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October in England, as grey and drizzly as one might expect. The summer was gone and the winter was almost upon the world. However, the weather did match Bartholomew P White's mood. Watching as a coffin was lowered into a grave. The vicar was saying some words, but he wasn't listening. Maybe because the man in the coffin was his father, and he did not need a man of god to tell him of the virtues and failings of the man who taught him right from wrong.

The funeral party was rather large, which wasn't too surprising the White family was a very important one for the town. His father ran a manufacturing business, as well as owned several local farms and shops. So almost the entire town had shown up. Many gathered around would be wondering what his passing might mean for their future.

Bart was careful not to feel the emotion too strongly. It would not be good to cry in front of so many. An Englishman does not let such feelings show in public. Instead, he must be a rock for those around him who needed support. Such as his mother and his wife Elizabeth. There would be time later for him to feel grief in private. When he had heard the news he had taken a few hours to let himself feel the loss. It was mildly disconcerting how little he had felt. The war was fifteen years behind him and yet death still felt like a constant companion. Seeing him once more taking someone he loved, it was nothing too shocking.

After the service, he shook hands with everyone who came. Shared words with them all, accepted their condolences, saw tears both real and fake. the slender red fox put his mother, wife and two sons into the cars to head back to their home. Where his father's close relatives and friends were holding a wake. However, he did not join them immediately, explaining, "I need a moment with Father."

Elizabeth had opened her mouth to say that a father should be looking out for his children on a day like this. However, Bart's mother was far faster, both of mind and of tongue, "it is a son's right to say a private goodbye to his father. We will be at home. Come back at your earliest convenience." She punctuated her sentence by pulling the car door shut and demanding the driver to drive.

Returning to his father's grave he stood by the sodden mound looking at the mud. There wasn't silence as the rain hammered down on his umbrella and the ground around him. Rain, mud and noise that was all it took and he could hear the sounds of the shells around him. Closing his eyes he thought back, not on just his father but all those he had lost. Those he had left behind, and the few who he had loved and left.

Crouching down he selected a single flower and pulled it from the display on his father's grave, "you have hundreds and you never liked carnations father. I don't think you will miss this." He muttered, more to himself than to any sense that his father was present. Standing back up he walked through the graveyard to where rows of identical white headstones stood. Picking his way carefully among the rows to a name he remembered. Fifteen years since the war, the graves were well-tended although there were few flowers on any, and the few there were, were old and dying.

Standing before the grave he sighed and closed his eyes. Thinking back to a different time, to a different person. Himself as a young man and to stolen moments of joy. A handsome young man, his hair had smelled of a summer's meadow, all flowers and grass. His first kiss and his first love. They could not be together, they'd both known that. However, Bart had not been expected that their last goodbye would have been their last.

Placing the flower down, Bart felt the tears come. He let them flow, just for a few minutes and then he stood up. Whispered a soft goodbye and turned to walk. The White family home stood on top of a hill dominating the landscape and his way home was not too long. Although it was far too wet.

By the time he arrived the wake was well underway. A glass of brandy was pressed into his paw and he returned to being his father's son. Talking to his relatives, checking on everyone. Kissing his wife on the cheek as he returned. She looked concerned but did not say anything. Bart knew she would speak to him in private later.

Eventually, he worked his way back to his mother. She was the centre of the room, surrounded by friends and family. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then reminded him to thank the vicar. Which he dutifully did. The next few hours were spent talking to people, and mostly listening to stories of his father. While being told over and over how much like his father he was. Both served in the military and both had reached the rank of Captain.

As the sun dipped lower people started to leave. After the last guest had gone, Bart's mother made her move, "Bartholomew, I would have a word." She said before he had even closed the door behind the last guest.

"Yes, mother," he replied dutifully.

"Your father's study, I have not gone through the papers there. It was his refuge and I think he would rather a man, his son, would sort of the last of his affairs." She said directly, "also, I have decided that this house is too large for me on my own." Bart felt his entire body clench. This was expected, and unwanted. Bart had a home and life he liked, a place in London where his family lived. Where he could work and where he could attend his smoking club. "I am going to move into the summer house. I have spoken with Elizabeth and she agrees that it makes sense for you to move here, if you are to take over your father's business then this is the place to do it."

Ambushed, his mother was quite the tactician. Had she been in command and not Field Marshal Haig then the Great War really would have been over by that first Christmas. She'd already turned his wife to her side and Bart knew that meant it would not be long before he had to fight a war on two fronts. "What about Jack and Andrew? They have friends and..."

"They have made friends at Harton's and when they come home for the holidays then this is a great place to come. I seem to recall you enjoyed coming home here from Harton's. There are places aplenty for a young boy to have adventures. Isn't that what you did, you and that stable boy...what was his name again?" His mother replied and Bart felt a sad smile come to his face.

It had been a good place to come home to, and he had enjoyed his time with his friend. "Jeremy and he wasn't a stable boy, his father owned several stables."

His mother gave a shrug as if to say that owning stables still made the young man a stable boy. "You two always seemed to be up to something." Barth's eyes were drawn to the window where he could see the woods in which he and Jeremy had played. Two boys on the cusp of manhood, exploring the world and, later, each other. "There was something about that young man, something in his eyes. I must admit I am glad you no longer have such wild friends. Whatever happened to him?"

"The Second Ypres," Bart replied flatly and he saw his mother recoil just a little as she realised the young boy she had been maligning had died in service to the king. Most people would be on the back foot after a faux pas like that. However, Bart's mother was not most people. She was a battle axe forged in the heat of the British gentry. A middle-class woman raised up by her husband's success and those around her had forever let her know what station in life she had been born to. So she had skin thicker than the armour on any tank.

Sniffing with a slight air of disapproval she replied, "well that's as fine an end as one could expect of the young man. At least he died with his boots on, for the king." Bart did not reply. He wasn't sure if Jeremy had his boots on when the shell had hit his trench; he just knew there were only a few bits of him in that grave. While the best part of him would sit in Bart's mind and heart forever.

"We have just buried father. I will see to his study and think of your suggestion about moving here," it was not a surrender, not yet. It was a peace flag, a temporary truce. Though he knew the next assault would come not from his mother but from his wife and that he was outmatched in this war. London would be a big loss, his smoking club was the one place he could escape to where his wife could not follow. No women allowed; a place of peace and solitude and so very close to a gentleman's club of another and wholly more inappropriate kind. Where he could often find some company when he felt the need for the feel of a man.

"Very well. I must go speak to Elizabeth, I have invited the vicar and some of the ladies for afternoon tea tomorrow," his mother replied, moving forward to give her son a passionless kiss on his cheek.

Left alone Bartholomew retreated to the safety of his father's study. The one room in the house that his mother and wife would never follow. A bastion against the tempest of womanly demands. His father had practically lived in his study. Opening the door he felt a shiver, the smell of leather and cigar smoke it cut him right to the heart. For that was the smell of his father. Gulping softly he stepped inside, ran his black paw over the worn leather of his father's armchair. He remembered the last time he had visited. His father had looked so old and frail, sitting in his chair smoking a pipe and with a glass of brandy ever at the ready. They had talked about cricket, politics, and complained about the interference of women in their lives.

"Marriage is like a war son, one we men are always destined to lose," he had said as he topped up his brandy, his hand trembling so much Bart feared he might drop the decanter. "Not saying I haven't had my share of victories. Considering who I married I'd say I've done far better than many other men would have. However, I was always destined to lose and so are you. Just remember the secret is to lose in a way that you keep your dignity and if possible in a way that doesn't look too much like defeat."

Collapsing into the chair he began to weep. In the battle of life, he felt like he had just lost his greatest ally. Trembling fingers picked up his father's pipe and he sniffed at it and drowned in the sea of memories the scent brought flooding back to him.

Wiping away the tears he pulled himself out of his father's chair. Feeling the need for a snifter of something to calm his nerves he walked over to his father's drinks trolley and selected a bottle of whisky. Glancing at the label he heard his own younger self correcting him. "This isn't whiskey, this is MacPhail's malt whiskey, single malt, aged in oak casks for twenty years. This is ambrosia, the food of the gods."

Fifteen years ago, on Christmas eve he had sat on the field of battle opening a Christmas gift from his parents. He'd shared a glass with his young batman, Private Alfred Jones. Then the next day he had shared the rest of the bottle with a german, Kuno. Smiling he poured himself a small measure for there was very little of that rare vintage left. He sipped on it staring out the window at the rain and mud and he remembered another muddy field, across the channel in Belgium. A football match, and the pain of getting caught in barbed wire.

Then he remembered the warmth of Kuno's touch as the german medic had treated him. The next day they had shared some of his mother's Christmas cake and a few glasses of the fine scotch whisky. He remembered the taste of Kuno's lips and the feel of his tongue. Bart remembered that moment of beautiful passion one calm and joyous day of peace amid five years of hell.

They'd exchanged addresses, but he had lost Kuno's. He had hoped to hear from the german after the war, but he had not. Then his mother had started muttering about wanting grandchildren and before he knew it he was walking out with a respectable English woman. In the blink of an eye he was married and father of two children. He loved them all, even Elizabeth, though she could never be who he truly desired. She was a generous soul and a wonderful mother to his sons.

Finishing his glass Bartholomew resigned himself to his fate. He knew he was not the man he should be. However, he could pretend, for the sake of those he loved. It was time that he committed to that, to his family. No more sneaking off to clubs and liaisons with men whose name he did not know. It was time to be the man of the family just like his father had been.

He returned to his father's desk and began to work his way through the papers he found there. For hours he sat there working until the striking of the clock in the hall let him know it was well after bedtime.

The next day he returned and the day after that. Working diligently to sort through the paperwork one acquires after a lifetime and when you never throw anything away. His father still had letters he had exchanged with friends from university, over fifty years ago. Ones from his army friends and even a few that made him laugh. Stories his father would never have told a soul were kept within there and Bart knew he would remember them. Though he would tell no-one, his father would not want such stories to ever find their way to his wife's ears. Just because he was dead did not mean that she could not find a way to exact revenge.

It was as he was almost finished that he came across a letter that wasn't addressed to his father, but to him. Or rather to "Lieutenant Bartholomew P White, British Expeditionary Forces, 1st Corp." He hadn't gone by that name in almost twenty years and he stared at the envelope hard. He had never seen it before, that he was certain. His curiosity running wild he pulled a folded letter out of the already opened envelope.

Dear Bart,

I hope this letter finds you well and alive. It has been a harsh five years and not many have gone the full distance. However, I write to tell you that I did make it and I remember you. I still think back on that Christmas day I was lucky enough to spend with you. Your kindness sharing your mother's cake with an enemy and that wonderful whisky. There is much more I would like to say, but it is private and I do not know if you will be the one to open this letter. So please excuse how brief this note is. I hope that you are alive, well and able to write back soon. If God is willing someday I would like to meet you again, to share some more cake, and fine drink. It was a day I will never forget and will always hold in my heart,

Yours

Kuno Winter

Bart read the letter over and over and tried to understand. It was dated just four months after the armistice. Bart had not returned home for a full year after the end of the war. He started at the letter wondering, did his father just forget? However, his father was not usually forgetful. Moreover, his father had opened the letter. Maybe because it was postmarked from Germany, his father had been too curious to let it sit unread. Kuno's words had been warm, maybe too warm. Maybe his father had suspected his son might have liked some of his friends just a little too much.

In the end, he knew it did not matter. The answers were all buried along with his father. There was only one thing that Bart needed to decide; would he write back? It had been many years since and things in German had gone from bad to worse. At least in his opinion. It was far from certain if Kuno was still at the same address.

However, in the end, he knew he owed it to Kuno. The german shepherd had reached out to him and he knew he had to reach out in return. So he took up his father's own pen and paper and wrote out a simple response.

Dear Kuno,

I apologise for the delay in replying. Your letter has only just found its way to me. A fifteen-year delivery is about average for Royal Mail these days. I am overjoyed to hear that you survived the war and hope this letter finds you still alive and well. If you ever find yourself in England you would be welcome to visit. I would enjoy sharing another fruitcake and bottle of whisky with you, while we relive old times,

Yours

Bartholomew P White

He kept it simple and the details vague because he did not know who might open it. In Germany and England what the two had shared one day in the trenches was illegal and considered immoral deviant behaviour. Plus there were rumours that the German Authorities read mail. So he knew he needed to be very careful for both their sakes. His father might have sensed something from the tone of Kuno's letter, that might have been why he did not pass the letter on to his son. It was also probably why his father had suddenly jumped to the support of Bart's mother when she started to push for him to get married. The old fox was worried his son might have been a deviant.

Bart found that last thought an unsettling one. Mostly because he would never be able to look his father in the eye and ask him about it. Maybe it was for the best, some questions are best left unasked. With his father's papers in as much order as he was able to set them, he left the room and found one of the staff to take his letter to the village post office.

The next couple of months past quickly and with a flurry of activity. Bart did not put up much of a fight when his wife teamed up with his mother to force them to move. Taking over the reins of his father's business left him with little time for his smoking club anyway. However, he was able to win a small victory and he insisted that they keep their home in London. For him to stay in when he needed to be there for business reasons.

Outside, autumn faded away and winter took full hold. Living in the old house was quite comforting. The rooms and hallways were the ones he had grown up with. Even some of the staff were ones who had known him as a child. His mother was true to her word and moved into the small summer house on the far end of the estate. Which made things easier, although she still visited most days anyway.

With Christmas on the way, Jack and Andrew were due back home from school. Bart found himself in a surprisingly cheerful mood as he set aside an entire day to simply write out thank you cards and bonus cheques for his father's employees.

He still did not quite think of them as his own. As a captain in the army, he had sent far too many young men to an unfortunate fate. Being in command, even as employer, it often brought unpleasant thoughts and feelings. Those were the days when he hid in his study, having taken over it completely from his father. His ears could still hear the sounds of the guns and the screams of the men. Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night, half deafened from the explosion of nightmare bombs.

Every morning he would read the papers in his study, along with breakfast and a pipe full of tobacco. It was often grim reading. The United States was still gripped by financial turmoil, and worst still there were very unsettling signs from Europe that another war was on the way. Just after the death of Bart's father the German Chancellor had announced they were withdrawing from the League of Nations.

It was while he was reading the paper one morning that he heard the front doorbell ring. They had no guests due to arrive and tradesmen would have used the kitchen door, not the front door. It was enough of a curiosity and a welcome distraction from the disturbing headlines that he left his study to investigate. His butler had already made it to the door and he could hear him asking the ringer of the doorbell, "do you have an appointment?"

"No, however, I am an... old acquaintance of Mr White and he did say I would be welcome to visit should I find myself in the area," the accent was definitely not English, although the words were clear. Bart remembered his letter and his offer to Kuno. However, he had never really expected him to simply stop by unannounced. He had expected a letter back and that they would be able to make more careful arrangements. If any arrangements at all.

Stepping up behind his butler he found an older version of the german shepherd he had met standing on his doorstep. With, Bart couldn't help but note, a large bag in his possession. Kuno spotted him an instant later and his eyes lit up, "Lieutenant Bartholomew," he said with a broad smile. "It is good to see you again."

"It's ok James, I will deal with this," Bart said quietly to his butler as he stepped forward. "Kuno I... honestly I wasn't expecting to see you." He stammered a little and seeing the slight pain in the german shepherd's green eyes he added. "However, it is good to see you again. Please won't you come inside out of the cold? James, tea and crumpets for two in my study please and inform my wife that we may have a guest for lunch."

As Kuno stepped inside and shook the fox's offered paw, Bart added, "you may leave your bag in the hall. It will be safe."

"Thank you. I apologise for not giving you any warning. I do have a reason, however, perhaps it can wait until we are somewhere more private." The canine replied, his handshake firm and yet Bart couldn't help but notice that they both let the touch linger.

Nineteen years almost to the day since he invited the german medic into his trench for Christmas cake and whisky. He had just invited the dog into his study, for tea and crumpets. It was a lifetime ago, a whole war ago. Was Kuno even the same man he had met? War had changed so many of the people he had known, it had certainly changed him. Not all for the better. Their time together had been such a brief flash, a single day in five years of hell. To him, that day had been a tiny bit of joy, a tiny moment when he had been Bart 'Lucky' White once more.

"Your home is very beautiful," observed his guest pulled Bart from his own thoughts.

"Thank you, it's our family home. I actually only just moved in." Bart replied with a polite smile. "So I am afraid the furnishings, curtains and even the art is all chosen by my mother."

"Then she is a lady of fine taste," Kuno replied without skipping a beat.

Opening the door to his study Bart waved for Kuno to follow him inside, "my mother is something of a force of nature. My father... he was a good man."

"Was?" Asked the german shepherd showing that the canine was still quite sharp.

"He died a few months back. Hence why I inherited this place and his business." the fox replied waving a paw at one of the comfortable armchairs by the small fire in the study. There was a small table between them. It was where his father had entertained guests and Bart had not had the heart to change a single stick of the furniture in his father's study.

"My condolences," the canine replied, and Bart could see genuine sympathy on the dog's face. He'd learned to tell the difference over the last few months.

"He lived a good life. It hurt to lose him. However, life goes on," the fox replied as he sat down in his father's armchair.

"Ah yes, nobody knows that better than us, I suspect," the dog replied with a sad smile. "It has been a very long time. I am sorry to just turn up. Your letter, it arrived the day before I was leaving for England. There was no time to send a response ahead of me."

"Well, my response was rather overdue. I'm afraid I discovered your letter among my father's effects less than three months ago," the fox explained feeling guilty for the delay in his response.

"Late or not, it was welcome to hear from you. I feared you might have died in the war," Kuno replied with such sincerity that Bart did not doubt it.

"I... I feared the same, of you. I had your address in my diary, but I lost that in the second year of the war." Bart did not explain how he'd lost his book and Kuno did not push for an answer. They both knew enough of the horrors of the front to already have the answers to such questions. "However, I... thought of you often during the war and afterwards."

A smile crept onto the face of the dog, "I thought of you also." The dog opened his mouth to say more but was stopped by a knock at the door.

"Come," Bart called and his ferret butler entered with a tray, laden with a teapot, two cups and a plate of toasted crumpets. The ferret placed the tray down and gave Kuno a suspicious look.

"Will that be all, Sir?" he asked as he stood back up.

"Yes, thank you, James. Please ensure we are not interrupted, Mr Winter is an... old friend from the war and we have much to catch up on," Bart knew that would ensure privacy for the rest of the day. None of the staff would enter unless he rang the bell for service and his wife would never breach his sanctuary.

"Please help yourself to the crumpets. How do you like your tea? Milk or lemon? Sugar, one of two lumps?" The familiarity of acting as host and the ritual of pouring tea was quite settling.

"Just milk, thank you," the german shepherd replied and wasted no time helping himself to the crumpets. "I did not have time to get breakfast before the train."

"I have already had some breakfast, so please feel free," Bart replied as he carefully added milk to the dog's tea. Then poured himself a cup, adding a single lump of sugar and a splash of milk. Sitting back in his father's chair he felt more comfortable with a cup of tea in his paw. Like it acted as some sort of shield to block any uncomfortable feelings. It was reassuringly normal, therefore he was normal and not likely to tear his clothes off and engage in an act of lewdness with his guest. "How have things been since we last met?"

Kuno smiled sadly, "the war... was the war. I saw many things, learned much. After it was over I returned to my family home. I managed to secure a position training as a surgeon. My title is now doctor Winter." The canine smiled with a little pride at that. "The first doctor in my family and I was very pleased that my mother survived to see her son achieve so much. Sadly she died in twenty-six, though in retrospect maybe that is for the best. May I enquire how things have been for yourself?"

Taking a sip from his cup of tea Bart forced a smile onto his face," I returned home and took up a job at my father's company. Met a woman, Elizabeth, and got married. I have two wonderful sons, who are coming home from school in a couple of days. My father died earlier this year and I have now taken over the business. Which has meant we have had to move out of our home in London and into my old family home." There was still a slight bitterness as he explained that last part, his tone was dispassionate throughout.

"Yes, I gathered you were... married. I was not so fortunate. Though I did meet an interesting fellow when studying. However, such things are considerably more risky these days and we ended our association a couple of years ago." Kuno's words all seemed very carefully chosen and Bart was sure he could see some longing in the dog's eyes.

"Such things are risky here... though I would be lying if I said I had not taken some risks before I was married," the weight of what Bart omitted from that explanation was far too heavy for him to bear and before he could take a stabilizing sip of tea he added, "and after our wedding as well."

"It is a complex thing, our situation," the dog replied and Bart felt that he was being offered a little absolution, which just stoked the feelings of his guilt even more.

The fox sighed, "I try to be a good man, a good husband and father. Elizabeth is a fine woman, she is a wonderful mother and very supportive. Though I fear she would be crushed to hear of the... risks I have taken."

"Life is not kind, or fair. That is something I have little doubt about. There is no need for the people in our life to hear of the risks we have taken." Once more the fox felt that Kuno was offering some absolution. "It would only cause more hurt to do so."

Bart stared into his tea, the cup almost empty a few tea leaves showing. He had heard that some people think they could tell their future from the position of the leaves. The fox suspected that this was all rubbish. "In some ways, it was easier back when we met. When I was young and taking risks was exciting."

"Exciting? Yes, I agree. That day we spent together was something good. It was the first time I had stayed with someone after taking a risk with them." Kuno's eyes were staring into his own cup and Bart wondered if he was struggling with his feelings too. "I thought of it often, thought of you often and wondered if you might be thinking of me."

"I... was, yes," whispered the fox suddenly aware the conversation was out of his control and heading towards an avenue that he desperately wanted to go down, while at the same time desperately needed to avoid.

"So what brings you to England?" Bart asked forcing himself to stay calm and to drink the last dregs of his tea.

Kuno was silent for a long awkward minute or two. "Things are bad at home. I saw many bad things during the war, yet somehow I have seen worse things in the last few years. What two armies do to one another at war, it is horrific but expected and understandable. I do not understand the evils I see in my own land. My mother was a jew and I fear I am no longer safe. So I came here to my father's family in the hopes that they might have a place for their german cousin."

Bart listened in silence. What was happening in Germany was no secret. Though it was somehow different to see a man he knew, a brave soldier who represented his country, running away from that for which he had fought. What was worse was he noted the past tense with which the dog had spoken the last part, "I take it that your family..."

"My cousin died in the war, fighting against my country. As far as my Aunt is concerned I may well have been the soldier behind the gun that killed her son and she would not open the door to that man. Let alone open her house and life to him," the response came with such force and desperation that Bart knew there was great hurt there. He could see tears forming in the dog's eyes. "I am on my way back to London, I will seek refuge in America, if possible. I know they have taken a number of my countrymen already, I hope there will be room for me."

"That is a long way to go, what about France or Belgium? Or Britain? I'm sure we have use for a trained surgeon," Bart asked a little confused as to why the dog would look to run so far,

"I am assured by those at the British Embassy that they do not have a use for a surgeon with such a...background," the dog replied his words a little laboured and clearly painful. "If I had family to stay with, who would support my application, then maybe. I only speak English and German, so I fear I might struggle in the rest of Europe. America seems like my best option assuming my finances allow me to stay in England long enough for my application to be approved."

"Well, that is a great pity, is all I can really say," the fox replied awkwardly. Then gestured at the plate. "Please, feel free to help yourself to more crumpets. In fact, if you would like you may stay for dinner and I could have the guest room made up. It's a long train journey back to London and best to start out fresh in the morning." The offer of a meal and a place to stay for the night did ease the fox's guilt a little. Although, he knew he would need to explain to his wife.

"Thank you for your kind hospitality. I will accept, both your crumpets and a place to rest for the night." Kuno replied helping himself to the last two crumpets and butter. Bart remembered Kuno had not eaten breakfast and wondered just how good the dog's finances were. He was aware that to get a visa even for a temporary stay was not easy. It required a sizeable amount of money deposited in a bank outside of Germany, which the German government was making increasingly difficult.

Picking up the small bell that sat on the table between them he rang it hard. A minute later there was a knock at the door, "Come!" Bart called and the ferret butler appeared. "James, Dr Winter and I are enjoying some discussion on old times. Please could you arrange for some sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea? Oh and some cakes for the early afternoon?"

"Yes, Sir," the ferret replied the mention of Kuno as a doctor changing the ferret's entire demeanour towards the canine. "Would Sir like beef, ham or cheese sandwiches?"

"Cheese I think," Bart replied getting a little confirmatory nod off Kuno. "Please also inform the cook that we will have one guest for dinner."

Bowing slightly the butler replied, "indeed, Sir. It is roast chicken tonight."

"Excellent. Please let my wife know, though please tell her that dressing up will not be required," Bart knew that wouldn't matter. Elizabeth would never dream of not dressing appropriately for dinner with guests.

"As you request, Sir. Sir requested I remind him that kick-off is this afternoon at four," James replied and Bart knew he had asked for that reminder. He had planned to listen to the match on the radio before dinner.

"Thank you, James. That will be all for now," the fox replied, though he noted the ferret pushed inside and recovered the first tray and empty pot of tea.

Kuno looked at Bart and chuckled, "football match?"

"Yes, Arsenal against Huddersfield Town." Living in London for years he had had to pick a London team to support. Arsenal had been his choice. They were currently top of the league with Huddersfield close behind.

"Are the pitches flat, or can you not see the goals for the hill in the middle?" the dog asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Bart laughed and nodded his head, "the pitches are flat. Almost twenty years and you remember that little detail?"

"Who could forget a proud Tommy standing in a crater filled field boasting that his pitch at home was even worse than a battlefield?" Kuno asked with a laugh. "I assume there is no barbed wire on this field?"

Laughing again Bart replied, "not unless they have added it in the last few years. The field to while you are referring to is in the town. If you would like to see it, I could show you tomorrow morning. Assuming you have time."

"If you have a ball, I could give you a chance to level the score between us," the german shepherd offered with a smile.

"Oh dear! Although, I do wonder what may have transpired had I not got caught up in that barbed wire. We were only one goal down." The fox observed as he returned to his seat opposite Kuno.

The dog smiled and leant forward, "I was more grateful for the barbed wire. It gave me an excuse to stop playing, kicking that ball was like kicking a ball made of lead. Plus, I got to take a handsome Tommy back to my trench and get to see him all embarrassed sitting around in his underwear."

A warm flush rushed to Bart's cheeks as he remembered that day. He had felt embarrassed but also aroused. Kuno had warm paws, he had treated him gently and shown true hospitality. Then the dog had kissed him, a rush of warmth flooded his groin as he thought about that moment. Just a soft kiss on the lips, not even a second long and yet it was enough, and not enough at the same time.

"I remember meeting you by that tree stump. Handing over my chocolate ration," Kuno had been so much younger, but the german shepherd was still bright-eyed and beautiful. Bart wondered if his kiss was the same. He had played that night many times in his memory and with each remembrance, the mythos had grown. Was it fair to expect any man to live up to that? Could any kiss be all that kiss was in his mind? Years of exploring with men in the secret clubs of London and none had come close. The only kiss that matched it in his mind had been that of Jeremy.

"I remember sharing that ration, along with your Christmas dinner and then your mother's Christmas cake. Long afterwards I remembered the taste. Longer still the taste of your whisky and even longer the taste and feel... of you," the dog's words faltered a little as he finally broke through the subtext and said what they were both thinking, both remembering. The two former soldiers, former lovers. Leaning closer towards each other, perching on the edge of the comfortable armchairs. Distance between them vanishing heartbeat by heartbeat.

"I never..." a knock on the door broke the moment and they both fell back in their chairs. "That'll be James with the sandwiches. Come!" The fox bellowed, and he was right. A plateful of sandwiches, along with another pot of hot tea and a victoria sponge cake to finish. "Thank you, James. Dr Winters and I are not to be disturbed until after the match when I assume dinner will be ready. We have a lot to catch up on."

"Right you are, Sir," the ferret replied with a bow before he scurried away.

Bart poured them both a cup of tea and the sandwiches were devoured in near silence. The fox knew that they had been seconds away from reliving that first kiss and he was not sure if he was happy or annoyed at the interruption. He'd promised himself he would do better away from London, away from temptation. Yet Temptation had come knocking and was one last affair something he should deny. After dozens of encounters with random, faceless, nameless men. Was a one with someone he knew, someone he had been with before, such a bad thing?

"Please help yourself. The cheese is made on one of my father's...one of my farms. They do some particularly fine cheddars. I am quite proud of them." He said, more to cover his embarrassment than from a true desire for them to eat. Although a mouthful of cheese sandwich has a way of keeping a man grounded. Much like a good cup of char.

"You are still a wonderful host, my friend," Kuno replied as he took a cheese sandwich.

"Another legacy you may thank my mother for. She'd die of shame if her only son was not the consummate English gentleman." He replied with a chuckle that sounded hollow and fake to his own ears.

"I think your mother would be most proud," Kuno no doubt was being polite. Though Bart knew if his mother ever found out she would turn him in to the police herself. She would never accept him for what he was. The only pansy his mother would accept is those that their gardner sowed in her flowerbeds every year.

"Thank you," the fox replied simply before helping himself to a cheese sandwich. After skipping the crumpets he was suddenly feeling peckish. The two chatted a little while they ate. Discussing what happened to the men from the truce. Grim news mostly, but not all.

"What happened to that little rat boy, the one who tried to borrow a cigarette from every single german he met?" Kuno asked as they were cutting into the Victoria sponge.

"Oh, Private Alfred Jones? He was always looking to bum a fag," chuckled Bart. Though he knew why the rat had been doing it. Same reason some men spent hours doing pencil drawings or writing terrible poetry. Sometimes you needed to obsess about something that wasn't the war, to survive the war. "I never realised he had the brass ones required to borrow a smoke from the enemy. I assume he promised to pay them back the next day?"

"Ya! That is exactly what he promised me. I asked if he was going to run across no man's land to do it and he just saluted and said, 'Scout's honour gov!'," chuckled the german dog as he accepted a plate with a thick slice of cake.

"He was my batman for a few years. Saw some action, got sent home in sixteen. Trenchfoot I'm afraid, lost his right foot." Bart gave a soft sigh. "Not that it has slowed him down. He's married, four kids and a fifth on the way. Still smokes like a chimney at a smokehouse, though these days he buys his own. He manages a team on the docks, unloading cargo and the like."

Kuno smiled at him, "you still keep an eye on the little fellow?"

"I hired him, actually. He's a good worker and good at keeping other workers active too," Bart admitted. After the war, he had checked up on the rat and found him in a less than ideal circumstances. Struggling to find work, practically in the poorhouse. It was not suitable recompense for someone who had served his king and country, losing a foot in the process. So he had given him a job and not regretted that decision for a moment. "I catch up with him sometimes. Though I stopped inviting him to dinner, I think he felt uncomfortable."

After the cake, Bart's eyes turned to his father's drinks trolley. "The sun is over the yardarm, what do you say to a nip of something stronger than tea?"

"I would not object to a stronger libation," Kuno replied, his eyes following Bart's gaze to the very well-stocked drinks trolley.

Springing to his feet the fox was instantly in good host mode, "what would you like? It's a tad early for a brandy, possibly a port, or a sherry, or..." His voice died as his paw touched on the bottle of MacPhail's twenty-year single malt. It was almost empty and he picked it up reverently and then glanced at his guest. Kuno gave a curious look and then got up walking over to see what the fox was holding in his black paws.

"Do you remember this?" Bart asked softly as he handed the nearly empty bottle to the german shepherd.

"I do indeed, the second most delicious thing that you gave me to drink," the dog replied smoothly, his voice suddenly a little huskier. Bart gulped and flushed with heat as he knew the first most delicious was not likely to have been the stewed tea he had shared with the german. No, it was something Kuno had milked from him.

With all his blood suddenly rushing to Bart's nethers, he took the bottle back from Kuno. Pulling the cork with a deft motion he poured out the last of the bottle into two glasses saying, "my father bought a whole crate of the stuff years back. This is the last bottle." He paused as he placed the empty bottle down and then picked up both glasses, pushing one into Kuno's paws. Feeling a little thrill as Kuno's fingers brushed over his. "I think... it's only right that we share this last taste."

Bart held up his glass and said, "to old friendships rekindled." Their glasses clinked lightly and they both took a sip from the fine liquid. Smoke, peat, honey and citrus it all rolled around on his tongue so naturally, like the flavour had never left. Closing his eyes he sighed with content. A soft paw suddenly brushed against his cheek and he opened his eyes just in time to see Kuno leaning in.

The dog's lips pressed to his and he trembled. Within a heartbeat, he felt the world melting away. Bart moaned softly, deepening the kiss. His paw placing the crystal glass down carefully on the windowsill, while his arms slipped around the canine's waist. Kuno's paw caressed his cheek, the dog's other arm curling around his waist, and then pulling him close. Bart gasped as he felt their torsos pressing together, he pushed in closer his desire growing by the second.

Their tongues met and danced, the sweetness of Kuno filling his hungry mouth. Kuno's paw stroked his neck softly, his touch bringing thrills of pleasure as Bart's fur stood up. He knew this was wrong, he knew his wife was just a few rooms away, that any member of the help might walk in. Yet he couldn't stop, not once he had tasted the dog once more.

Kuno broke away from the kiss and with a soft growl of lust, his sharp teeth were suddenly nibbling on Bart's neck. The fox leant back against the wall, he felt weak and helpless. Yet also lost to the pleasure of the moment. As Kuno's paw stroked down his chest and onto his pants the fox yelped softly. That large canine paw cupped his very erect vulpine maleness. Bart whimpered with uncontained need.

Fingers began to pull at the buttons on his flies. Kuno's teeth worked down to the collar of Bart's shirt, a huge nose huffing hot breath through his fur. Bart cried out, his own paws grasping the dog desperately pulling him close. Twenty years and yet the feeling came back in just one minute. It was like they had left the trench yesterday, the last couple of decades were nothing but a dream.

The last of his flies were unbuttoned and a large paw pushed inside. Bart's breath caught in his throat as warm, strong fingers grasped around his tumescent maleness. Bart tried to hold back the cries, but he couldn't. Instead, he had to let go of Kuno with one paw and grasped his palm around his muzzle, muffling his cries. His other paw shot out to his radio, turning it on and the volume up. It crackled to life and the sounds of men talking about football drowned out his cries.

"The whisky tastes as good as I remembered. I wonder if other things do," Kuno's words whispered into his ear, the hot breath tickling and their meaning made his cock throb harder. The dog did not say more, he slipped down to his knees, pulling free from Bart's paws. The fox looked down into green eyes shining with lust and something more. His black paws grasped at the windowsill as he leant against it for support.

Looking down Bart kept full eye contact. Watching as Kuno's huge black nose and muzzle moved closer to his glistening red spear-shaped cocktip. A pink tongue pushed out and then Bart cried out again as he felt the warmth stroking over his flesh. Its touch glided over his meatus and around his coronal ridge. Bart's cock throbbed and he watched as a glistening silver stream landed over the german shepherd's muzzle. Then almost cried out against as the dog's huge tongue lapped it up.

Warm lips sealed around his cock and Bart cried out again. Their eyes still locked on each other, Bart watched as his cock was slowly devoured by the canine's maw. The feelings of pleasure strong and more, he felt the connection. Something that had been missing, something he had felt with no-one else since his last night with Jeremy. No night with his wife, no hot sweaty meeting with a random guy just looking for someone to blow a load into. None of them compared to the feel of those lips around his cock, the sense of intimacy he felt with the dog on his knees before him.

Trembling, his paws let go of the windowsill and traced across Kuno's cheeks. Stroking and caressing Kuno's cheeks as he thrust forward. Strong paws grasped around his buttocks pulling him forward firmly, showing him that was what they both wanted. Those green eyes shone and sparkled up at him, while his cock slid in and out of that wonderful warmth. Fucking slowly, but with growing speed and need. Bart could already feel his balls tingling and he knew that he could not last, yet he also knew it did not matter. Not to him and not to Kuno.

He cried out again, thrusting faster and faster, holding nothing back. His knot smacked into Kuno's lips with each thrust. Just as he felt himself getting close, Kuno grasped the fox's knot and squeezed. The sudden simulated tie was all he needed, screaming out he felt his cock throbbing and flooding the dog's hungry muzzle with thick ropes of vulpine spunk. There was nothing he could do but lean into the moment, his hips continued to thrust as he fucked the very last few drops into Kuno's mouth. Gasping as he felt the dog swallowing around his cock, the telltale squeeze of a mouth swallowing happening over and over.

Utterly spent he fell back against the windowsill, leaning heavily as he panted. The entire time their eyes had not broken contact. He watched his glistening, spent, half soft cock pulling from the dog's lips. Kuno smiled up at him, "unlike the whisky, this has improved in flavour." The dog muttered with a smile.

"T...thanks," Bart stammered. His head still spun, but as Kuno stood back up his instincts as a host took over. He knew it was time for him to see to his guest's needs. The voices on the radio were quite excited, apparently, Bart was not the only Englishman who had just scored. Though there was unlikely to be a whole stadium cheering on Bart's efforts. Slipping down to his knees he felt a tingle in his stomach as he beheld Kuno's bulging pants.

Nearly twenty years thinking of that day, and his nose was already soaking in Kuno's musk. The scent dragged him several hundred miles away, right back to the trenches. His ears did not hear the sound of the football on the radio, he could hear his men singing Christmas carols. Bart's black paws trembled as he popped Kuno's buttons one by one. The heat from inside radiating out and warming his fingertips.

With the last button, he heard a gasp from above. Bart knew that his guest was in need and as a good host he put his own desire to savour the moment aside. Reaching inside he found Kuno's underwear and with a practised motion he freed the turgid cock inside. The red spear slipping out into view, where his hungry eyes devoured it whole. Bart's nose tingled as the strong canine musk overpowered it, his tongue licking his lips on instinct.

His paws slipped around grasping Kuno's hips. Bart's soft lips pressed to the very tip of the spear, his tongue sliding out as the delicate and savoury taste of maleness flooded his muzzle. Then he pushed forward, his hunger taking hold as he stuffed his mouth full of as much of the huge length as he could take. Kuno's voice cried out and Bart reached out blindly twisting the knob on his wireless radio. The room was suddenly full with the loud sounds of the football match.

Bart's hunger had only been whet, his desire was burning through him. Bobbing his head quickly and sucking firmly he milked the cock desperately. His eyes closed and the noise of the wireless filtered out, all he could hear were Kuno's moans and cries of pleasure. He could feel the cock moving slightly as the dog was giving in to his instincts to thrust. Two hands grasped his head, fingers pinching and stroking his ears in a way that triggered such powerful submissive feelings. He sucked stronger and stronger, his tail wagging faster than the most excited dogs.

Lips pushing up against the thick knot as he pressed the spearlike tip into the back of his throat. Those paws on his head suddenly gripped tightly, holding his head in place as Kuno's hips began to thrust. His lips tingled as the slick red meat glided back and forth between it, his moans of pleasure and lust were muffled by the thick meat. With each thrust, a fully formed knot smacked into his lips and chin. Unable to stop himself Bart reached up and wrapped his paws fully around Kuno's knot squeezing hard, simulating a tie.

Above him, the dog howled in pleasure and the tiny part of Bart's mind that knew where they were hoped that nobody heard them. However, his entire family could walk in the door and he would not be able to take his lips off the thrusting cock. He sucked and slurped the hunger inside him burning and in desperate need. Bart felt the cock in his mouth throbbing and suddenly thick musky and bitter fluids flooded his mouth.

Gulping desperately and sucking hungrily, Bart milked the dog's shaft urgently trying to suck down every last drop. After three shots Kuno pulled back, his cock being pulled from Bart's outraged lips. Then he felt warm drops raining down on his cheek and muzzle, his nose utterly dominated by the stink of canine cum that landed over it. His cheeks flushed red and he closed his eyes just letting the cum rain down over his face.

Kuno squeezed the last few drops out of his cock and Bart heard the sounds of the football match coming back as he returned to the world. Getting quickly to his feet he unfastened the last button on his own pants and let them fall. His eyes looked into Kuno's and they both knew what he wanted, what they both wanted and needed. The radio announced that it was halftime and Bart gulped, "we have until the final whistle, nobody will disturb us until the football ends." He moved from the window half naked and sat down on his solid oak desk. Starting to move some of the papers and the inkwell to where they would not be at risk.

Kuno slipped his polished shoes off and let his own pants and underwear fall. The dog's red cock glistening in the dimming light. "Then we will need to be quick, or not tie."

"We will need to be quick," Bart answered his voice firm and his eyes holding Kuno's gaze. The idea of being taken by Kuno again after so long and not tying was one he would not entertain. If they were going to do this, and they were going to do it, then he wanted all of it. Bart craved every single sensation, he wanted to be taken and held by the dog.

"Do you... is there anything that might facilitate us?" The dog asked as he stepped closer and Bart looked around the room. His eyes falling on the silver tray with the remains of their lunch.

The fox hopped down off the desk and jogged across the room. With each passing moment, his heart was racing faster. This wasn't like anything he'd done in the back room of a club, or an alley, or under a bridge. It wasn't some nameless, faceless guy or just a cock with a body attached. This was Kuno, the second and greatest love of his life. One night twenty years ago and he'd never stopped remembering, imagining what could have been. What could never be.

His fingers swiped through the remains of the butter, scooping up a good lump of the soft smooth substance. It started to melt almost immediately in his fingers, having warmed up so close to the fireplace. "This should suffice," Bart replied and he could see the dog chuckling a little. "Sorry, this is the best I can offer on such short notice." The fox mumbled feeling a little embarrassed.

"Your best is far better than I ever hoped or dreamed when I rang your doorbell," Kuno replied smoothly and gestured with his paw for Bart to join him. Moving quickly the fox put one arm around the strong dog's waist and the other grasped around his hot rod. The butter melting quickly as he smeared the oily substance over the full length. Feeling the knot already forming Bart made sure to get a good slick coating over the growing lump.

"There, all ready," the fox mumbled and yelped as Kuno moved. Strong paws grasped his ass lifting him onto the desk. While hungry lips pressed to him, the german shepherd kissed him desperately. Kuno's tongue squirming into Bart's mouth to dance with the fox's. Bart grasped the desk with one paw, holding his other hand out slightly awkwardly, not wanting to get oily butter stains on Kuno's clothes or the furniture. Where the staff may start to wonder about the origins of the stain.

Kuno broke the kiss a moment later, leaving Bart gasping for air and desperate for more. The dog grasped his wrist and pulled the butter covered paw to his lips. One by one the canine sucked on his fingers, Bart trembled at the sensation, knowing exactly how good that maw felt around his cock. He groaned with barely controlled lust as the dog began to lick his buttery palm. "There, all clean." The dog said with a chuckle letting go of the fox's paw.

Bart did not get a chance to reply as Kuno lunged over him again. The canine pushed the fox back a little, tilting him, as their lips met again. A warm firmness pushed to his pucker and he whimpered into the kiss. His paws grasped around the canine's torso, his paws pulling Kuno closer, gliding down onto two pert buttocks. Pulling him forward he showed Kuno what he wanted, what he needed. Their eyes locked and he could see the lust and desire reflected in those eyes.

With a thrust, Kuno pushed inside him. The entry rough and Bart yelped in pain. Kuno broke the kiss his muzzle moving to Bart's stretched and exposed neck. Teeth bit through his fur as the dog took a dominant position. Thrusting again, forcing several more inches inside him. It burned with pain and yet the lust and need overrode any discomfort. Bart's paws tugged on the canine's ass pulling him closer. "Please... I need you." He whispered passionately, his paws pulling Kuno again asking for more.

"I need you too," the words whispered back to him, and they sank straight to his heart. As the canine sank his cock right into the knot. Cheers erupted from the wireless as another goal was scored, the sound briefly bringing the fox back to reality. Knowing that the minutes were ticking away and their time together was running out.

Pushing up against Kuno he flexed his ass, squeezing the cock inside as if challenging the male on top. Kuno responded instinctively thrusting forward harder. They both cried out in pleasure, the pain fading quickly. The fox pushed back wanting more, his hungry lips latched on to Kuno's mouth, while his paws and hips did everything they could to pull the dog in deeper. Kuno's paws on his body gripped tighter, holding him dominantly as the dog thrust again and again.

Two bodies writhed against each other, their shirts getting creased and rumbled, as their lips wrestled. His paws grasped firmly on Kuno's buttocks pulling the dog into him desperately. Their moans of pleasure muffled by each others' mouths and drowned out by the sounds of the football. Kuno was thrusting with growing intensity and Bart could feel the dog's knot bashing against his entrance. He whimpered as he felt his ring stretching and giving more with each thrust.

Their tongues wrestled as Bart felt each thrust getting more powerful. His paws grasped and pulled on the dog's taut buttocks desperate to feel Kuno tie inside him. The desk beneath him shuddered and creaked with each motion as the weight of both of them was pressed down onto it. Kuno's motions getting wilder with each passing moment. His knot battered against Bart's tingling entrance, again and again, slipping deeper and deeper. Until with a joined muffled cry of bliss the canine stuffed himself forward hard and the knot slipped fully through his ring.

Kuno's howl of bliss was muffled by Bart's lips. The fox holding desperately as he felt the knot swelling inside him. With desperate small powerful thrusts, Bart felt Kuno breeding him, a tickle of warmth in his overstretched rump as he was pumped full of canine juices. Their kiss broke and they panted heavily, lost to the moment to the feel of being locked together. Bart closed his eyes and felt tears filling his eyes. His thoughts turned to what he wanted, that he could never have. To a life lived with a man he loved, laying in bed with him every night. To kissing him openly, to sharing more than fleeting moments, stolen away from prying eyes.

As the first one slipped out, it was caught by a finger on the dog's paw," did I hurt you?" Kuno asked in a breathless exhausted whisper.

"No, sorry," Bart mumbled and tried to stop himself. "It's just... it's not fair." The fox whimpered and internally chided himself. Children bubble because of unfairness, real men face the unfair world with stoic silence. However, he could not stop thinking about how the match was almost over. Soon Kuno would pull out of him and the final whistle would blow. They would both go and eat dinner with his wife. In the morning Kuno would leave and if things went well, the dog would be in America within a few months.

Bart would try and live a life as a good husband, but he knew he would end up back in those clubs, alleys and bridges. His life was missing something, someone and no matter how much of a risk it was, he knew he would never be able to stop himself from finding some man to fill that empty hole. Someday he would get caught in a raid and his family would be shattered by the news that their son, husband and father was a sexual deviant. Maybe his mother would use her considerable influence to hush things up, but Elizabeth would always know.

"No it's not fair," agreed Kuno with a sigh. "However, I have learned that life is never fair. All you can do is seek what joy you can. When you can. Such as with you."

Blinking away his tears, Bart smiled bravely, "this was a joyful reunion. I... I have wanted this... wanted you for so long."

Two strong paws caressed Bart's cheeks, "my brave beautiful Tommy." He whispered and then leant down and they kissed softly and tenderly. "Two days in twenty years is both pitiful short time and yet more than my heart can believe all at once."

Putting his paws over Kuno's and squeezing them an idea came to mind. His mother was not the only one with influence. "It does not have to be just two days, if... if you'd consider staying."

Kuno's eyes glanced around the room doubtfully, "here? With your family?"

"No, I have a house in London, I stay there when I go to London for business. It could use a caretaker I trust," the fox replied as the idea started to come into sharp focus. "I have the ear of a few MPs, I am sure I could get you whatever paperwork you need to stay in the UK."

"A... are you sure?" The dog asked though Bart could see his eyes were shining and a smile was spreading across his lips.

"If you are willing to risk it, I am. For more days with you, nights too," it would still be a risk. Though the police did not raid the houses of wealthy businessmen looking for shirt lifters or tail raisers. He could explain it to Elizabeth as helping a friend, she would not object to her husband's business decisions. Maybe it wasn't fair on her, but then life wasn't fair for anyone. Why should he not grasp what he wanted and damn fairness for once?

"I am willing and more than that, I am wanting," Kuno replied excitedly.

The joy of the moment was cut short by a whistle, as full time was called on the match. Arsenal had won, Bart's team were victorious and the fox wanted to celebrate. However, they were almost out of time. Kuno pulled out of him and Bart pulled his handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and wiped the cum from the desk and his ass. The two dressed quickly and returned to the chairs by the fire. Bart poured them both a glass of port as an aperitif.

Less than ten minutes later there was a knock at the door, "come." Bart called and his ferret butler appeared.

"Sir, Mrs White awaits your pleasure in the dining room," the ferret informed him with a slight bow.

"Thank you, James," Bart replied getting to his feet, Kuno stood without a word. "Please can you ensure the guest room in the east wing is prepared. Dr Winters will be staying with us tonight and returning to London in the morning."

"Yes, Sir," James replied with a bow and then he nodded at the desk. "You must be very pleased with the result, Sir."

For a heartbeat, Bart froze in terror and then he realised the ferret was actually nodding at the radio and he meant with the football. "Yes, indeed I am, two one, a good result. I have a feeling this might be a very good year." As he spoke his eyes caught Kuno's gaze and the two shared a smile. Unable to touch or embrace, all Bart could do was gently guide Kuno out of his study.

Bart didn't know what the future held. Chances were that he and Kuno would be able to get a few days together every month for a while. It was far less than he wanted, but far more than he had ever dreamed could be possible.

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