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"Discrete Details: Part 8"

By S. K. Gwinne

September 2018

Dennis awoke with a headache ad a queasy stomach, blinking slowly at the far wall. He felt around on the mattress, but Diana had gone... if she had ever been there. What time was it? He turned to glance at the clock... six fourteen. That was the shitty thing about alcohol--you fell asleep well, but woke up early. Maybe he didn't drink enough.

He carefully sat up and swung his legs to the side, aware then that he was naked. Diana must have left shortly after he fell asleep, or... well, again, he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't dreamed up the events of the day before. But the hangover was testament enough to validate his bout of insanity. It was like waking from a vivid nightmare to another vivid, painful nightmare.

"I think I'm hungry..." he muttered to himself, holding his temples to contain what felt like his brain trying to escape his skull.

He rose to his feet, tried to work some saliva into his uncomfortably dry mouth, and pulled on a stray T-shirt and pair of boxer-briefs. That would have to be good enough... every time he bent over to grab an article of clothing the blood rushed to his head and renewed his already significant headache. Descending the stairs was tricky business. He paused once, considering whether he should check if Diana was in her own bed, but decided he had come too far to turn back, instead taking slow, shambling steps to the ground floor.

It felt cold, he thought, wishing he had grabbed a set of sweats before coming downstairs. He dragged a throw-cover off the sofa and wrapped it over his shoulders, sufficing with its coverage despite the exposure of his shivering legs. When he turned around the corner he found Diana sitting at the breakfast bar with coffee, typing away on her computer.

"You're awake," he commented, walking toward the chair next to hers.

"I told you," she said very quietly, "I don't really sleep."

"Right..." he mused, taking his seat carefully and laying his head on the counter. "Thanks for being quiet."

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"Headache, shakes, queasy stomach..." he explained, sniffling. He opened his eyes and saw a raisin a few inches away, then scooted his face and extended his tongue, catching the dried piece of fruit and chewing slowly.

"I'll make you breakfast," she said then, standing from her seat and walking into the kitchen. He dreaded the noise that would make, but realized how hungry he was after she said it. "I was going to make eggs, but I can't cut anything up without knives, and I wasn't about to dive into your garbage can by the curb."

"I forgot."

"Granola and milk?" she asked.

"Okay."

He listened to the refrigerator door open and close, then the cabinet. Porcelain tapped the granite countertop and silverware clicked together gently. Then Diana placed a bowl of granola and milk near his face and he sat up to eat. The first couple chews were a little painful, but he suffered through it and continued eating.

"How do you feel emotionally?" Diana asked.

"Right now," he replied, poking at the mound of grain in his bowl, "I don't."

He knew she was watching him, pondering, considering. She had always been that way, watching out for him when he should have been watching out for her. She was very much like their mother in that regard.

"I thought you were doing better," she commented quietly. He paused between bites to glance at her shamefully before returning his attention to his breakfast.

"Me, too."

"When was the last time you hurt yourself?" she asked.

"I didn't--"

"The last time, Dennis," she insisted sternly, but softly. "When was it?"

"I, uh..." he began, trying to remember... trying to forget. "College, I think."

"You mean after the incident with Todd?" she asked.

Dennis nodded and immediately regretted the shaking motion, catching his breath at the sudden burst of pain in his skull.

"Yep, that would be it."

There was a pause, then his sister stood again and walked into the kitchen. He watched her fill a mug with coffee and then grab a small bottle of pills out of her purse. She set four Ibuprofen and the cup of black hangover cure next to his bowl, then returned to her seat.

"Have there been any other bad relationships I don't know about?" she asked. "I mean other than Adam and Todd."

"They weren't that bad," Dennis corrected, shrugging.

"Good relationships don't make people hurt themselves," Diana retorted, her voice heavy with emotion.

"Maybe I'm just broken and it's not about the relationships," Dennis offered, glancing at her sidelong. She glared at him angrily.

"An older cousin taking advantage of you sexually and making you believe he loved you, then turning his back on you and making it seem like your fault when our parents found out?" She closed her hand into a fist and looked away before returning her attention to him. "A drug-abusing, manipulative asshole who trapped your mind with physical and emotional abuse and blamed you for his problems, but wouldn't let you go?" Dennis sighed, letting go of the argument. "There is nothing good about those relationships, Dennis. Nothing."

He nodded and pushed the bowl away from himself, then whispered:

"I know."

"You're not broken," she added, wiping under her eye with a finger, drawing her legs up under her and sitting with them crossed. "But you are messing shit up."

"Yeah..." he mumbled, tossing the pills in his mouth and taking a long drink of coffee to wash them down.

"Does Wes strike you as being like Adam or Todd?" she asked pointedly, and Dennis shook his head slowly, frustrated at the question.

"He's not."

"Then why did you break up with him?"

Dennis shook his head and sighed, staring into his cup of coffee.

"You make it sound like that was the wrong decision," he redirected.

"It was a personal decision," she stated carefully, "and if you don't want me to talk about it I won't... but it must have hurt you enough to go from being more stable and emotionally healthy than I've ever seen to threatening to cut yourself in one day."

"Maybe," he admitted, rolling his neck until it popped. "I just know it felt like being in that cage all over again. At first it was... it was just convenient and fun. We had sex and we liked each other, we hung out... but no one said they loved each other. There were no promises. Then we were boyfriends and I started realizing I had real feelings for him, and he dragged it out of me. I couldn't not be truthful about it, and just like that I was at his mercy." He snapped his fingers for emphasis and the sound rung in his ear painfully. "I've been free from that for six years, and I could just see myself falling back into another relationship that I wouldn't be able to escape from, that would suck everything out of me all over again."

"You just said Wes wasn't like that," she reminded.

"I know," he replied, holding his hands open, not able to explain it any better. "It was just... too fast, too soon, and... we're at different points in life. It just wasn't going to work out."

He looked left and noted Diana's concern, her modicum of acceptance for his reasoning, or at least for where he stood on the issue. His headache was nowhere near resolved, but he knew he only had probably ten or so minutes before he had to get ready for work.

"Do you still want me to stay here with you?" she asked then, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to her with a sober expression.

"Yes," he replied, "of course."

"Then I'll make you a deal," she continued. "I'll stay here, I won't look for somewhere else to rent, but in return for that you're going to start seeing a counselor or therapist at least once a week."

"I can't afford that," Dennis mumbled, looking away.

"I can. Here in a few days we'll be able to afford that easily."

"I can't ask you to--"

"Dennis," Diana interjected seriously, "I'm not going to get another call like last night, with you functionally incoherent, afraid you're going to self-harm. I can't go through the fear of what you might do, thinking you might regress to your condition back in high school or college again. I need to know you realize there's still a problem. Do you realize that?"

He hesitated, spinning his mug on the Formica surface of the breakfast bar. After a moment he nodded his agreement.

"Then I need to know you're getting counseling, talking to a professional. It doesn't matter if you want to or not, if you love me you'll do it. Do you understand?"

Dennis took a deep breath, turned to regard his sister, and nodded.

"Yes," he answered. "I understand."

"I'm not going to lose you?" she asked, her voice heavy with emotion then. She chuckled bitterly. "I just got you back, Dennis, I can't lose you again. I won't make it if you don't."

Dennis swallowed past the lump in his throat, a sort of resolution finding its seat in his heart. He had avoided counselors and therapists and psychiatrists over the years after the first one his parents sent him to. That hadn't been a good experience, or in any way helpful. But they surely weren't all created equal. Maybe he could find one he felt like he could trust.

"You won't lose me," Dennis promised, "I'll go. I will. I'll be okay."

He watched her come off her chair suddenly, features contorted with emotion, and fall into his lap. Her arms fell over his shoulders and hugged his neck, pulling him close to her, and he returned her embrace in kind. Her legs straddled his lap, and he could feel the shuddering, shallow breaths she took with her chest against his. His head pounded with renewed fervor, but he didn't mind it. It felt good to feel loved, even when it came with pain.

---

* * *

Anton shut down another surprised face as he sped through the office. It wasn't difficult, with the exception that no one had expected him in the office on Friday and thus felt the need to bring that to his attention. It should have been evidence enough that he wasn't in on business by simply noting he wore jeans and a polo--no suit or other proper business attire. He knew where he was going and why. He didn't need distractions.

He saw Dennis before Dennis saw him, and he felt his insides quiver with anxiety at the prospect of confronting his son's former boyfriend and lover. It was uncommon for him to be uncertain and unstable and he didn't like it. It made him angry and fearful, and he directed that energy toward the Cervine male hunched over behind two computer monitors. As he approached he caught Dennis' eye and noted the immediate look of dread and... something else that was already there. The younger Cervine male rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair.

"I need to speak with you," Anton asserted gruffly.

"This is highly inappropriate," Dennis muttered, eyes closed, fingers running down the length of his muzzle slowly.

"Do I look like a care?!" Anton roared, and Dennis gasped in discomfort before shooting to his feet and rounding his desk. Anton was admittedly surprised by his quickness and thought he might be in for a fight when the Cervine male grabbed his arm and quickly led him out and away from the collection of half-cubicles in the Project Management Division. "Where do you think you're--"

"Quiet," Dennis hissed.

Anton led Dennis lead him to a small conference room with frosted glass and sound-reduction. An Ailurene Red-Panda boy sat with his laptop and looked up in astonishment.

"Get out," Dennis told the young man.

"But we have a meeting--"

Even Anton jumped when Dennis slammed his palm onto the table, releasing a loud bang into the room and startling the red panda hurriedly to his feet and out the door. Anton crossed his arms and waited while Dennis stepped around him and closed the door.

"Be quiet," Dennis said again, sitting in one of the rolling chairs and covering his eyes.

"That's not likely to happen," Anton warned.

"Then say what you need to say," Dennis allowed casually, "but if you get too loud and make my headache worse I'll go straight to HR."

Anton frowned in confusion, then shook his head, not bothering with unnecessary details.

"Fine," Anton said, "but you know why I'm here."

"Say your piece, Anton," Dennis replied, crossing his arms.

"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Why did you break his heart? He was... he was doing so well, he was happy. Now he's a mess, a wreck." Anton tried to control the emotion in his voice, but found it exceptionally difficult, and found he had to pause to collect himself before continuing. "I thought you were good for each other, that both of you were happy. You told me you enjoyed his company, and he had nothing but... glowing praise for you."

"That sounds right," Dennis said quietly.

"Then why?" Anton repeated desperately. "Why would you do this? It doesn't make sense. Is there someone else? I just... I need to know."

"It's complicated," Dennis began, leaning forward.

"Well try to--"

"Enough!" Dennis interjected, then rubbed his temple and swallowed hard. He gestured to a seat and Anton very reluctantly took it. "I'll explain it to you as best I can, but you have to do something you're terrible at and actually listen." Anton flinched at the accusation, but pursed his lips and kept his tongue. "I should never have agreed to what you proposed, and you should never have proposed it. Not everyone is like you, Anton, able to have sex at... what, fifteen or sixteen? And go on after that easily. If I had been tasked, like you said, with giving some confused kid a pep-talk I probably could have done that well enough, but you and he expected me to mentor him... uh, in a way that... well, I wasn't prepared and never would be."

"Then you say no," Anton chided, spreading his hands.

"But I didn't," Dennis continued. "I said yes, and I let myself get close, and getting close is not something I do well, Anton."

"What's hard about it?" Anton retorted, sighing in frustration. "You love him, he loves you, you... do your thing, such as it is..."

"Admitting real love complicates things in the real world, Anton," Dennis said, shaking his head, "as does infidelity."

Anton felt his blood boil, at first thinking Dennis had suggested he had betrayed some monogamous arrangement with his son... but then a guilty calm hushed his inner voices as he recalled the scene from days earlier, of Wes with his friend Patrick, together, naked and intimate. He recalled the lust he had seen in their togetherness, the lack of tenderness, the all-out consumption of each others' bodies. He knew Dennis was referring to Wes' indiscretion and not his own, and suddenly he felt like any ground he had for confronting his work-friend had evaporated like steam.

"Did you know?" Dennis asked, and Anton looked up suddenly. He noted the surprise and assertiveness, the hurt in Dennis' expression. He wanted to lie, to say he didn't know what Dennis was talking about... but he had never been good at lying, and his hesitation had already said enough. He didn't say anything. "How did you know?"

"I..." he sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't know if you... had some arrangement, or... I don't know how... this works."

Dennis blinked and appeared to pause in contemplation.

"But how did you know?" Dennis asked, then clarified, "About Wes and Patrick."

"I, uh... saw them."

"Wes didn't tell me that."

"He doesn't know."

Dennis took in a slow breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

"You should know I tried to make it work," Dennis continued. "I wanted to. But separate from Wes', uh... well, the Patrick incident, I'm just... I'm messed up, Anton." The Cervine male fixed him with a vulnerable, apologetic stare. "This isn't like when someone says, 'It's not you, it's me,' because they want to bow out peacefully. I'm on the long road to recovery from... some bad stuff, and it followed me for a long time. I'm just not ready for the real thing... and I definitely can't be that for a sixteen-year-old boy who's still trying to figure things out. I thought I could do it... I wanted to. But I overestimated myself. If you're upset, you're right to be upset at me, because this can only really be my fault. I was the adult, I let it go too far, and... I was unable to handle it."

Anton wrestled inside with all the arguments he wanted to bring to bear, all the reasons Dennis was wrong and why he should try to fix the situation. He told himself this was foolish, that no one could simply recuse themselves from a relationship because of some emotional baggage from long ago. But despite all his fears and desires for his son, that his idea had been foolproof and would be best for everyone, he found himself unable to argue the point. He had to admit at some point that this was too big even for him, and that he was ill-equipped and without the means to deal with this.

"Is there..." Anton said quietly, "nothing I can do to convince you to go back to Wes and try to mend things?"

He saw the war in Dennis' eyes, but harder and deeper than that desire was a darkness, a sadness, and fear he couldn't fathom. It unsettled and saddened him to see his friend and drinking-buddy so shaken and beaten, and it left him feeling hopeless in the end.

"I can't," Dennis answered resolutely, looking away. "Sorry."

Anton nodded and bit his lip, at a complete loss.

"I just wish there was some way I could fix this," Anton mumbled softly.

"Well... I think that means you're a good dad and a good friend... but I don't see how you could."

"Yeah..." Anton stood from his chair and walked slowly for the conference room door. It was there he paused and turned. "I'm, uh... I'm sorry, Dennis. For..." he paused and thought about it, but decided it didn't need expounding upon. "Well, I'm sorry."

"Me, too, Anton," Dennis replied.

The older tiger drummed his fingers on the door frame before stepping outside and taking his leave. He wasn't giving up, but he couldn't abandon Wes to do this alone. With a heavy sigh he sent a text to Diana informing her that he would have to see her on Monday or Tuesday maybe, or even the following weekend. The only happy thing he had seen lately was her prompt reply that read:

"I understand. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

---

* * *

Wes stared at the ceiling fan, willing it to hypnotize him into numbness. It didn't work, but it provided an environment more peaceful than he had been in anyway. The blades forced air down and over him where he lay on the living-room sofa, a mild cyclone of constant breeze. Somehow it cleared the smothering curtain of grief that closed in around him, it made breathing easier.

"Do you want something to drink?" Patrick asked from his perch on the coffee table. Wes didn't look at him.

"No, thank you."

The Lupine boy next to him shifted.

"Would you... uh... like me to hold you?"

Wes turned to the side and looked at the uncomfortable expression on his friend's face. Despite his sorrow, it made him chuckle, and then laugh. Patrick frowned uncertainly.

"Sit here," Wes said, patting the narrow patch of cushion next to his hip. He scooted close to the back-cushions as Patrick transitioned, sliding close so that their hips touched. Patrick leaned over Wes' abdomen, shoving his arm into the sofa for support, and stared down into the tiger boy's eyes.

"I'll hurt him," Patrick said quietly, "for you."

"He's already hurt, Pat," Wes replied.

"I don't care," Patrick went on. "I hate seeing you like this. You don't deserve it."

"Neither of us do," Wes sighed. "There's a lot of blame to throw around, and it's not all his. Dennis was always... well, usually he was a good example of being reasonable and understanding. We should try and do the same."

"Hm."

Wes raised a hand to place on Patrick's arm, glad for the closeness, glad to not be alone. It was a peculiar thing, because he had spent so much time trying to be alone in his more intimate life. And yet, even with all the turmoil going on around him, he found himself admitting that he carried a much lighter burden and hurt--in some ways--less now than before.

"I'm not gonna lie," Wes offered, rubbing his thumb over Patrick's forearm, "sometimes I really hate him. But then I feel guilty. And then I come back to just missing him and wishing I could go back."

"Yeah," Patrick said quietly, licking his lips and looking around. It was clear that comforting the wounded and hurting was a foreign matter to him, but Wes appreciated his attempt nonetheless.

"I keep thinking he'll change his mind and offer to take me back."

"You mean, ask you to take him back," Patrick corrected.

He shrugged. He understood what Pat meant--as far as his friend was concerned, Wes had done nothing wrong, and all of this pain and suffering was Dennis' doing. It fell awfully close to splitting hairs, Wes felt.

"I'm glad you're here, Pat," Wes said gratefully.

"Where else would I be but with you?" his friend asked pointedly.

"At that weekend party you were planning," Wes suggested.

"We were planning," he corrected with a grin, "and anyway, if I had the best party with the best guest-list in the world I wouldn't want to be anywhere you weren't anyway."

Wes chuckled.

"You're surprisingly romantic," he said, shaking his head. He could tell Patrick wanted to kiss him, but was grateful to note his uncharacteristic restraint under the circumstances. "I'm... sorry for what I said in the parking lot at school."

"About the pity-fuck?" Patrick asked crudely, then shrugged and looked away. "Yeah, well... it sucked at the time, but it doesn't matter why you did it."

"Why not?" Wes asked, frowning uncertainly.

"Because I did it because I love you," he explained, fixing the tiger with a heavy stare. "And I know you like me as a friend because we've been friends for six years."

"Yeah... seven."

"Whatever. The point is, I..." he stammered and wiggled his shoulders noncommittally. "I... can admit my part in all this. I knew you were with someone and I had sex with you anyway."

"Had sex," Wes repeated with a grin. "As hard as you fucked me I'm surprised I'm not carrying your puppies."

Patrick laughed, loud and awkward, and covered his muzzle with his free hand to stifle the obnoxious, but--Wes admitted--cute sounds. While his Lupine friend struggled to regain his composure, Wes reflected on their relationship, his feelings for Pat. He realized how easy it had been to make the jump from platonic friends to sexually involved. All that without really any awkwardness. It was hard to think of so recently after breaking up with Dennis, but he wondered if they could do well together as something more than just friends. Maybe... at the end of the day... he could learn love Patrick like Patrick loved him. Maybe it was worth a try simply not to be alone.

"I'm sorry about that, bro," Pat apologized, snickering, and paused to laugh again. "It just, like, happened and I couldn't stop it."

"Well," Wes replied, "to quote a friend, it was 'the best worst thing that ever happened to me'."

"Huh. Who said that?"

"Dennis."

It got quiet again, but only for a moment. Then Patrick laid himself down on Wes' chest, swung his legs onto the couch, and spooned Wes from behind. The tiger boy had to admit, despite his friend's lack of charms he made an admirable cuddler, and no one could honestly doubt his good intentions. It was only a little awkward, he guessed, letting their relationships become more physical after so many years of friendship... but he felt that might be the guilt talking.

"I wish I could take the pain away," Patrick whined, a single high-pitched trill escaping his mouth when he said it.

"You are, Pat," Wes provided, pulling his friend's arm around his waist and letting the wolf-boy's muzzle rest on his neck. "You're a good boy."

"I hate it when people say that," The Lupine boy grumbled. Wes chuckled.

"That's why I say it."

Wes scratched his nose absently and settled his head into the couch cushion a little more when Patrick drew in a halting breath and spoke.

"Do you... want to go upstairs, maybe?" he asked.

Wes sighed and chewed his lip.

"I don't think so."

"I'm sorry for asking," Patrick hurriedly apologized, "since you just broke up. I wasn't sure if that would help or not."

"I'm just not in the mood," Wes explained.

"Well, can I ask another question?"

"Uh... yeah, go ahead."

"Do you think we have a chance?" Wes got mildly annoyed at that question. "I mean, I love you and I mean it, really. And I know you don't exactly understand that, and that's okay--"

"I understand," Wes interjected calmly, trying awkwardly to turn and face his friend. Patrick blinked at him in mild surprise, ears forward with interest.

"You do?" he asked.

"You want to protect me," Wes replied, "to satisfy me. In many ways you feel like we belong together, and it, like, changes your feelings for me."

"Yes!" Patrick exhaled. It was as if a burden had rolled off his shoulders. "Yes, that's it. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"The thing is, Patrick," Wes began, smiling sadly, "I don't know how I feel." He watched Patrick's hopeful expression turn apprehensive. "You're my best friend and always will be, but... I just... I don't know, Pat."

"Do I need to give you time or space or something?" Pat asked.

"I--yes, I do need that," he answered, laying a hand on his friend's side affectionately. "I just feel like I'm treading water right now and it's all the way to my chin. I'm not... I'm not saying no. Just... not right now, okay?"

"Yeah, man, I can wait," Patrick replied, tail wagging excitedly. "I can be super patient, bro."

"Pat," Wes chided, adopting a scowl, "you're the least patient person I know."

"I can do it," he insisted, then cocked his head curiously. "Can we have sex while you're figuring things out, or does that come afterward?"

"Seriously?!" Wes asked, and he could almost hear his dad's tone of disappointment in his own voice. It kind of shocked him.

"Just asking," Patrick defended, raising a hand and grimacing. "But anyway, are you gonna be okay this evening?"

"Sure, why? Okay with what?"

"I'm just saying I have to go pick up my brother from his karate class, so I can't stay here tonight."

"Oh. Well, it's... probably better if you don't anyway. Not that I don't love hanging out with you, but..." He trailed off pointedly.

"Right," Patrick agreed, nodding aggressively, "time and space and all that. I gotcha." With that he rolled off the sofa and onto the floor with a thump, then shot to his feet and plucked his truck key from his jeans pocket.

"Thanks for spending time with me, though," Wes said gratefully. The Lupine boy looked down with those shocking yellow eyes, a serious expression on his face. "Maybe we can hang out later."

"Yeah," Patrick said, tossing his keys back and forth between his hands, "of course. I'll see ya later, Wes." Then he extended a hand, realizing too late that he didn't know what he had planned on doing with it, and settled on awkwardly patting Wes' head between the ears. Wes narrowed his eyes and shook his head as the embarrassed wolf trotted to the foyer and out the front door.

He sighed in frustration and dissatisfaction. IT would be the same if he agreed to it. Dennis had been charming and insightful, tender, elegant, and... well, he guessed there was something just a little more feminine about the way he had handled them. Patrick was all boy, and not even man, just boy: Rough, crude, insensitive, and emotionally clumsy. It just wasn't what he had learned to like, and while he had just about made up his mind to give his friend a chance in a few weeks or months or so, it felt an awful lot like trying to force a poor fit.

He swung his legs off the sofa and stood, stretching with arms raised and toes extended. He had spent too much time lazing around, having been excused from school for the day... That was probably an excessive response, but his dad had insisted and stayed home all morning as well, only stepping out cryptically after Patrick showed up on the way home from school.

Wes made his way to the kitchen and looked at the clock, disappointed it was already... or only... just after five. He assumed his dad would be home by now, but then again, he did meet some girl. Maybe he had hooked up with her for the evening.

The tiger boy rummaged through their food stores, not really finding anything that caught his attention. The refrigerator was mostly leftovers... a pizza that probably needed to be thrown away, some salmon patties... His eyes settled on the unmolested box of beers, and he decided he'd have a few. Normally he'd have waited and asked his dad's permission, but... this time he didn't really feel his normal compulsions to do the right thing. And anyway, he knew his dad would say it was okay. Despite constantly fretting over Wes' health, wellness, and happiness, providing stability and real love...

Wes had just popped the cap off one of the beers halfway through that thought when it occurred to him what he had just realized. There had only ever been one person in his entire life who provided him unbridled love and affection, unquestionable concern for every facet of his life, and had made sacrifice after sacrifice for him. Only one person had ever shown by example again and again that they would never leave him.

He shuffled in the kitchen, looking around aimlessly as he thought it over, somewhat shocked at where his thoughts were asking him to go. It was a crazy notion, an absurd idea. It was... it would never happen.

But he thought back to Dennis talking about his relationships with his sister. How had that happened? They were close... closer with and to each other than with anyone else. IT might have happened naturally. The parallels started lining up in his mind. He and his father were... alone. They had each other, and that was a lot, but that was it. If there was ever any question between siding with any person or each other, they would undoubtedly choose each other.

"This is stupid," he told himself, stepping into the dining room and sucking down a heady mouthful of beer, but as he pulled the bottle from his lips he saw the picture in his mind's eye. His father's strong hands on his face, holding him close; the way his golden eyes considered him with more interest than a starving man considered bread. In his imagination, his father whispered all his favorite words and promises, nuzzled his neck and cheek, and made him feel safe. He could see his father's loneliness, his weariness, and he wanted to take that away... he wanted to be what his father needed, as his father had always been what he needed.

"Wes?"

Wes jolted, nearly dropping his beer, and turned with wide eyes to consider his father as he walked in from the garage entrance. The older tiger smiled.

"You're up and about!" he said happily, setting his keys and wallet on the counter and untucking his shirt. "Have you eaten?"

"I'm, uh... on a liquid diet," Wes answered, hefting the beers in his hands.

"Nah," his father replied, grabbing the unopened beer and popping the cap off on the corner of the countertop, "let's order pizza and go for a swim while we're waiting."

Wes couldn't help but smile. The idea of a swim didn't sound like a bad one, and only a fool would turn down beer and pizza on a Friday night. IT was like... the trifecta, a perfect relationship between related variables. His tail swished excitedly, and he did his best to purge the thoughts from earlier.

Wes washed down another large gulp of beer while his dad phoned the pizza place and placed an order for a large supreme pizza... they had something of a consistent relationship with the place, so it only took a minute. He watched as his father opened the fridge and withdrew the rest of the beers in their twelve-pack box.

"It's the weekend," Anton said, rattling the box emphatically, "we may not finish 'em all, but we'll give it a good ol' college try."

"I don't think I can drink that much," Wes chuckled. His dad paused and pursed his lips, then shrugged his shoulders and set the box on the counter, taking two bottles in addition to the one he had opened.

"You're right," he replied, "two each then."

Wes laughed and shook his head, then balked when his father set the drinks on the counter and started removing his clothing.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting in the pool," Anton answered, unbuttoning his pants and stepping out of them.

"You're gonna give the pizza guy his money dripping wet with your cock out?" Wes asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, son, I'm getting in the pool," Anton corrected with a grin, then retrieved the beers. "I'm gonna turn on the heater so the water isn't too cold, and when the Pizza guy gets here you can pay and then get your naked tail in the water, too."

Wes smirked and shook his head, but he felt a rush when he watched the larger tiger walk through their living room in nothing but his fur. It wasn't the first time he had admired his father's form... hell, he had even eyed his dad's dick before, all in simple admiration. But this was the first time he had felt the kind of desire he felt when he saw Dennis naked. This was the first time he had been made to bear the brunt of a truly forbidden desire, an unshakeable question.

He watched his dad set the beers by the poolside, then turn and flip a switch in the control box on the side of the house. It wouldn't take too long to get the water warm... his dad had shelled out quite a bit to get a vent system put in that would cycle the water and heat it quickly. The older tiger stretched by the water, refracted light dancing over his body, then jumped in with a large splash. A few seconds later he resurfaced and wiped the water away from his face.

Wes sat on the arm of the sofa, beer in hand, and watched through the large windows in the living-room wall. He reprimanded himself silently, disappointed that he couldn't seem to solve one issue in his life without inviting another. He was too curious, too explorative, and let himself desire too many questionable things. He had made too many bad decisions and let his lust get him into costly trouble. His ears drooped as the burdensome, guilt-inspiring thoughts passed through his mind.

He did his best to rid himself of the bad vibes, though. It was done. He couldn't change everything and he couldn't fix the past. It didn't do to make a big deal out of it. And before he could come full circle to another bout of crappy thinking, the doorbell rang.

---

* * *

Anton held his hand next to the vent to make sure hot water was coming through, then jerked it back and waved his digits through the cooler areas. It was certainly hot. He launched off the wall and spiraled into the deep, clawing gently along the bottom and kicking his legs to propel onward, stopping to rest and look at the liquid world around him. Sometimes he wished he could stay down there in the quiet... where everything was a whisper, and every movement fluid and organic.

The porch lights flickered on and off several times--undoubtedly a signal from Wes. He pushed off the bottom and broke the surface, taking in several needy breaths as he blinked back the saltwater. Wes was walking from the porch to the side of the pool with a pizza box in one hand and his beer in another.

"That was fast," he commented breathlessly.

"I think they make one for us on Fridays in case we call," Wes joked, setting the box and bottle by the pool and then turning back.

"Where are you going?"

"To get the rest of the beers," Wes called back over his shoulder.

"Ah," Anton replied quietly, more out of habit than so Wes could hear him, "good call." He flipped back the lid and grabbed a steaming slice, biting it in half with one go. The melted cheese, hot meat and vegetables, and acidic tomato sauce sang of chorus of gourmet perfection. But, he thought to himself, everything tastes better when you're hungry. He hesitated into his second bite when Wes came back around, nude and carrying three bottles. "Decided you're gonna swim, too?" he asked.

"Definitely," Wes replied, setting the full bottles aside. Anton reached the his beer, but Wes drew it back with a wry smile and took a swig from it, getting his lips all over the opening of the neck before passing back to his old man.

"You turkey," Anton chided playfully, taking the bottle and sucking down a gulp.

"It's only a party foul if you spill it," Wes informed him, reaching over and taking a slice of pizza.

"Yeah, but it's a 'dude foul' if you drink your dad's beer."

"Hahah! I hadn't heard of that one."

"Oh, yeah? Well... it's a thing."

They continued to eat in silence, Anton supporting himself with one arm propped on the lip of the pool so the other one could freely handle food and drink. Having no one to impress, they made short work of the cheesy pie, and Wes scooted the box out of the way so he could drack open the remaining bottles. Anton watched his feet dangle in the water, his fine, tiger coat rippling in the Autumn wind. His son balanced a brown bottle in one hand on his thigh and stared off into the distant sunset. It reminded him of so many years ago when his son was a little boy... he often stared off like that, lost in thought. He had always wished he knew where Wes went when he was like that.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Anton asked, and Wes looked down at him.

"Uh, just... stuff, I guess," he replied. "Nothing important."

"I've always loved that about you, you know?" Anton offered, sipping his drink.

"What?" Wes asked with a mild, confused frown.

"The way you go off in your thoughts," he replied, and Wes blushed and smiled, "adventuring your way into... wherever. Do you remember what I used to ask you when you got like that?"

Wes laughed and looked down bashfully, then answered with a nod:

"You used to say, 'Where you going, Munchcat?'"

"Munchcat," Anton repeated, then sighed wistfully. "You're still my Munchcat, you know."

"Yeah," Wes replied, swishing his tail and smiling, "I am."

Anton paused reminiscently and tapped the mouth of his bottle against his lips. The disappointment of the weekend, topped off by a disappointing conversation with Dennis, had managed to get him down. He didn't know what to do for his son, and hated that he couldn't magically take away his pain and suffering... but then again...

"Part of me wants to save you from all this... heartache," Anton said, glancing sideways at his son. "I hate seeing it in your eyes, you know?" Wes pursed his lips and nodded. "But I... I keep forgetting that pain is... part of life, and all that. I can't protect you from life." He chuffed bitterly, but smiled. "I sure wish I could sometimes."

"I think you do a... stellar job," Wes replied, placing his hand on his dad's forearm. "It's just not like when I was a kid and you could kiss me and make it better." Anton blinked uncertainly and noted the sudden bloom of embarrassment in his son's face. "I mean, kiss it and make it better."

"Hm. I guess I feel like I'm trying to solve a puzzle in the dark," Anton explained, rubbing his thumb over the sweating beer label absently. "I wish I had someone to talk to about this, but... well, my dad isn't around, and your mother..." He trailed off, wishing he hadn't mentioned her.

"Mom's not very good at talking," Wes stated, "or helping people, or offering sage advice."

"No, that's true," Anton mumbled in agreement.

"You can always talk to me about it though."

Anton raised his eyebrows and looked up to the younger tiger.

"Yeah?" He huffed thoughtfully. "I guess that would make more sense, wouldn't it?"

"I obviously don't have any... really amazing answers or anything," Wes offered with a shrug, "but, if you want I can always try to help you understand."

Anton nodded and placed his free hand over Wes' hand, trapping it between his palm and his forearm.

"I think Mom left for selfish reasons anyway," Wes went on, and Anton flinched at her mention, "so I don't know that I would spend too much time wondering what she thinks about anything."

Anton drew in a slow breath, contemplating, and let it out slowly.

"You know, Weston," he began, using his son's full first name for emphasis, "it's really not all that simple."

"Sure it is, Dad," Wes argued in quiet, bitter tones.

Despite the hurt she had caused, Anton hated hearing Wes thinking poorly of his mother. Yes, he greatly regretted her choosing to divorce him and leave, and he had done all a reasonable man could to change her mind, but in the end...

"Before you were born," Anton regaled, "when I first found out I was going to be a dad, your mom and I talked about... uh, what to do." He saw the concern, the comprehension and interest in his son's eyes, and tried to figure out how best to word the story. "Your mother... uh, she didn't... she didn't want any children. I think she was afraid, and sure, selfishness came into play there as well. We weren't even dating. We just had sex a few times on a long weekend like this one and you happened as a result. I convinced her it would be great, that I would marry her and take care of you, that I'd get a job and finish school later so she could finish it first. She was... uncertain, and she didn't love me. We didn't love each other. I never lied to her about that, but... she agreed."

Anton fixed Wes with a serious look and let go of his drink so he could lay a hand on his son's knee. He smiled up sadly, conscious of Wes' vulnerable emotions and hoping this wasn't too hard for him to hear.

"I didn't do it for her, bud, I did it for you. Before you were born you were already my favorite person in the whole world. No one could compete with you for my love, and no one was going to get between you and me." He saw Wes swallow and look away, a few tears falling from his eyes. Anton tried to control his emotions, to keep from crying himself, though his throat threatened to close up on him as he continued. "I still feel that way, Munchcat. You're still my favorite person, by far. Your mom... she gave us a solid try, she really did. But she knew I didn't love her, not really, not the way she deserved to be. There was this... special world that was just us, and I... I mean, she never could figure out where she fit into that. And son... life is too short to not give your best life your best shot, you know what I mean?"

Wes sniffled and stifled a sob, more tears streaming down his cheeks. He gripped Anton's hand tightly, and despite the fact that he was a big, teenaged tiger, there was something about him right now that was so like the little boy he had wrestled with on the living room floor just last week, it seemed, the boy he had tucked into bed, whose scrapes and cuts he had bandaged, who fell asleep in his bed watching R-rated movies in the evening. His heart panged with desire for the boy, with intense love and passionate care.

"It's not your fault that Mom left, and it's... it's not like she doesn't love you. She does. But Wes... I am... always going to be here for you, come Hell or high-water. I love you so much I want to destroy anything that hurts you, and I feel real, physical pain when you're hurting. Maybe that's not... I don't know, healthy or something. But if I could be any closer to you I would be."

He would have continued, but Wes slid into the water and swung around, wrapping his arms around Anton's neck and hugging him tightly. Anton held his son with one arm and kept them afloat with the other. It was... the perfect embrace, a closeness he desired, yet somehow still not enough to satisfy how he felt for his son.

"Thank you," Wes whispered, voice heavy with emotion, "for loving me so much, Dad. No one loves me like you do, and I love you so much, too."

Anton blinked out the tears, shuddering little sobs on the younger tiger's neck and shoulder. It was his greatest joy and assurance that they could suffer together, that the person he loved most in this world returned his affection, and that it was unconditional. If he lost everything tomorrow except Wes and the relationship they had, he would count himself rich beyond measure.

He only vaguely became aware of the fact that their nakedness and closeness meant their pelvic regions were touching. He would feel the slightly stiffer flesh of Wes' penis against his leg, pressed down his inner thigh and scrotum. The stray thought brought back memories of walking in on his son and his son's friend while they were making love. He recalled the animalistic passion, the force, the need, and before he could purge the thought from his mind he felt his member begin, belligerently, to engorge. He felt Wes shift uncertainly and immediately moved to separate them.

"I'm uh..." he began awkwardly, ashamedly, "uh... it's..."

"Dad," Wes interjected, sniffling and wiping his nose, "it happens, don't worry about it."

"Sorry, son," he apologized, "I don't know why..."

"I... don't mind it, Dad," Wes said, shrugging and forcing a smile. "They have a mind of their own anyway."

"They do, don't they?" Anton agreed uncertainly. He had never been a good liar, and he could see the curiosity in Wes' expression. "Maybe a little swimming will take care of it."

"You can't swim on a full stomach, Dad," Wes warned.

"Oh... yeah, right." Anton cleared his throat and waded in place before moving to the side of the pool and preparing to get out. "I guess we should take this to the living room and watch a movie or something then." But before he could pull himself up he felt Wes' assertive grip on his wrist and turned to regard his handsome son.

"Dad," Wes said, "thanks. I really mean it. I love you more than I could ever put in words."

Anton hesitated, then allowed himself to stave off his discomfort and shame. He reached out and pulled Wes into another hug, this one less intimate than the last, and planted a long, meaningful kiss on his son's forehead. Then he pulled away slowly and rose out of the water, knocking over an empty bottle in the process. But as he helped Wes out as well and started for the back porch, it occurred to him that, as he had pulled away that last time, it had almost looked like his son expected him to kiss his lips.

---

* * *

Dennis walked into the counseling office on Saturday morning, a few minutes past eleven, and glanced around with his hands in his jacket pockets. There was a receptionist desk, but no receptionist, and no one was waiting in the waiting room. It was a plain office with few decorations and a table covered in old magazines. A few generic motivational posters adorned the off-colored and dingy walls, and the door into the back offices had a dent in it. He started to doubt his choice... after all, this had been the only place close by with office hours on Saturday morning and no one seemed to be here anyway. He started to turn and leave when the door to the back offices opened and a middle-aged, slender-looking Canine female of the Spaniel-type stepped out.

"Dennis?" she asked.

"Uh, yes," he answered, extending his hand, "sorry I'm late."

"No matter," she said sweetly, quietly, and shook his hand gently. "I'm Kate. Worst-case-scenario we could have met for lunch or something." She laughed and he smiled in kind. "Do you want to come back?"

"I, uh..." he began, glancing around the office uncertainly.

"Or we can stay out here if you like," she continued, clasping her hands together and shrugging. "Whichever is most comfortable."

"It's just..." Dennis stammered, sighing and shuffling his feet. He fixed her with a skeptical stare. "I'm... I'm pretty mussed up, and I have been for a long time. I'm pretty sure you've never heard some of the stuff I would tell you, and... I'm not sure you can fix me."

"I can't," she answered quickly, completely unphased by his commentary. Dennis blinked in surprise as she continued. "I'm not a healer or a magician. I'm a listener and a teacher. I'll ask you questions and give you exercises. I'll even give you some insight and guidance from time to time, but any doctor or therapist who tells you they can fix you when you're broken in your mind and your heart..." she paused for emphasis, "probably also has really cheap ocean-front property to sell."

Dennis chuckled humorously and nodded a few times.

"So how does this work then?" he asked.

"Well, healing is a process," she explained, spreading her hands and then clasping them together again, "but unlike when the body heals, the mind and emotions have to have help. I can guide you, but you have to recognize the wounds and, more importantly, you have to want to get better. This first session we'll just get acquainted and get a high-level picture of what brought you here and what traumas, if any, you feel you've experienced."

"I want this to work," Dennis assured, shifting uncertainly, "I really do. I know I need this. But are you sure you can handle my problems?"

"Oh, honey," Kate said quietly, sympathetically, and Dennis got the strangest feeling he was talking to someone who actually cared for him, who might actually get him. "The only people who set foot into this office have traumas and scars, demons and monsters. I don't know what you've gone through, but I've counseled people who were abused by both their parents until they moved out, girls who were subjected to sexual abuse by family members for decades, drug abusers, soldiers, sailors, and marines with all kinds of trauma... I'm not saying I won't be surprised, but I am saying that whatever it is, you're not beyond healing." She shrugged again and smiled sweetly. "If you want it."

Dennis nodded a few times and glanced around the office again. Something about Kate seemed incredibly genuine. He wanted to trust her, to believe her... and anyway, he owed it to himself and everyone he was close to, or... had been close to... to give this a try. He took his hands out of his pockets and stepped in front of a chair, gesturing at the cushion behind his legs.

"Can I sit here?"