now, the question was which of his lovers did he want to remember for this moment? The wolf was too recent, too fresh in his mind. He couldn't properly romanticize it with the music and the soft lights of hindsight.

He gave his tip a squeeze and traced one finger around it, catching a beaded drop of pre.

Otter? They'd been super flexible. What about the horse in the McCarran restroom? Tommy's hole clenched at the memory. That had been early in his run through the pack. He'd been super horny at the time, and the horse only had an hour before his flight, so they'd foregone any but the most basic prep and Tommy had hurt for a week afterward, not helped by the fact that he'd had to slip out of the airport quickly to avoid getting sniffed when a security guard made an unfortunately-timed visit to that same neglected restroom.

Still, the memory of that huge horse cock sent a warm shudder thorough Tommy. He gripped himself, stroking vigorously. He let out a few little moans to keep himself in the mood.

His hips bucked wildly towards the ceiling, and he felt the building pressure of release. Just a little bit more.

Please, just a little more, Thomas.

The coyote's eyes shot open. The fantasy broken, but his body already on the edge, the act of sliding his paw free was enough to unleash the most underwhelming climax he'd had since he came to Vegas. His come dribbled onto his pawpads and the soft fur of his inner thigh.

"Damn it," he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his clean paw. Why did that memory have to come up?

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and wobbled towards the shower, his mind full of the vision of Simon's russet face looking downcast and ashamed, never meeting Tommy's gaze as the Elders passed their judgment. As the lukewarm water spritzed irregularly from the showerhead that time forgot to the tune of the deep bass vibration in the pipe, Tommy knelt down in the tub, letting it wash over him, taking his tears away with it.

When he finally could cry no more, the coyote dried himself, knelt and said his prayers, and climbed into bed, memories of the fox's scent and warmth keeping him awake and staring at the ceiling.

---

Glowing, hedonistic parties of the flesh and fur filled Friday nights just about anywhere in Las Vegas. Vacationers flooded the Strip, the bars were packed with creatures of every species and description, and everyone was looking for their definition of a good time.

Tommy slipped into Le Café early in the evening, around six or so. The dancing hadn't gotten going yet. The house DJ, a fennec named Stevie Shake 'Em, arranged his turntables and holding-boxes of 45 and 78 RPM vinyl just-so, along with a double-deck eight-track player. The Rottweiler bouncer had waved Tommy past the entrance with a wink, though it was more a harmless flirt than anything else; There wasn't a cover until 8:00.

After a couple of Coors, Tommy felt loose enough to start eying the bar denizens. A boar couple dressed in leather harnesses and police hats with no shirts occupied the backmost booth. The bigger of the two had a nose ring and gold jewelry adorning his tusks. He was deep in conversation with the other, trotter gripping the smaller boar's thigh tightly. They paid no attention to Tommy.

"You usually don't nurse beers, Tommy. Everything all right?"

Tommy looked up at the bartender, Robbie: a black and white fox who mixed the best cocktails in Vegas, as far as the coyote was concerned. Tall, wearing a vest but no shirt in order to show off his lean frame and the fur-dyed pink triangle on his sculpted abs, Robin easily outshone most of the clientele even at Le Café. Tommy snuck a glance at the taut curve of his ass in those painted-on jeans, and felt his own jeans grow just a little tighter.

"I'm good. Just trying to get a little buzz that I can ride for the rest of the night. Don't want to get plastered too quick," he laughed. He gave the bartender a wink and slurped the last of the beer from his glass. "When are you going to give in and sweep me off my feet?"

Calm down. Falling for foxes will get you hurt.

Robin's muzzle betrayed the hint of a smile.

"I'm celibate, you know that, honey, and you're insatiable."

Tommy donned an exaggerated frown.

"How dare you! Is that all you think I want in life? I'm wounded, Robin, absolutely cut to the quick."

The fox smiled. "Yeah, sure. You're all broke up about it. Want me to pour you the usual?"

"Please."

The thought of following up two nasty, cheap beers with a rail cocktail made the fur on Tommy's neck stand up, but while Robin poured it, he got to stare at that gorgeous ass some more.

One day, you'll come around, and I'll peel you out of those jeans.

Robin set the vodka cranberry on the scuffed, dull walnut of the bar and moved away to work on the liquor inventory for the evening. Tommy sniffed at the drink and took a sip. He smiled. The sweetheart had used top shelf vodka. The cool burn spread down his throat and tingled in his stomach. His cheeks grew warm. Apparently Robin had done a little extra pouring.

Tommy nursed the drink for as long as he could before the ice watered it down, then finished it off with a gulp. A few more patrons had made their way into the bar, occupying some of the high-tops and booths. All in pairs though. Tommy didn't want to count himself out, but it was just easier all around to deal with one potential partner than two with an established relationship. He thought back to the one time he'd nearly gotten in over his head with a couple. A daddy dom and his younger cub, both muscular bears, had turned aggressive once the bedroom door was shut.

He'd been safe, he forced himself to remember. They'd stopped when he said to stop. Still, though, the experience hovered in the back of his mind like a thundercloud.

Tommy scooted his stool back and stood up, gauging what level of tipsy he currently occupied based on how long it took his feet to find balance.

It took longer than he expected.

He checked his watch. Still a couple hours before the place would get hopping. He should get some air and sober up a little. Maybe if he was lucky there would be another easy, self-hating mark outside that he could wander off with. The greeter caught him before he could get too far past his station and swiped the back of his hand with blacklight reactive ink, so that if he came back he wouldn't have to pay the cover. The Rottie lingered over his paw, slipping his middle finger away from the rest to sensually stroke Tommy's pawpad, causing the coyote a little thrill of pleasure.

Tommy scanned up and down the street, watching the straights pass by and try not to look at Le Café's patrons, nor even acknowledge that the building existed. The scent of excess hung in the air like an invisible fog bank. Vegas could intoxicate you without a single drink or puff or hit if you let it.

The coyote sniffed and glanced around, casually. If he was really careful, he could spot a handsome mark.

Without warning, he caught a different scent on the breeze. Musky, just a bit of spice. Familiar. His vision filled with the damp of unbidden tears when it reached his nose. The coyote rounded in the direction of the wind.

Standing on the sidewalk by the entrance to the alley running alongside Le Café was the same figure he'd seen in the Venetian. A shorter fox, maybe five foot six, dressed in a fitting but cheap black suit and tie. His goldenrod eyes did not blink. His muzzle bore the tight frown of someone trying to hold themselves together at a funeral.

"Simon?"

Tommy's legs felt like they were weighed down with cement. He forced his knees to work, his feet to carry him closer. The fox did not move. Was it another wishful vision?

"Simon, is that you?"

"Thomas," he whimpered, the fragile veneer of control visibly cracking.

Tommy blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. That last vision of Simon, standing silently and refusing to even look at him, burned in the coyote's brain.

"What are--"he squeaked, then paused and cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to find you."

Tommy's stomach churned. He could feel his paws tingling, and his fur standing on end. He wanted to rage, to ball up his fists and punch the fox right in his muzzle. The shadow of the Elders in their courtroom loomed over him larger than life. In his mind, they were larger-than-life black shapes, with glowing red eyeshine, quoting at him from the Bible as they pronounced their sentence, and off to the side, faintly lit, was the shamefaced fox who had been Tommy's lover.

"Why? Didn't you do enough damage the last time I saw you?" The coyote shouted. He hadn't meant to be so forceful. A few people walking by glanced nervously in his direction, but deferred to the Vegas rule and continued onward, minding their own business.

"Thomas, I'm sorry. I know I wrecked your life--"

"That's putting it mildly."

"Can we go somewhere off the street to talk?"

Those goldenrod eyes looked as if any hesitation would shatter the fox completely. As much as he wanted to hit him, Tommy couldn't help but feel that he had come a long way to do whatever it was he came to do.

"Inside. But you're buying the drinks."

The Rottweiler waved them past with a sullen look, refusing to look Tommy in the eye. Tommy felt a momentary pang of regret, but quashed it quickly. He'd make it up to the guy. He was clearly interested, and he was handsome. Maybe he could be 52 and round out the deck. The coyote let the warmth of fantasy settle in him for a moment, imagining what the muscles of the Rottweiler must look like underneath that tee shirt.

When Tommy snuck a peak at the Rottie, his eye fell again on the conservatively-dressed, waifish Simon. The fox smelled of nervousness and the sour stink of fear. He smelled like the wolf from a few nights ago, when the wolf couldn't force himself to come through the door and accept that he was a faggot like the rest of them.

Robin blinked and tilted his head as the pair approached and took a seat at the bar. Tommy slipped confidently onto the uncomfortable wood of the stool, while Simon, wound as tight as a watch spring, looked more like a kid in a high chair.

"What...uh...what can I get for you two?"

Simon looked with glassy eyes at the wall of liquor behind the bar. So many colorful bottles full of warmth and forgetfulness and hangovers. When he didn't respond, Tommy turned to say something.

He doesn't know what any of that shit is.

"I'll have the same vodka-cranberry as before, and the fox here will have--"

What? What wouldn't destroy a person who'd never so much as sniffed liquor in their life?

"A mojito, if you please, sir?" Simon squeaked.

Robin nodded and set about making the drinks.

"I learned about it from something I saw on television," Simon whispered.

"I didn't think The Pack allowed television."

"They--"

Robin set down the drinks, locking eyes with Tommy in a "really?" sort of way before tending to other patrons who had taken seats at the far end of the bar. Over on the dance floor, the DJ had begun playing some song or another.

"They don't."

"Yeah. I know that, I used to live there too. I was making a sarcastic remark."

"O-oh. I'm sorry Thomas."

Simon sipped the mojito, failing to mask the burning of the alcohol. Tommy stifled a grin.

"Tell me what you're doing here, Simon, in this den of iniquity."

"I came to find you, like I said."

"Yes, you did. And you succeeded," Tommy said, patting the fox on the shoulder. He was very warm. A black suit wasn't the best idea in the heat of the Mojave even in what passed for winter. The warmth filled the coyote's memory with the summer heat of the hay loft, and his nose with the fox's scent combined with the sweet decaying scent of the straw. Tommy shoved his paw into his pocket to keep from placing it on the fox's upper thigh.

"What I don't understand is why. The last time I saw you was at my quote unquote trial. You didn't even want to look at me."

"I know. I was--it's not important. The important thing is that I got away. I guessed where you went. We always talked about Las Vegas, remember?"

Tommy sipped, then gulped, his drink, feeling first the burning and then the cool rush spreading through him. Had he eaten today? Didn't matter. He could feel the steel-spring tension uncoiling in him as the burning and numbing started to slip

"I remember. I'm surprised you do. So, how'd you find me?"

"I found out where the-um, well, the bars like this are, and I watched for you."

Tommy blinked. That was certainly dedication, and a little on the creepy side.

"How long did it take you to spot me?"

"Well, I actually asked a few people in the other bars if they knew you. They told me you spent most of your time at Le Café so I watched here for a few days. I almost said something to you but you left with that wolf so, er, I followed you."

"That was you at the Venetian then," Tommy said, rubbing his forehead. "I was starting to think I'd gone nuts."

Simon nodded, silently sipping his mojito. It was more than half gone already. Tommy took a drink of his vodka cranberry and realized that his was completely empty. When had that happened?

"Robin! Get me another would you?"

---

After another few drinks--Tommy couldn't be sure if he'd had three or four by this point, but he knew Simon had only had one and a half-Tommy caught himself staring at the fox's profile. He'd always been handsome in his wallflower sort of way, but three years had taken their toll. The coyote noticed that the fur on his ears was tinged with premature grey.

They'd chatted about this and that, family and friends they'd left behind, Las Vegas and what it was really like compared to the cesspit the Pack made it out to be.

Four drinks in, when the DJ played "I Love the Nightlife," Tommy slid forward off his bar stool and grabbed Simon by the paw. The fox started to pull away, but instead, after a moment's hesitation, left his paw in Tommy's and followed.

The dance floor was starting to develop a crowd. The pair of leather daddy boars were out there, gyrating and laughing at each other's clumsiness. There were wolves and dogs and even a few big cats, though the species all blurred together to Tommy, who felt a little like his head was full of liquid, sloshing around and throwing him off balance.

"Dance with me," Tommy hiccupped, pulling Simon closer.

A few heads turned in a combination of amusement and curiosity. Tommy hadn't been that loud had he? Simon glanced nervously around.

"But, people will--"

"See? Yeah? And?" Tommy said, placing the fox's paws on his waist just as Stevie Shake 'Em started playing something sappy and slow. The coyote entwined his paws, letting his arms wrap around the fox's neck as he began rocking. He leaned forward, placing his lips on the fox's. Simon tensed, his mouth and lips tightly shut at first, but quickly giving way, softening, his mouth opening just slightly to embrace the kiss.

Tommy flicked his tongue tentatively along the fox's lips. The taste of him was more intoxicating and dangerous than the liquor the coyote had been guzzling. He felt the warm stirring in his pants, demanding that he pick up where he'd left off with Simon. He didn't want to remember. He'd fought to push thoughts of the fox away ever since he'd left the compound. But now his body betrayed his desire. Tommy gripped the fox by the hips, pulling him close, feeling himself grind against Simon's crotch which, through the thin layers of fabric, he could feel was equally ready to take up their old acquaintance. After the longest moment, a moment that Tommy didn't ever want to end, Simon broke off the kiss and pulled back.

"I can't...not here," Simon said, mechanically, dropping his head and paws and backing away.

Tommy's lip curled, ears forward. "Oh yeah, because any of these guys care." He gestured to the small crowd, who quickly found other things to look at. He took the fox by the upper arm, to keep him from running.

Simon cringed, backing away, his breathing rapid and his ears pinned back. "I'm... I'm sorry!"

The crowd had begun to stare again, with murmurings of growing concern. Tommy raised his paws.

"It's okay, Simon. I'm not going to hurt you."

In the dim, spinning light of the dance floor, Tommy smelled the fox's tears before he saw them glinting like flecks of silver.

Simon recovered, somewhat, coughing to hide the sniffle of his crying. Tommy made no move forward or away.

"Do you want to get some air? Maybe go for a walk?"

Simon nodded quietly. Tommy took him, as gently as possible, by the arm and led him away from the music and staring, past the Rottweiler who looked as concerned as Tommy had ever seen him. With the sun setting beyond the mountains and twilight settling over the bright glow of Vegas, Simon and Tommy walked silently down the street.

The alcohol was still strong in Tommy's system, but had begun to dissipate a little, letting him walk more or less straight down the empty sidewalks. The dry heat of the Mojave had, with sunset, begun to give way to the chill of the desert night.

Simon looked straight ahead.

"You've gotten more handsome," he said.

"You haven't gotten better at changing the subject," Tommy said.

"I don't want to talk about it, ok?"

"That's fine, but you do realize how weird this feels for me, right? I haven't seen you in years, and you turn up looking for me here in Vegas. Then, you freak out on me and won't tell me why."

"Why do they even have churches here?"

Tommy blinked. "What?"

Simon pointed at the angular, modern-designed church they now stood in front of. Guardian Angel Cathedral, again. What was it about this place?

A faint glow from within illuminated the stained glass. Figured climbed heavenward, grasping, reaching, clutching at anything in order to be saved from the fire engulfing the tiny Las Vegas below, inhabited by workers of iniquity holding the twin masks of comedy and tragedy. The effect was one of fear and spiritual smallness, which took hold in Tommy's heart as he stared at the window.

"I don't know. It just seems foolish to build a church in a place that wants none of it, don't you think?"

Tommy scratched his ears. "Not really, I don't guess. The bible says that God is love. Maybe a place like this is the place that needs that love the most."

Simon didn't answer, but flattened his ears and turned away from the cathedral's south portico. Tommy, tail lashing, followed and the two continued walking, away from the lights, scents, and noises of the Strip.

---

"It's not much, but it's home," Tommy said, holding the peeling red door to let Simon inside.

The fox had not spoken in more than an hour, and Tommy hadn't pressed him. Best, he thought, to let the fox talk in his own time, and in the meantime for Tommy to sober up somewhat so that he didn't cause any more trauma.

"It's...nice," Simon said, looking at the lone framed picture on the dining room wall--a Vegas postcard Tommy had bought and framed in a frame he found by Le Café's dumpster.

"It's a roof over my head, anyway. Where, uh, where are you staying?"

"Right now I've got a weekly room at the Red Roof Desert Inn. Hopefully I can get a job and that won't be permanent."

The fox stared silently at the framed picture. The tension in the room grew oppressive. Tommy found himself uncertain of what to do or say. Simon had always been quiet, but now his silence took on a hollow, bitter ring.

"Can I get you anything? I've got a few beers and some soda in the fridge, and ice, if you want it."

"No, thank you, Thomas."

"Tell me what happened to you, Simon. You didn't used to pull back like you did at the bar."

"I didn't--I mean, I've never kissed anyone where I could be seen--"

"That isn't what I meant," Tommy said, pulling up one of the thinly padded, rickety dinette chairs. "I meant when I grabbed your arm. You were terrified of me. I could see it. I could definitely smell it."

"Thomas, I don't want to talk about it. Please?"

The fox turned from the Las Vegas picture, crossing to where Tommy sat, and pulled up a second chair next to him.

The warmth of the fox's shoulder and thigh touching Tommy's conjured memories of when they'd sat together in the backmost pew when they were small, maybe 11 or 12, listening to the pastor preach the End of Times and the sins of the outside world. Tommy frowned at the memory, pushing it away.

"I won't make you talk about it, Simon."

"I want to talk about something else, though. About what happened to you."

Tommy shook his head, flattening his ears. "I don't. It's in the past. I don't want to remember it, or think about it."

"No, that's not what I meant. I've got to say this now or I'm going to lose my nerve, Thomas." The fox halted, swallowing, squeezing his eyes shut. "I love you. I love you...like that."

Tommy blinked, ears perking forward, and looked down at the shorter fox sitting next to him, who had put his paw on Tommy's thigh.

His eyes flooded with tears he couldn't restrain.

"I know. I've always known that, Simon. I loved you then, too."

"What about now?"

Simon stared at him, eyes wide and hopeful. Tommy's heart writhed in the agony of it.

"I can't say... It's been years. I don't--I don't know if I believe in love in that way any more."

Simon stood up and rounded on Tommy, placing his paws on the coyote's shoulders and leaning closely in. Before he could react, Simon was straddling him in the chair, grinding against him, leaning in close, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, head tilted. His lips pressed to Tommy's. It was the coyote's turn now to resist, but like Simon had, he melted into the kiss, opening his mouth and feeling the fox's tongue invade, desperate and needy.

The heat of desire grew. Tommy slipped his paws to Simon's waist, then around behind, gripping his rump through the thin fabric of his trousers. Simon's tail lashed excitedly back and forth. He let out a little whimper.

"I believe in it. It's all I have," he whispered after breaking the kiss.

"I--"

Tommy felt his equilibrium shift backwards suddenly. Without warning, the rickety metal of the chair had reached its maximum load. The fox and coyote hit the floor when the chair's rear legs bent and sheared off, sending them tumbling to the smooth, dusty concrete of the floor. Tommy giggled uncontrollably, perhaps a remnant of the alcohol in his system from the bar. Simon looked aghast. He pinned his ears and looked away in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry"

"It was a shitty dinette chair I found at a thrift store. Don't worry about it. Come on. I know a place that's better for this."

Disentangling himself from the fox, Tommy stood up and helped Simon to his feet, leading him by the paw into the dark bedroom.

In the darkness, Tommy pulled Simon close and leaned in to kiss him again. Neither side resisted when their muzzles met, their tongues dancing together in passionate need. Old memories faded, hovering at the edges of Tommy's mind like ever-present fog. One memory clung tightly, though.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

"I've never wanted anything more in my life."

"Ok. Wait here."

Tommy fumbled his way to the bathroom, shutting the door before turning on the light. When he did flip it on, his eyes protested vociferously the sudden searing brightness of the incandescent bulbs. Was this going to actually happen? Was he getting another chance?

The coyote whispered a silent thanks, and set about his prep. He couldn't expect Simon to know how to prepare himself for this kind of thing. After a few minutes, when he'd finished, he left his clothes in a forgotten heap on the floor, grabbed a bottle of lubricant from his medicine cabinet, and flipped the lights off in the bathroom, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.

The faint glow from the windows illuminated the scene just enough. Simon had stripped down to his underwear--tighty whiteys--and lay on the bed staring expectantly at the door in the direction Tommy had disappeared.

The sight of the silhouetted fox nearly naked shot Tommy's cock back to full erection instantly, his shaft standing at full, dripping attention like a sexual compass pointing to his own personal True North.

"Is this okay?"

"For a start," Tommy grinned.

He leaned over the bed, kissing the fox again and stroking his tummy fur, teasing the elastic band of the underwear. The teasing set the fox to breathing in nervous, fluttery little gasps.

With one finger, he traced the outline of the fox's proportionally large member through the underwear. The scent of the fox's musky arousal made Tommy's mouth water. It was exactly the scent he remembered: slightly exotic, masculine, needy, and above all, meant for Tommy.

Simon let out a little squeak when the coyote's paw pad brushed firmly against the stiffening bulge inside the white fabric.

"You're overdressed, fox."

Tommy leaned over Simon's smaller frame, burying his muzzle in the fox's neck, nibbling and licking, letting his teeth and tongue provide those little electric sensations that he himself loved so much, while his paws tugged downward and relieved the fox of his underwear. The rush of musk and the scent of arousal grew thick in the dry desert air.

Muzzle to muzzle now, the pair kissed without hesitation or restraint, their mouths open and their tongues exploring the recesses of each other, dancing the familiar dance of seduction. Tommy knelt on the bed itself now, bed springs creaking and squeaking at the additional weight. The fox's paws ran along Tommy's back, desperately clinging to the coyote as though if they did not, he'd vanish. Simon's fingers traced the webwork of tension in Tommy's back muscles, rubbing each one just a little. If this kept up, the coyote was going to melt into a puddle!

Simon's paws worked their way down to Tommy's waist, and gripped and massaged his buttocks, fingers toying just briefly directly under the coyote's tail, much to his surprise and enjoyment.

Tommy lowered himself onto the fox so that their cocks were now rubbing together, like two sticks of firewood. His own shaft released drop after drop of slick precum, which smeared between the two, intensifying the pleasure of the action. The coyote rocked his hips more forcefully, feeling the pressure begin to build slowly inside him for release.

He smiled down at the fox in the darkness, reaching between them to give his cock a stroke, and to fondle his sac. Simon gasped at the touch, thrusting upward in reaction and whimpering.

"Are you ready to go all the way?"

"Y-yes. Please."

Tommy leaned in close and licked the fox's muzzle and cheek before popping open the tube of lubricant. He dispensed just enough onto his paw and reached under his tail, smearing the slick gel on and inside his hole. Forcing himself to relax was always the hardest part of this, but experience made it much easier than it had once been.

"Here," he said, gripping the fox's shaft and covering it with the remainder of the lube on his paw.

"Ohhh," Simon moaned, thrusting against Tommy's grip. Tommy let go and rolled onto his back, placing the fox between his calves.

"Ok, foxie. Just take it easy and you'll really enjoy yourself."

"You want me to--oh! I see, you want me to be the male."

Tommy restrained a wince.

Remember where you both came from.

"Yeah," he said, rolling his hips forward to allow the fox easier access. The fox's tail wagged. Tommy took hold of the fox's member again, giving it a loving stroke, and drawing it down towards its target. Simon leaned forward, bracing himself above Tommy on both arms to compensate. Finally, he was close enough that Tommy felt the tip of Simon's cock pushing on his pucker.

"Ok. Just push forward a little more..."

When he did, Tommy felt himself being opened and filled. The fox was very well hung for his size. He was no stallion in a restroom stall but he managed to push himself right against Tommy's sweet spot. Tommy moaned involuntarily, tightening around the fox and rocking his hips just a few inches, very slowly, so as not to let that beautiful shaft slip out of him.

"Are you okay?"

Tommy opened his eyes to the fox staring at him, ears forward, eyes wide.

"I'm fine, sweetie. You don't have to worry about me."

With a nod, and a little squeeze from Tommy, Simon leaned forward and kissed the coyote. The action shifted his weight, and he pushed inside him all the way to the hilt. Tommy felt the tight little sac brushing against his cheeks and moaned again, feeling the pulse throbbing in his own shaft.

Tommy ran his paws along Simon's sides, then wrapped his arms around him and stroked his back as he had done for Tommy. The fur on the fox's back was intermittent in places, and smooth, hard streaks of skin ran through it. Scars?

Before he could say anything, Simon kissed him again and grabbed his paws, shoving them down to his hips. Tommy gripped him tightly, slipping those paws around to the tight little ass and pulling him deeper inside the coyote.

How could this be a sin? How could a loving God deny us this feeling?

Simon grunted with each thrust, and pressed his paws into Tommy's shoulders for balance. The fox's weight wasn't much but the act of being somewhat restrained made the coyote squirm. He ground himself into the fox's advances, whimpering and moaning each time he hilted and that thick meat pressed against the coyote's insides.

Simon had more stamina than Tommy would've guessed. Tommy would have climaxed by now, if his partner had moved the same way he was doing now. The fox's thrusts had grown needier, more desperate. Faster. Harder. He panted and grunted and dug his meager claws into Tommy's shoulders, which nearly pushed Tommy over the edge to climax right then and there.

"I-I'm--"

Simon didn't have a chance to finish before his words devolved into a panting, snarling roar of pent-up ecstasy. Tommy was squeezing the fox's cock so tightly inside himself that he felt every twitch as the hot seed shot deep inside. The fox pushed forward one last time at the end of his climax and Tommy felt the pop of his growing knot slip inside him. Damn it! Why hadn't he stopped that?

Because you didn't want to.

Simon collapsed on top of him, panting. He tried to roll over, then, off of Tommy, which jerked the coyote with him and causing a sharp pain.

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize­-"

"It's fine. Just don't try to pull out. Also, you're not finished yet."

"What?"

Tommy grabbed his paw and shoved it against his cock, grinding against his pawpads as best he could given the fact that he was currently tied to the fox.

Simon stroked him, giving him a little squeeze at the tip each time, just as he had once done. The memory of the scent of the hay loft swirled in his nose with the present scent of the fox's and his own arousal.

Before he was ready, his body tensed. Fire and ice and electricity coursed through the coyote's veins. His vision was fireworks. He shot load after load of sticky, musky seed. It splashed onto the fur of his chest, and upward onto Simon as well.

Simon coughed and wiped his chin. Apparently Tommy had hit him in the muzzle.

The coyote collapsed deeper into the thin mattress, every nerve in his body tingling with the overwhelming sense of release. After a few minutes, during which his mind wandered in the darkness to thoughts of God and a warm glow of rightness, he felt Simon's knot, now shrinking, slip free of him, and he sank into slumber.

---

The morning sunlight broke through the dusty bedroom windows, punching Tommy in the face with its chipper intensity.

He slid his arm across the surface of the mattress, bumping into something furry. Someone was in his bed? Who...?

"Good morning, Thomas," Simon purred. The bedsprings squeaked with him rolling over to face Tommy. The coyote's head throbbed in pain.

"Remind me not to drink again."

"Well, it is a sin after all." The fox's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Memories of last night came rushing back in the warm glow of morning. Tommy reached out with a paw and stroked Simon's cheek fur.

"Any regrets?"

Simon shook his head. "No. None. Other than not finding you sooner."

"How long did it take you?"

The fox rolled over to face him. "A few weeks. I had to get settled and learn the lay of the land before I could really try to find you, and then, I was scared."

"We didn't exactly part on good terms."

Silhouettes, red eyes.

"Thank you for last night. I didn't know whether you would accept me."

Tommy rubbed his eyes. "People change. If there's one thing I do believe in, it's redemption."

The coyote swung his paws over the bedframe, whose springs sung their discordant notes in protest, and got up, padding his way into the bathroom to clean up.

As the shower poured over him and the daylight shone brightly in through the translucent bathroom window, Tommy's enjoyment of the previous night now weighed on his conscience.

He'd been drinking. That was a bad mistake before taking someone to bed. Simon had been so cautious, so careful, but that need...that was new. In the harsh light of day, maybe bedding the fox hadn't been a good idea. Tommy was so much more experienced now than Simon. Had he manipulated Simon into sex without realizing it?

He played the evening back through his mind, even the fuzzy bits as best he could. Why did he even care? It wasn't like it was any different than any of the other 50 males he'd fucked or sucked off or been fucked by! Of course he'd manipulated them into sex, one by one. He'd preyed on exactly what they needed, what they wanted more than anything but thought they had to deny themselves. He'd been like those succubus demons the Pack had preached about.

Their theology doesn't matter. Keep to your own.

"It's not important," he muttered, and gargled some of the shower water, spitting out the worst of that morning-breath feeling.

After drying himself, he pulled on a pair of pants that he'd left lying on the floor.

When he'd opened the bathroom door the scent of frying eggs and bacon slammed into his nose. The coyote's mouth watered and his stomach growled loudly enough he was afraid it would rattle the windows. He even found himself panting as he passed from the bedroom into the corner of the dining room that passed for a kitchen. Simon stood at the stove, working in his underwear and undershirt at the battered and half-functional stove.

"Your back two eyes don't work."

"Yeah. Landlord won't fix them either. Cheapskate."

"Sit down and I'll bring your breakfast over to you in a second."

The coyote obeyed, sitting very carefully on one of the three chairs remaining to his rickety dinette set and picking at the imitation gold flecks embedded in the off-white tabletop.

"You didn't have to cook, you know."

"I know," Simon said, flashing a grin, "But it's the least I could do after last night."

Tommy's cheeks and ears burned. This was all too fast. Way too fast. His heart raced and his mouth grew dry. He watched the fox work, flipping the eggs over on the hot skillet. Skinny though the fox was, Tommy could make out the lines of the muscles in his arms and shoulders beneath the russet fur. From beneath the fabric of the shirt, Tommy could also make out the edges of those furless patches he'd felt last night. The bright pink of relatively fresh scars glowed brightly in the daylight.

He resolved to ask about it when Simon might be more talkative.

The fox brought over a plate of two fried eggs, over easy, toast, and four slices of bacon.

"There's more over here if you want some. I don't know how much you prefer to eat."

"Thanks. Smells delicious."

Simon prepared himself a place. Tommy bowed his head quietly over the food, offering thanks for it.

Simon clattered loudly as he dropped his plate onto the table and snorted.

"Something wrong?"

The fox raised an eyebrow.

"Not really. Just not certain why you're still doing that."

"What? Praying?"

"Yeah."

Tommy furrowed his brow.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Simon snorted and shook his head. "It's not important. Don't worry about it."

What the hell was that, completely out of nowhere? Tommy ate his eggs and bacon in silence.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so snappy," Simon said.

Tommy shook his head. "I'm not angry. I'm just confused. It doesn't seem like you to be that way."

"You haven't seen me in a few years."

"No. I haven't," Tommy said, dropping his fork. "But every time I try to get to know something about you, about what happened after I left, you clam up or freak out."

"Maybe I just don't like talking about horrible things that happened to me."

Tommy growled. "And yet you sought out the one person from your past who was guaranteed to bring them up. Why would you do that? Did you think I was not going to talk about what happened to me, or ask about what happened to you?"

"I thought maybe, yes, you'd have that much respect." Simon sighed and looked down at his plate. "We don't have to dwell on the past, Thomas. We're together, now. Why don't we worry about the present and the future?"

Tommy slammed his fist on the table, rattling the cheap plates.

"The past is all I've got. I don't have a future, Simon. I don't have a future. You left me to the mercy of the Pack and didn't bother to speak up at all. You sat there like a coward while your parents and my parents and the Elders all passed that fucked up judgment!"

The younger fox winced, though whether it was at the anger or the swearing Tommy couldn't decide.

"I was afraid! I'm sorry Thomas, I know I was a coward. I thought maybe if I could just get them to see that it was all a mistake that they'd let you come back. I tried for years Thomas. I wanted you to come home. I wanted to see you more than anything. I prayed for it every day, at every prayer. I begged God to let you come home."

"God?" Barked the coyote, "God made me this way Simon. I wish he hadn't but he did. I prayed too. I prayed every night, from that first time I kissed you, for God to take away the sickness and make me better. I didn't want to be a queer. I wanted to be a good Christian in God's eyes."

Tommy stood up and paced.

"Do you know what I learned after all that praying?"

Simon shook his head.

"I learned that God doesn't change who we are. We do that. And some things we can't change."

Simon sniffled. "You really want to know what happened to me? After the Pack was done with you, after you got kicked out, I tried to be the good son I used to be. The pack believed my parents that you'd been a demonic influence and that I wasn't to blame for the sins I'd committed with you. They decided that God would forgive me if I prayed for forgiveness and salvation.

"I did. I prayed. All my spare time, I spent alone in my room, kneeling in front of my bed, praying for God to change me, just like you did. Praying for God to forgive me for letting myself give in to lust for another male. And every night, I did penance. My father knew for a fact that you hadn't coerced me into anything. He punished me. He used a scourge and he beat me while he...he..."

Simon stammered and began crying, his chest heaving with the weight of his sobs.

Tommy crossed to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Simon buried his face in Tommy's chest and sobbed.

"It's ok. You're not there now. You don't have to go back. You don't have to see them ever again."

Simon's head snapped up, eyes narrow and red with tears.

"They're my family, Thomas. And I lost them because of you. Because of us. If I hadn't given in, if I'd been stronger, I could have gone on believing the fairy tale and neither of us would have had to leave. We could have been happy."

"Happy? Ignorant you mean. I started actually reading real scripture once I left. That stuff they teach, it's not Christianity. I can't bring myself to hate it because of what they tried to twist it into. I said last night that I don't know if I believe in love. That isn't true. I do believe in love. That's what God is to me. But that's my belief. It's personal. That's what the Pack doesn't understand. You can't force anybody to believe what you believe, and to believe that it's the only right answer."

"It doesn't make any sense. Even after the way you got treated, and get treated--Oh yes, I've seen the preachers on the street corners here calling people walking by the bars those awful names." Simon moved to the window, staring out at the empty, dusty street.

"The apostates have a word for what the Pack is," he said. "Bigots. Hateful, close-minded bigots. If you think God has anything to do with what happened to me, you're as delusional as the Pack is."

"I am not delusional!" Tommy said, suppressing a growl. Firm, but still as kind as he could manage.

"Then why do you still believe in the fairy tale?" Simon asked, looking back. His goldenrod eyes looked into Tommy, and through him.

"Because I'm afraid we're alone," he said, feeling suddenly as though heavy weights were attached all over his body. "Because somebody needs to show other people that you can believe without hate."

Simon sighed. "I shouldn't have come here. I thought we would think alike."

"Just because we don't, doesn't mean we can't--"

"Where's the future in it, Thomas? We'll get married, have kids? We're deviants. Perverts. Not just in the eyes of religion, but the law, and people in general. Everything we did is illegal. If we're going to face all that, we'd have to be united. And we're not."

Tommy shoved his paws into his pockets. Maybe Simon had a point after all? What good did holding onto beliefs do if it was going to push away the only people who would accept him? His fingers caught on something flat and stiff. He pulled it out. The six-striped rainbow back of two playing cards stared back at him.

"I do set my bow in the clouds..."

"What?"

"I used to wonder why gay people decided to use the rainbow as their symbol. Remember how much the pastor railed against it. We weren't even allowed to draw rainbows."

"Yeah. And?" The fox blinked and looked at him, head tilted.

"I always thought it was weird. But once I got out here, I decided that if I was a sinner in the eyes of God anyway that I was going to do everything I could to earn that place in Hell. I bought these cards from somebody, and I started leaving one with every guy I had a one night stand with. I didn't figure that it mattered because sin is sin."

Simon folded his arms, but didn't say anything.

"So I 'ran through the pack' as the gamblers say. But the more I did, the more I found that the males I slept with were just as hurt and lost as I was, mostly. And I realized that the rainbow meant the same thing to them as it does to believers. Hope. Hope, and love."

He slipped one of the two cards out of his paw and flipped it over.

The king of hearts.

"My last two cards in the deck. I want to give this one to you. But I don't want it to mean I walk out like I have 50 other times."

Simon reached up to take the proffered card, cradling it in his paws gently as though it were made of thin glass and might shatter at any moment.

"Fifty-one." The fox said through gritted teeth.

"What?" Tommy's ears flattened.

"You walked out fifty-one times. You walked out on me. You left me with those monsters at the compound!" he shrieked, hurling his plastic drink cup.

Tommy's hackles raised, his tail lashing.

"I walked out on you? Simon you wouldn't say a word in my defense at my so-called "trial." You just stood there looking sullen and let them pass that judgment without saying a word. You let them blame me for corrupting you. I just wanted you to be happy, and I figured that you'd made your choice! You certainly looked like it."

"You could have said something! You should have! You let your parents, and my parents, split us up when, if we were going to be driven out we could have gone together. Instead you left me to that-that thing I called a father. He decided he was going to cure me his own way. These scars--" Here, Simon ripped off the undershirt he'd been wearing and turned, revealing thick, crisscrossed pink, furless gashes all down his back. "These happened because you abandoned me! And these--" he turned and raised the soft fur of his belly to reveal a series of even, thin cuts-- "These were my only escape. The pain was the only thing I could control."

Tommy felt lightheaded as the swirl of anger, regret, and sympathy raged inside him. He nearly fell, but caught himself on the back of the dinette chair.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You've got a funny way of showing it. I don't trust anybody who still clings to their fairy tales after what happened to me. I'm sorry that includes you."

He stormed off into the bedroom, leaving Tommy alone in the small dining area. Dull, aching pain spread through his chest. He replayed the conversation in his mind, trying to figure out exactly where things had gone off the rails, but before he could think for very long, Simon reappeared, fully dressed, though sans tie and with his jacket flung over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my hotel."

"Oh."

"Listen, Thomas--"

"Call me Tommy, Simon. I meant to say that before."

"All right. Tommy. I know you've got good intentions. I do. And I'm sorry for hurting you like I did, and letting everything happen without standing up for you. I think we both made mistakes that day."

Tommy nodded, fighting back a surge of emotion while managing to keep his face a mask.

"I guess I just thought that you'd feel the same way about religion after what you went through. I know it wasn't as severe as what my father did but I hoped."

Tommy nodded, feeling the weight of memory pressing down on him. "I understand why you feel the way you do. But what I believe doesn't affect anybody but me. That's the line that I found. The rainbow makes me think of hope and love for everybody, not just people who believe the "right" thing.

"And no, we're never going to be able to get married, not like normal people. But I think we can be accepted. And I don't think that taking away anybody's reason for feeling hope is going to make that happen. That's all God is for me, Simon. A reason to hope."

Simon walked slowly to the door, swinging it open. He stopped there, silhouetted in the bright daytime sun of the Mojave.

"Maybe I'll come find you again when I find my reason to hope."

The door swung shut behind him. Tommy sat down in the rickety dinette chair, which creaked in protest.

He wondered, briefly, if any of the males he'd slept with had felt any sense of hope from his playing cards, or if they'd noticed them at all. Did he really matter in their lives? Any of them? Was he just another piece of ass to fill the void in their hearts that they were afraid they could never fill?

A glittering caught his eye on the table. The glass of water he'd been drinking from had caught a ray of sunlight flitting in from a hole in the window blinds. The light refracted onto the table, onto the last rainbow playing card.

Tommy lifted the card and flipped it. Two of Hearts.

"Huh."

He looked back at the door, remembering the silhouette of the fox standing there, hesitating.

"There's always hope."