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Mrs. Whitson escorted me back to the vicarage, her arm wrapped in mine in the perfectly continental style of good friends walking together on a fine summer's afternoon. Speaking for myself, I needed the support. My emotions continued to war within me, less about what I wanted (that, I will admit freely, had never changed) than about how I could know what to do about it, what to say, how even to start, and above all, how to make sure that Fletcher was safe. I still had thousands of questions, although this could also be said of any lovesick fool who knows that he is both those things.

Entering the kitchen, I called softly for Fletcher and, receiving no answer, raised my voice a little louder. Before I could get too worried, the red panda put a forepaw to my arm. "He might be in the annex, Vicar. He's taken to 'shooting hoops' sometimes, as the yowens call it."

"He's all right?" I asked, my voice betraying far too much worry.

"He's been fine. He's starting to trust being outside again. Not far, and not for long, but he's getting only better." She patted my arm, smiling at me. "Like I said, Father Graham -- you've loved him just fine. Now, let me go fetch him; if he's with any of the local yowens, it'll be easier for him to get away if I tell him he's needed in the kitchen."

The firefox moved outdoors, and I found myself wrestling with an entirely new emotion. If I tried tracking it to its roots, it would undoubtedly be some shade of green: I was jealous of the pup's independence. I congratulated myself on identifying it quickly, but I held back a few points for being jealous of the young wolf for seeming not needing me as desperately as he had. The irony of that, versus the talk I wanted to have with him, wasn't lost on me. I smiled ruefully, making my forepaw into a loose fist, kissing it, patting my chest with it gently. "Good one, Boss," I acknowledged.

I felt more than heard the words, Glad you think so.

Taking out my cell, I sent a quick text:Taking your advice. Wish me luck.

Moments later, I felt the phone vibrate in my paw. I could hear the Irish brogue even though his words were typed correctly:I wish you luck. God wishes you love. Let us know what happens.

I will, I typed back. Love to Leif.

Buzz. Just as often as he'll let me.

Chuckling, I pocketed the phone. It was clear that everyone was conspiring to make me get what I truly wanted. It was also clear, now that I thought about it, exactly what that was. I felt far less nervous than I had been earlier. I cast up a quick prayer that I could stay focused on what was important -- Fletcher. I began to feel that it wasn't going to be nearly as difficult as I'd first thought.

Mrs. Whitson entered with the young wolf happily in tow. He came up to where I sat at the kitchen table and threw his arms around me in a warm hug. I could emphasize "warm," as he had indeed worked up a bit of a sweat. This was not in the slightest unpleasant to me, and I hugged him carefully, as I didn't think that even our housekeeper's vaunted discretion needed to be subjected to the sight or sound of me sniffing at my young charge. He pulled away from me, keeping his forepaws on my shoulders, gazing at me with brightness and excitement in his cobalt-blue eyes, chattering just shy of coherency about Will, Pete, and Xavier, how they let him shoot baskets with them, even tried some two-on-two, and he didn't know how to play very well, but they were teaching him, and he was learning how to jump and shoot from downtown, and they liked him, and they kidded around together, and it felt so good to play again, and are you okay, and you should come shoot hoops with us, and...

I laughed so happily, my forepaws resting quite properly on his slender hips as he chattered on and on, until the firefox cleared her throat and wondered when those mushrooms would be sliced and cooked. Fletcher looked at her, a little embarrassed, then he grinned and excused himself for just a quick shower. Off he went, promising to be back in a flash, and he was gone down the hall, stopping at his room for towels and a change. I turned back to look at the red panda, who smiled at me with such fullness that I wondered why I'd put myself through so much pain. I felt two tears fall down my cheeks before I could stop them.

"Still have doubts, Father?" She passed a paper towel to me.

Wiping my eyes, I replied, "Just a proper set of concerns, Mrs. Whitson. Any foster sire wants to keep his yowen happy, healthy, and safe."

"I'm sure that you shall, Father Graham." She leaned over me and kissed me atop my head, hugging me gently to her ample bosom. From such benediction, I felt stronger than I had in many long days.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dinner was a fine stroganoff, with plenty of finely-sliced mushrooms and enough sour cream to cause dieticians to scream about clogging arteries. Happily, there were no dieticians at the table, although Mrs. Whitson did join us to enjoy her and Fletcher's mutual labors. The conversation was light and companionable. It was familial: I was, at least at the moment, the young wolf's foster sire, and there's never been any question in my mind that Mrs. Whitson qualified as being part of the family. It was more heartwarming than anything I'd known in some years.

As the firefox was about to leave for her Wednesday night bingo, the vicarage phone rang. The caller was a young doe named Sheryl who I'd been counseling (perhaps ironically, at this point) in matters of the heart. She and the buck who had sired her had come to see me together, both of them to take their measure of me. The stag had retained custody of the doe when his mate took off with an artist, a spotted leopard of questionable reputation in any number of arenas. Although broken up about the affair, the buck had been raising his yowen well, offering as much support as he could in all areas. What he realized (and I credited him with great insight on this point) was that he wasn't able to be wholly impartial in the doe's discussions about her dating interests. Both had accepted me an impartial ear to listen to the doe's concerns and the stag's as well; happily, such concerns were quite innocent, focusing mostly on those ordinary bits of adolescent embarrassment that were more social than anything else. That particular evening, the yowen's issue was how to separate a crush from a genuine interest in a young male she had met over ice cream at a bowling party she'd attended. I was tempted to ask if she'd shared a banana split with him, but explaining the joke would have been awkward at best.

The doe was mindful of time and didn't, as many of us sometimes do, take up hours to say little or nothing. She had a few questions, and I helped her to find answers and directions as best I could. She thanked me most sweetly and, after only some twenty-five minutes, she rang off. I sent up a brief prayer of gratitude for seeming to have helped, then took one more moment to ask just a little more help before going off to find Fletcher.

Often, when I'm at my desk in the study, the young wolf would sit on the sofa in the living room and read, or use the tablet that Leif had bought for him to enjoy interactive quizzes on his studies. It was always a particularly companionable time; it was good to feel him close by, even when we weren't actively engaged with one another. (Sometimes, he'd offer a quiet "darn-it" when getting a question wrong; he'd ask me the question, and I didn't always get it right. We learned together, as couples do.) He wasn't there in the living room, perhaps feeling that he needed to give me a little privacy for my call. I found him instead seated on his bed in his room, a place more often used for reading than sleeping. At the moment, he was doing neither. He looked up at my approach, a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite read. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"Oh, fine. A member of the congregation that I've been counseling a little bit. She'll be fine." How flimsy that word is...fine. It doesn't really mean anything in this context, does it? Just a word to hedge with. I paused, did my best to smile disarmingly, and asked, "Is it okay if we talk?"

The young wolf nodded, his own smile more than a little mischievous. "I'd like that, especially if we can cuddle. It's Wednesday night."

"Yes, it is." I couldn't help but grin back at him. I found myself feeling like I was his age again, and some older part of me was raising an eyebrow. I paid it no mind. Fletcher rose from his bed and hugged me tightly, and I returned the gesture no less enthusiastically. My heart beat just a little more quickly for being with him, providing but one of the many romantic clichés that I was certain I would experience this night. I pet his soft headfur so very gently, and before I could enact too many more clichés, I gave him one last squeeze and separated from him enough to lead him to what I had long since begun to think of as our bedroom.

On other nights, the pup had been quick to doff his clothes, still somehow so sweetly shy in his enthusiasm. This night, he stood next to the bed and took my forepaws into his. "Should we stay dressed a while?"

"Might be a little less distracting," I grinned at him. He grinned back, and we sat together on the bed, my back to the wall, he tucked into my embrace, his cheek to my chest, a posture we had shared often over these weeks. I pet him gently, took a breath, and began. "Fletcher, I love you so very much. And I've been thinking a lot about the rules, and about what we've been doing." I felt him flinch slightly, and I tightened my grip. "Don't be afraid. I promise it's okay. In fact..." I swallowed. "I've been thinking about... breaking the rules. And I want to know how you feel about that."

A long silence followed. My only comfort was that I felt him relax in my embrace. My forepaw kept caressing his headfur gently. "I think I know what you mean, about how I feel. You mean, how I feel about breaking rules."

"Yes," I affirmed softly. "I've been trying to teach you to obey the rules, because that's what adults are supposed to do. We teach a lot of rules to yowens that we adults break all the time. Were you ever told not to run with scissors?"

He chuckled a little against me. "Yeah. Now you say it, I remember my dam saying..." He broke off and just nodded.

"Very wise, your dam." I kissed him atop his forehead. "In truth, it's a smart thing to keep in mind, no matter how old we are! Adults may break that rule, though, because they think they're being more careful, and that a yowen might not know how to do that yet. And there are other rules..."

"Some rules are meant to be broken, in the right circumstances." The young wolf pulled away from me a little, his face telling me that mine must be screwed up in a question mark. "When you went for your phone call, Mrs. Whitson talked to me for a few minutes. She said that you'd probably want to talk tonight, about rules." His years splayed slightly. "I had the feeling that she knew about what we'd been doing, but I didn't say anything, and she didn't talk about it. She said that she couldn't talk about what she never saw. She told me that she could see how much you love me, and how much I love you, and when she hugged me, she told me that she loved me too. She said part of becoming an adult is knowing when obeying a rule hurts more than it protects. I remember that phrase. She said it twice. And then she said that hurting is usually a sign that something's wrong. Pain, she said, is how your body tells you that something's the matter, like being cut, or straining a muscle. Heart-pain is worse, she said, and it needs healing too. She said she didn't believe in rules that hurt."

He stopped, his eyes holding mine, and he let the moment stretch. I swallowed, managed a weak smile. "She's very wise, our housekeeper. She came to see me in the church this afternoon, to talk about rules. She told me a lot of the same things. And I think there are rules that really do protect, or they're supposed to. There are some rules that didn't keep you safe, did they?"

He shook his head gently. "It's not the rules' fault. OtherMaster broke those rules. Those rules shouldn't be broken. Breaking those rules hurt." He took up my forepaw in his own again. "There's a rule against stealing a yowen from his family. There's a rule about keeping someone a prisoner. There's a rule about... hurting someone, even if he isn't a yowen, but especially if he is. Leif told me a little about that one, long time ago. He said that the rule talks about... sex with a yowen, but that it's about the yowen being hurt, being afraid, having things done to him that he doesn't want, feeling afraid of what will happen if he doesn't do them."

"Like throwing you out. And you're right, Fletcher, I wouldn't have done that, but I didn't want there even to be the slightest fear in your mind. That's why I've been waiting so long -- to be sure. Like when we've cuddled together... it's what we both want, isn't it?"

"Yes." The young wolf smiled, so very sweetly. "And I've told you that I want you. You've told me that you want me, too."

"I do." I swallowed. "I want you very much, Fletcher. And I've worried over what the rules say. I've thought about breaking the rules."

"Graham." He whispered my name, tasted it, looking deep into my eyes. "I want... Maybe I'm trying to get 'too adult' all at once or something, but I really do want you. I love you, and I know the difference between doing something that hurts and doing something that doesn't. The rule about not... doing sex with a yowen, one who's too young... the rule itself doesn't hurt you. I mean, it's not like you're wanting to hurt kits and pups all over the place. It's about me in particular, and because neither of us knows how old I am." He touched my cheek tenderly. "Maybe I'm older than I think I am. Or maybe I want to be. Maybe we're not really breaking the rule after all. But if we are... then_we_are."

It took me a moment to realize that what I'd seen in his eyes earlier, what I saw there now, was hope. It was the look of someone who had made a decision and is hoping that it was the right one. He had put all of his trust into me, and I took a silent vow that I would never betray him. "Fletcher, I want to be sure that I don't hurt you, even by accident. So I'm going to ask you things. I apologize if this seems clumsy of me. I want to love you the right way." I smiled easily at the phrase, as did he. "We're going to try a new way, and we both want it to be right."

The young wolf nodded. "I think I understand."

I returned his nod. "Have you ever kissed? Lips to lips?"

"Not..." He considered a little longer, his face knotted up into a frown. "I don't think it was supposed to be a kiss, really. More like OtherMaster told me not to swallow, and the little shiba inu was supposed to take it from me..."

Breaking eye contact, I did my best not to show the mix of pain and laughter that tried to build up in me. The pain came from fearing that the dog might have been some other playtoy of the sadist who had kept Fletcher prisoner for so long; the laughter came from the recognition of what is popularly known as a "snowball," and that Merrill had once caught me by surprise with the maneuver. "I don't think that's quite the same... at least, it's not what I have in mind. I can't promise that you'll like it, but if you'd like to try..."

"You mean it as love." He nodded. "Yes. I want to try."

I moved slowly, giving him ample time to take back his request, if he so desired. I felt him tremble slightly as we drew nearer, and finally, my closed lips touched his. I heard a small grunt from him, something that held the pitch of a delicate whine. My own breath caught, and I hoped that he felt even a hundredth of the emotions that flowed through me. I reached out my forepaw to touch his chest through his shirt, and in a flash, I felt his forepaw cover my own, pressing it against him, much as he had during our other intimate moments. I tilted my head a little to the side, made tiny movements with my lips, felt him imitate me in a beautiful counterpoint. The kiss lingered for some time, and I slowly moved to break it, feeling him follow me backward for just a moment, as if reluctant to stop. He did break away, though, and after he did, his muzzle opened a little as he panted very gently, his eyes half-lidded to regard me with a great complexity of emotion.

"Graham..." he whispered, then gulped. "Am I supposed to feel...?"

I pet him tenderly. "Tell me how you feel, my angel."

"Wings," he barked softly at me, smiling. "Like my heart has wings. Like I could... like I'm..." He paused, ears splaying slightly, his tail making whisking sounds on the comforter behind him, a sense of a blush on his cheeks. "It makes me... want you."

I smiled softly at him. "I kiss better than I thought!" Happily, he joined me. "Fletcher, that was a wonderful kiss. I feel so warm and close with you. It feels like merging my heart with you. Sometimes, a real kiss can be even more intimate than... well, other things."

The wolf cast his sweet eyes up at me again. "Can kissing be part of... other things? Because it made me start to get..." His ears splayed; he still found it difficult to use certain words with me. I took him off the hook by cupping his cheek tenderly with my forepaw and leaning in for another kiss. His own paws flew up to my face, holding me gently as he whined with sweetly desperate need. It seemed sufficient permission for me to let my lips part a little, to tease with my tongue, and Fletcher mimicked my actions with a squirming eagerness that spoke volumes about what he was feeling, what he was wanting... what I was wanting...

This kiss took much longer to break, and both of us were winded by it. We huffed like old-time train engines up hills as we looked at each other for a long moment. In a flash, we had our arms around each other, pressing close, holding tight, barely daring to move. The feeling foremost in me was an excitement that bordered on fear, exhilaration, exhortation, unlike anything I'd felt in far too long. There was still some puritanical mini-dog in my mind, frowning, tisking, tutting, disapproving of anything and everything that was happening. It was easy to imagine a great forepaw picking up the little cur by the scruff of the neck, setting him gently onto a low stool in a corner somewhere, and with a simple gesture admonishing him to keep his maw shut.

Part of me was able to remember the real purpose behind all this. "Fletcher," I managed, leaning a little away from him, "I want so very much to rush forward. And I know we need to slow down just a little." I took his forepaws into my own, kissed them, squeezed them. "I want you, more than anything, and I love you... and that's why we need to be just a little careful." My eyes locked on his, I swallowed, and took the last chance. "I want to be able to keep what we do separate from Othertime."

The young wolf flinched just a little, but then he nodded. "I think I understand. Try words?"

I nodded.

"When we looked through the book together... when we've been able to talk about things done to me, things I was forced..." He breathed carefully, continued, his voice more steady than I'd have imagined. "I know that anything you do to me, with me, it's because we want it, together. And I am Fletcher, and you are Graham, and we are in Nowtime, safe and loving. But actual things, like we talked about... It's different, and you want to make sure I know it's different. That it's safe, real, and different from all that. You've already done that. Twice." He smiled at me, a warmth of love that left me no room to doubt anything. "You let it be safe for me to touch myself, to give myself an orgasm." (I guess it was only natural that he'd be more able to use that word by now.) "And you kissed me. My first ever. That's never happened before, and it's wonderful. Thank you, Graham."

Gently, I pet his head, smiling. "Do you want more, Fletcher?"

"I want everything," he grinned. "I don't even know where to start. So I want you... Graham, I joked with you, weeks ago, about me calling you Master." He squeezed my forepaws in his. "Not Master. But you know far more about... real loving than I do. I'm not saying tell me what to do, not like that. I mean..." He hesitated, tried once more. "Show me. Teach me," he whispered.

"Yes," I whispered back. "And you can teach me, too."

His eyebrows crossed gently. "What do I know..."

"You know yourself," I said. "You can teach me You. What makes you feel good, what you want to try, what you want and don't want. We learn from each other, just like we've been doing all along. It's what lovers do. Leif and Wyatt learned each other; they're still learning. It's the most fun class you'll ever be in."

"You already know I love to learn," the wolf grinned. "Hope it turns out I like to teach, too."

* * * * * * * * * *

The student is not above the teacher, but everyone who is fully trained will be like his teacher. (Luke 6:40)

I roused myself slightly from my light doze, having no particular sense of time and not caring in the slightest. There was a real possibility that it was a good six or seven hours since Fletcher and I had begun our conversations, and I was reasonably certain that this was the third doze I'd let myself drift up from during the course of the evening. The whisper of a smile played across my muzzle as the memories of this extraordinary night returned to me with an incredible accuracy and completeness. It was easy for me to imagine Merrill grinning at me, cheering me, happy for me. There was no sadness in the image, just a touch of melancholy and the recognition of love, then and now, in its most intimate form.

I glanced at Fletcher as he dozed near to me. There wasn't a bit of fear in him, just a slight uncertainty and a desire for both of us to discover each other in all the best ways. We felt a need to rush and to slow down, to ask and simply to do, to treasure and pleasure and give ourselves to each other. Both of us had experiences of the past, his being attached originally to Othertime, but we gave into a mutual wonder that let everything be new to us. We let ourselves be newborn.

Like the kisses, we found ourselves breathless in our exploration. The wolf let me lead, and his responses felt something like adoration. In this, he was not alone, as I found myself reaching out to him with more than merely my forepaws. We mirrored each other's actions, memorizing each touch, each hesitant motion. For me, at least, every moment was a discovery in every sense and sensation, and the look in Fletcher's eyes reflected this as well. It amazes me somehow that it took so very long until we were fully undressed, until we lay facing one another, gazing in such wonder at each other's faces as our paws moved carefully, perhaps even reverently, curious and respectful explorers, at last touching each other's swollen desire...

There was nothing crude or pornographic in either the actions or my memories of them. The yowen whined softly, his entire body trembling, mine no less so. My list of lovers had not been extensive before Merrill, and he and I sated one another's sexual appetites sufficiently that I enjoyed no others when we were together. The possibility existed, but we simply didn't find any others to love that way. Philip had been my only lover since then... and yes, I was finally able to call him my lover, even if only for that day, in no small part because of the joys that Fletcher's devotion brought to me on this incredible night.

Our first pleasure was comical, if only for the fact that we (as the wolf had called it that other day) made quite an impressive and unexpected mess between us, and more quickly than either of us had anticipated. Whoever first said that the healthiest thing one can bring to bed is a sense of humor was yet again blessed; in those moments after we'd expressed our barks and yips at the glorious sensations, then had a few moments to get back our breath, we glanced at each other and began laughing. It was Fletcher who managed to say first that we'd made a mess, and we both just kept laughing. As it died down, he kissed me warmly, as if we'd been making love for years. When he withdrew, I had the sense of a blush under his ash-gray fur, and he asked if we should clean up. I smiled softly, rolled him gently onto his back, and began to do just that, my talented Dalmatian tongue exploring his sticky fur with an abandon that I'd not known in a very long time. I cherished the taste, the scent, the anticipation of his swiftly recovering wolf's pride.

Fletcher's sounds were of surprise, of pleasure, perhaps of wonder. I felt his forepaws on my head, caressing, holding. He moved to reciprocate, and I stopped him long enough to ask if he wanted to. He paused only a moment, and I was concerned. Then, there in the darkness, I saw the radiance of his smile, and he called me by name.Yes, Graham, he whispered, I want to. And he did, and we did, and I buried my muzzle into the source of his most intimate scent, and I knew, memorized, worshiped, adored, felt him offer me the same, and after some time, we were again delivered within moments of each other, and we held each other and dozed.

We woke some little time later, and we talked softly, as lovers do. He asked me about Merrill, asking if it was okay that he spoke of him. I told him what had been the greatest love story in the book of my life, wondering if I would be so lucky as to discover that yet another story, no less great, could be written in the pages of my future. There in our darkened room, something in our hearts shone like a beacon, a tiny light just so big, like a candle brought into a nursery, to look in, to reassure, to give comfort in this small, safe place.

Our gentle touches and tender kisses did, to make the terrible joke, make rise our interest. The young wolf was a mixture of innocence and experience, and he fulfilled the truth of being both student and teacher. With some of what he had asked, requested, shown to me, I worried about his connecting it with Othertime, but he used my name often, his focus was on me, whatever it was we were doing. I had been unable to match the pup's potency, and he worried briefly about taking his pleasure without reciprocating. I promised him, ever so gently, that I enjoyed giving to him, letting him take his joy and doze after. He was still dozing now, although not quite fully asleep. I breathed deeply of the thickly-scented air, moved slowly to take the yowen into my arms again. He murred drowsily, pressing himself back against me in our usual spooning pose.

"Hey," he offered in quiet greeting.

"Hey," I returned, nuzzling the back of his neck. "How are you feeling?"

"Wondering if I finally know what Heaven is."

I chuckled softly. "With all my heart, I hope so." I kissed the back of his head, licked gently at an ear as it twitched gently. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Not quite." I heard the smile in his voice. "Been kinda asleep but not really."

"Think we can sleep now?"

"Almost don't want to." He looked over his shoulder. "Look at you for a minute first?"

"Of course."

He rolled over lazily, stretching a little, and turned his muzzle to mine, kissing me tenderly, deeply, drawing back to look into my eyes. Even in the darkness, his cobalt-blue gaze seemed lit from within, warming my heart full to bursting.

"Graham..." He tasted my name gently. "I wish I had words."

"We'll find them, if we need them. Meanwhile, can I use a few of mine?" He nodded and I continued. "I love you, Fletcher. And I don't think I've ever loved so passionately. That's not saying anything against Merrill, and I love you so much for bringing his spirit to our loving. I'm not sure that's going to make much sense right now... I only mean that..." I paused again, a brief chuckle coming up between us. "Maybe I shouldn't have words. Except what I said first. I love you, Fletcher; with all my heart, I do."

"I love you too, Graham. I do." He licked my nose playfully, then produced an uninhibited yawn that reminded me of the first night he came here. He had no reason to apologize for it, as he had raced to do that first night, and somehow, it felt good that he didn't apologize at all. He just smiled and said, "We're going to have a lot of cleaning up to do."

"Worth it." I licked his nose as well, and he giggled, the sound accompanied by that of the swishing of his tail behind him. "I guess we'd better sleep a little."

He nodded, smiling, then took one more pause, one more sweet kiss, then rolled over to spoon with me as he had done for so many nights now. As I held him close to me, it occurred to me that I hadn't said my evening office before all this had started. I smiled to myself, realizing that it was hardly the only rule that I'd broken tonight. I closed my eyes, stilled my heart, but held there all the love that I had experienced this night. I cast upward the thoughts and emotions made into whatever words I could use to express my gratitude. I felt the connection to that which is greater than ourselves, renewed the sense of being a shard of God, shining warmly in the dark night. In my arms, another shard of God fell asleep with me, and my spirit flew with his and with His, crying out_Love_ in a hosanna as divine as the sparks that we truly are.