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[PART 3 of 3]

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Edited by wellifimust

---

Stray flecks of dust flew through a remote ray of light like planets orbiting a star. Basil lifted his eyelids further to glimpse the familiar glimmer of morning sunlight breaking out between the curtain and the far wall, illuminating the corner of his desk. Abruptly, his vision was obstructed by a big grey canine ear flicking up. Basil tilted his head to peer through the reflection of the TV, where he and Larry cuddled face-to-face. The caribou wiggled an arm free from underneath Larry and wrestled it back.

"Rrr...hm?" Larry groaned.

"Arm's numb," Basil answered.

"Sorry."

Basil settled back in and tightened his arm around the naked wolf's chest. In response, Larry poked his head up to align his cold, black nose with Basil's white-furred one.

"Last night was pretty dope!" Larry declared, with shimmering eyes and adorably askew ears.

"Mhm," Basil concurred. As Larry opened his mouth to continue, Basil felt warmth in his chest even beyond his intimate press against the shorter wolf's coat. "You're really cute."

"It's cool how you're--thanks!" Larry paused and drew his head back while he smiled slowly, "--so casual about this shit! I just feel like I've figured out some shit in the past couple days."

Basil stared at the curtain covering his window past Larry, funnelling sunlight into a little beam in the corner. When he pulled it back, his eyes would have to adjust, but the whole room would lighten. "Oh yeah, me too."

"I was sorta just looking for someone who I could play around with who wouldn't be weird about the hockey shit," Larry explained, scratching at his muzzle. "And, well, you're part of the hockey shit, so it's no big deal."

Basil mulled this over. "We're definitely on the same page there."

"And, like," the pondering wolf turned to stare at the ceiling, "I'm not sure I just wanna play around with you anymore."

"Woah, woah, woah," Basil's eyebrows rose, "you're asking me if we should move past the 'fuckbuddy phase'?" A smirk plastered itself to his muzzle. "That's awfully forward of you, Mr. Kline."

Larry brought a paw up to smooth down some of the messy fur on his neck. "I mean, uh, yeah, I'd be cool with it..." he shrugged, though his tail curled, "if you want to."

"Huh." The caribou blinked. "That...that would be cool."

Larry mimicked Basil's smile as his tail flipped back and forth. "Hell yeah, dude. It'd be nice to go out for dinner more, practice on our own time..."

Basil lowered his eyelids and trailed a paw to Larry's thigh. "Yeah?"

"And, y'know," lust occupied the athletic wolf's eyes, "keep fuckin' and shit."

Basil snorted, and answered the question with his growing erection, which throbbed once he shifted to hug the playful wolf.

Larry's pearl fangs sparkled in the morning light. "Sounds like a done deal."

---

The Coliseum's walls beat with the steps and voices of the thousands occupying the concourse. Basil trod through the familiar tunnel, entrenched in a line with recently arriving teammates, gazing at the swishing tail of the suit-wearing wolf in front of him.

Once Basil reached the dressing room, Wilbur stepped over to intersect his path before he sat down.

"Hey, Lewis." The bear looked contemplative.

"Coach."

"I'm saying this before I forget," he coughed into his paw, "but meet me tomorrow at noon. I want to discuss career matters."

Basil's head spun. "Er...sure thing, boss."

The oddity of the interaction haunted Basil's thoughts through the ritualistic motions of game preparation and warmup, up until the Legion's usual singer belted the national anthems of the representative teams. As Basil lined up in the centre, his head was as blank as the ice.

The puck fell into the centre dot at half past six. Immediately on the draw, Jet shoved the captain of the white-and-navy sweatered Bulls over to win the draw back for the Legion. Over the next two plays, the frenetic eagle wrestled away a defenceman without the puck and hacked at the goalie's glove upon the covering of the puck--both plays the officials missed.

When the first line hopped over the boards, Mike scrutinized him. "The hell's up with you?" he grumbled.

Jet glared at Mike and then back at the ice, causing the bear to shrug and retreat to the defensive side of the bench.

After taking his seat between Basil and Larry, Jet piped up. "Girl in Cleveland found out I got a wife." His face was expressionless. "Said she didn't wanna see me no more."

A couple heads turned beside Basil. He played it straight. "Shit, dude, that sucks."

Jet soberly met his eyes. "Yeah."

The Friday crowd remained deadbeat for a scoreless first, apart from sparse moments of intrigue from a pair of sprawling saves by Ziggy, which the Bulls' netminder responded to through his own shutdown performance. Early in the third, the Legion set up in the Bulls' zone.

"Rush the draw, Fangs!" Jet demanded in a little huddle before the play.

Basil worked his jaw. "I'll drift back. Pull a winger away."

"Sound good, bro," Larry nodded, with a wink added onto his trademark confidence.

When the puck fell, Jet dropped his shoulder down, dug his skates into the ice, and shoved into the opposing centre. With the Bull tied up, Larry rushed forward and competed with a winger for the puck, who slashed his stick up after a successful pass back to a Legion defenceman.

The mink picked it up and drifted to the edge of the zone, scanning for passes and faking one to his defensive partner before vaulting it the other way towards Basil.

Basil collected a bouncing puck, and gazed up to see two Bulls charging. With both sides covered, the scared caribou turned to the net and fired.

One of the Bulls threw his weight into a braced Basil, knocking him against the boards, forcing them to both stumble to the ice. Basil saw the glare of the tiger who checked him--number sixty-two. He shoved Basil again, for good measure, before the London crowd burst into a thunderous cheer.

At the net was Larry with his paws up, yelling in delight through a sea of white and army green jerseys. Basil flew up in a split second and strode to congratulate him.

"He chopped it in!" Jet cried, with all pretense of his melancholy gone. "That was real fuckin' dirty for ya, Larry!"

The hyena goalie of the Bulls stalked behind Larry. "That was real dirty. Fuckin' chopped my fuckin' paw!"

"Ref didn't call it! Good goal!" Basil taunted, raising a fist for Larry to bump.

A white-clad horse grabbed Larry's arm. "Fuck off, twenty-three! Garbage shitty-ass player!"

Jet faced him from Larry's other side. "Hey! Get your hand off my teammate..." he glimpsed around cautiously for a referee before tossing his insult in a whisper, "...fag!"

The goalie dropped his stick and grabbed the back of Larry's collar through his blocker. "You want me to take this off, kid? Punch your shit? Bet I could knock your fuckin' brains out! Finish your mom's job!" He flexed a paw in his glove.

Basil skated up to the four. "Not necessary. It's a good goal, the ref--"

"Fuck the ref!" The tiger who collided with Basil contributed, shoving in around the intervening caribou.

"Listen," Larry retorted, "maybe if you weren't such a butthurt bitch--"

"You callin' me a bitch!?" the hyena probed.

The tiger hopped into the scrum as Jet worked to push him away. Basil grabbed the shoulder of the horse to attempt the same.

"Nah, nah," Larry clarified. "I'm callin' you a pussy."

In a flash, the goalie flicked the equipment off of his paws and smacked a blunt fist into Larry's muzzle.

Larry stumbled back into Basil, while Jet broke free and charged at the goalie.

In the moment following, Basil searched for the refs incessantly, who were just now descending upon the players at the first punch on a defenceless player, before the horse wrestled himself away and shoved Larry to the ice.

The smaller wolf tumbled back, and Basil tackled the horse while the two shouted expletives.

"Aw, fuckin' cunt!" the horse screamed, crashing onto his back.

Basil managed to jab the horse with a bare paw before a muscular referee dropped to the pair and pushed himself in between.

When Basil rose, he gaped between Jet and the goalie wailing on each other bare-fisted, back to Larry on one knee on the ice, holding his muzzle.

Basil worked to stifle his anger and dropped beside Larry. "You good, dude?" The scent of blood lingered in the vicinity.

"Fuckin' Christ..." Larry muttered, pulling a paw away from his muzzle. Some of his grey fur stained red. "I'm good."

Jet and the goalie fell to the ice in the middle of a few linesmen paws, with the scrambling eagle below the hyena and his heavy pads.

Basil turned back to Larry and patted the crouched wolf's back with his stick. "Nice goal."

"Thanks." Larry's grimace turned into a grin. "You didn't even see it."

Basil matched Larry's smile. "No, but, it pissed them off...and maybe drew another penalty!"

The two sat on the bench, minutes later--Larry with a towel pressed against his muzzle--watching the Legion powerplay. The home team held onto their lead until the end of the game, punctuated by the excited cheering of the busy Friday night crowd.

---

"Two in a row, boys!" Jet called, downing a quarter of a beer in the hum of a busy Friday bar. "Bill's on me tonight! My contract's the biggest!"

Lighting was poor in a bar that appeared more like an ancient cavern, apart from some blue LEDs lining the counter that the three sat at, and a few TVs lined up on the walls.

"Uh huh," Basil beamed, before lying, "and you were a monster on that hyena!"

"Yeah, well, I play better at home. Gotta show off for my wife and shit!" His eyes crept away. "Fuck hookers, dude."

"Your wife back in town?" Basil asked compliantly.

"Aw, hell yeah!" Jet drawled. "Texted me during the game that she'd do it in lingerie if we won! That's my shit."

Larry sipped his soda loudly, wincing and rubbing at his muzzle as he lowered it. "Yeah? Give you superpowers or something?"

"Something close to it! I'm definitely her biggest cock! But, y'know, I wouldn't expect that goalie to stop a beach ball," Jet chuckled behind his glass, and then smashed it down on the counter when a bartender hovered by. "I...uh...hello!"

The fox appeared unbothered by Jet's fixation on her breasts. "Hey boys," she glanced at Jet's empty glass. "You want another Miller, big guy?"

After the randy eagle's emphatic nodding, the vixen strode away from the table with a slight swagger in her hips.

"Ho-ly shit," Jet uttered. He shook his head dramatically.

Basil's eyes went half-lidded. "What were you saying about your wife?"

"Yeah, but," Jet's voice dripped with lust, "did ya see those jugs?"

"Pretty nice," Larry conceded, "but I'm not as much of a 'boob guy' as you."

"You're less of a 'sexual harassment guy', too," Basil remarked.

"Come on, Baz! Did you hear her? 'Big guy'? Please! That girl was definitely eyeing me."

"Whatever," Basil shrugged, "I won't tell on you to your wife."

"Shut up, she'd be cool! And that fox would totally want it!" He nudged Larry. "What about you, Fangs? You'd do her, right?

Larry shook his head. "I'm up for a threesome one day, but, uh, I'm not too focused on hookups right now."

Jet eyeballed Larry, missing Basil's quick glare at the wishy-washy wolf. "Oh? You got a big-assed bitch I don't know about?"

"Nah. I've just been experimenting."

"Hey, good on you." The macho eagle chugged the rest of his beer and exhaled loudly. "Experimenting's good. Just wish my wife laid off." Jet studied the wood of the counter before brightening up. "She knows who's really packin', though!"

Larry's voice was silky. "Oh yeah, how big are you hard?"

Jet tilted his head in confusion, but swiftly sank into a smirk. "Twice as big as you, I'd bet!"

"I dunno. I think I'm bigger than most guys in the dressing room." Larry wiggled his eyebrows and avoided Basil's glance. "At least from my ogling."

Basil buried his muzzle in his beer. It was three-quarters full, which he figured bought him plenty of time to devise a strategy for weaseling out of this conversation.

The eagle turned an inquisitorial eye to the heretical wolf. "Wait a second. Fangs, are you fuckin' gay?"

"What? No!" Larry spluttered, bewildered.

Jet visibly relaxed. "Okay dude, because you had me--"

"Haven't you seen me fuck girls, dimwit?" Larry berated, "I can shoot with either hand! I'm bi!"

Basil's head shot up from his glass as if Larry's statement were a gunshot.

Jet's beak hung open. His eyes scanned left-to-right over Larry's casual face like an old computer loading a webpage. "Huh!?"

"What? Is that so fucked up?" the volatile wolf sneered. "Are you a homophobe or something?"

Jet was even more taken aback. "Wh--no! Go fuckin' crazy dude, I don't give a shit!"

"Listen, bud. I've heard the slurs you say. You call Basil a faggot all the time!"

Basil's heart plummeted, and he opened his mouth to speak, before the subtle hint in Larry's accusation flew miles over the avian's head.

"Basil's cool with it!" Jet squawked, showering the counter in front of Larry with saliva and driving an outstretched wing around the deer in the headlights. "What, are you gonna cancel me for a joke in the locker room?"

The reindeer cleared his throat to intervene in a conflict between the two teammates he was assigned leadership to, before Larry cut him off as well. "Why don't you ask Basil if he's cool with it?"

Jet sighed, before resting an elbow on the table and placing his head on his wing to stare Basil in the eyes. "Fine. So, Baz, you got a problem wit' it?"

Basil gazed from the crabby eagle back towards Larry, who beheld him with cryptic eyes, conveying no cues for the apprehensive caribou. He stared steadily back into Jet's golden eyes. "I, uh..." Those eyes widened, implicitly prompting him on. "I can't say I appreciate it."

Jet's eyes remained wide, and then narrowed while he processed that response. "It's just locker room talk, and, like I said...wait." Those eyes flicked around the restaurant and then back to his friend. "Basil, are you..."

"Yep."

"Oh my God." Jet slammed his other wing onto the table and clutched his head in his hands. "All my friends are gay!"

Larry considered Basil's nervous expression and then turned an eye back to Jet's existential panic. "Chill out. We aren't gonna touch you in the locker room or anything."

Jet maintained a grimace. "Listen," he drawled, "I don't want none of my fuckin' teammates lookin' at me like that!"

"Like what?" Larry spat. "Like you look at that fuckin' bartender? With the lovey-dovey goo-goo bullshit eyes?"

"Boys," Basil cut in, with the throbbing of his heart seemingly deafening over the racket of the noisy bar , "can we--"

"Those are girls!" Jet cried in bewilderment, as if Larry were disputing the mechanics of gravity. "And my two wingers suck each others' fuckin' dicks!?"

Basil's eyes shot wide. "Woah! We are not--"

"You both fuckin' jerk it to dudes!" Jet interrupted, before quickly glaring away. When the irate eagle turned back, his eyes filled with despair. "Wait a minute..." his voice dragged. "Don't tell me you jerk it to me!"

"I don't!" Basil sputtered.

The eagle's eyes became giant white orbs of fear at Larry. "Oh fuck. Is this why you wanted a threesome with me!?"

Larry's voice became steel. "It's not all about you, Princess. Listen, what if Basil got married to a guy?" the precarious wolf questioned, with the rousing embers of conquest flaring in his sharp eyes. "Would you go to his wedding?"

"Larry," an insecure Basil warned.

Jet stared critically back. "I wouldn't call it a wedding."

Larry sneered. "What if the whole team went? For our captain!" He brandished the word like a dagger.

Jet's eyes cut back with the same sharpness. He breathed evenly.

"Devout Christian?" Larry asked pompously. "Or..." the piqued wolf's eyes turned puppy-dog, "team player?"

Jet's beak tightened. "Fuck. You. The fuck does a self-righteous prick kid like you know about bein' a team player!?"

Basil drew a wobbly paw up to rub his eyes.

"Kid? I'm only four years younger than you!" Larry chuckled.

"And how much less experience is that!?" Jet kicked his chair back with a screech and stood up, towering over his seated teammates. "Of course I'd go! I wouldn't want to fuck up our play!"

Larry's fur remained smooth. "Maybe you could lay off then. How about that, bro?"

"Y'know what?" Jet grunted. "Fine! I don't give a shit!" He turned menacing eyes to Basil, who still held a paw up to his face. "Just keep your fuckin' eyes off my dick!" Without a sound, he pulled the stool back up and seated himself on it, pouting at the smirking wolf.

"Deal!" Larry beamed. "You do that! And we'll just keep putting the puck on each others' sticks!"

Basil dropped his paw and glanced between the radiant wolf and stewing eagle. With the coast clear of bickering and turned heads, he cleared his throat and spoke up. "So...you guys see the Pterodactyls' game earlier?"

---

The coach's requested meeting forced Basil to stop in early before practice, but he rarely minded it after getting coffee in his system. Today, he had an idea of what it was about, but didn't know what to expect.

"Lewis," The bear spoke, peering over his reading glasses at the caribou at the door.

Basil swallowed and took a seat at the desk. "What's up, Coach?"

"On the topic of the call-up," Wilbur gazed stoically at Basil. "Kaz is getting traded tonight. I also got word that they're leaning towards Larry."

The reindeer's heart plunged, though this wasn't at all a surprise. "Okay."

"I discussed giving you a shot, but there's too many upsides to Larry. The Heroes are a fringe team right now, and McClement said a young'un might bring some much needed speed to the fourth line. If he's up in January, they also don't burn a year on his entry level deal."

"Ah." Basil shrugged and pulled his paws from the table.

"You're not out yet, but unless you have some magical four goal game tonight," Wilbur declared, with a grim expression, "yeah."

Basil folded his paws. "All right, thanks for letting me know."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry for getting your hopes up." The normally unreadable bear appeared rather abashed. "I just knew you've been waiting ages for a shot, and this was a good chance right here."

Basil dwelled on that remark. So many years of slaving away in the minors, being forever locked in purgatory, stuck between rock of his lowering value and the hard place of just existing outside the narrow fringe of that final step. Some who came close never managed to join that odd club of six hundred. He heard the statistics since he first learned to skate--a young calf, just barely past diapers--from his coaches, his friends, his parents, and even reporters. Even approaching his thirties, he still had a chance during the next training camp. Those chances ever seemed to be dwindling, but Basil didn't think about that sort of thing anymore.

Basil thanked the coach and stood up to leave before Wilbur called his name.

When Basil turned back, his coach was sitting up straight, face professionally neutral. "I have another thing to ask you about. Can you sit down again?"

"Uh, sure."

Basil bent back down onto the chair, and Wilbur gave him another serious look, albeit one less severe than the frown he wore during the previous announcement. "Since you're the captain, I'd like to say something regarding sexuality."

Basil froze. "What?"

"Larry asked that I address some locker room conduct." Wilbur squinted and spoke carefully. "Of course, I won't disclose the exact details of our conversation, but he told me that he is comfortable with the team's captain knowing about his sexual orientation in order to deal with any issues, if they may arise."

Basil took a second to parse that. "Oh. Okay, yeah. That's good with me." When he spoke, he felt another unswallowable lump in his throat: similar to that of tension over major league promotion, but originating from a completely different headspace. "And, I have something of my own to add..." he replied, steadily.

"All right." Wilbur leaned back and inclined his head, listening passively and comfortably. "What's that?"

"Larry and I talked about it." Basil scratched at the base of his antlers, and then removed that paw when he considered his image. Instead, he straightened his posture. "He told me because I told him. That, er, I'm interested in guys." He looked at Wilbur's bulletin board, featuring the team's schedule next to pictures of his wife and kids. "I'm gay."

Wilbur's ears perked as Basil spoke. When he finished, the bear chuckled. "I wouldn't'a known, Lewis."

Basil continued. "So that's why Larry was comfortable with this...he, uh..." he rubbed a paw on his neck. "He knew too."

Wilbur nodded, and the two sat in silence.

"My son's gay," Wilbur added, abruptly.

"Hm?" Basil blinked, bewildered. "Oh. Wow."

"Stopped playing sports 'cause of..." Wilbur waved a paw in acknowledgment, "locker rooms, and all that shit."

Basil stared at his paws. "Yeah."

When the two met each others' eyes, Wilbur wore a smile over his distant gaze. "I'm impressed, Lewis. You may not be a fighter, but your hide's gotta be thick."

The contemplative caribou matched his look. "Thanks, Coach."

"Only further convinces me. As long as I'm here," Wilbur nodded, staring at Basil's chest as if he wore his jersey to the meeting, "you'll keep the 'C'."

"Appreciate it, Coach."

Wilbur rested an elbow on the armrest of his chair and settled his chin on his fist. Following a dreamy look at the Legion's team photo, the bear quickly cleared his throat and corrected his posture. "So, yeah, it looks like it'll be Larry, but you still have a shot to go up this season, if you ask me." Wilbur saluted. "Thanks for your time. See you in the room later!"

"My pleasure," Basil responded. He stood up, marched to the door, and opened it.

"And," the bear included, causing Basil to turn back yet again. "Even if you don't get the call," he reassured, "you'll always be welcome to play for me."

---

Back to back games against the same team in the same building: rare in the majors, uncommon in the minors. Basil felt the heat radiating from the night before as the Legion finished their warmup and lined up across the ice from the Bulls.

Shortly into the first shift, the tiger from the previous night hooked his stick around a Legion defenceman, taking a quick penalty that put the home team on an advantage.

Larry scratched at his muzzle as the Legion's top trio left the ice. Although significantly cleaned up, his fur hardly hid the calloused skin where his lower muzzle once bled.

"They're pissed the fuck off today, eh?" Larry asked.

Wilbur nodded at the wolf's chitchat. "Their problem. They'll be the ones in the box."

Another scoreless game against the Bulls lingered into the second period, where the Legion found themselves up on a powerplay.

"Keep up the intensity boys!" Wilbur called to Basil's line, with one foot perched on the bench. "Remember, anchor to Larry!"

When the line broke away towards the faceoff dot, Jet didn't state his plans.

"Wait, wait, guys, here!" Basil interrupted Jet and Larry, who circled back to skate alongside him and the defencemen.

Larry winked. "What'cha got for us, chief?"

Basil set his muzzle. "Draw's on the left side, so I'll trail up the left boards, like Coach said. If we win the draw, Larry falls back to the blue line. Chasin..."

The panther turned his head up.

"...you break away to the right."

Chasin nodded candidly.

One of Larry's ears went askew before he simply followed suit. "Okay."

"That's stupid," Jet contended. "No, seriously...what's the point? If Fangs plays up the middle he can reach us in the corners."

"Their centre's sixty-two. He's been trying to deck Larry," Basil rebutted.

Jet's eyes were sharp. "Chase could get decked too. He's only a couple inches taller, he can get crunched on the boards."

Chasin's eyebrows fell, and he looked from Jet to Mike.

"C'mon," said Mike, in his place, "let's just decide on something."

"I know you wanna protect your fuckbuddy," Jet spat at Basil, "but I wanna put our best scorer in the slot."

"Hey, fuck off! I don't need protecting!" Larry set his muzzle and glared at Jet.

The referee stared in apathy at the group from the faceoff dot. "Let's go, fellas!" All five Bulls players were lined up behind him, with their hyena goalie standing ready.

"Whatever," Basil sighed, "let's focus on winning the draw."

The five lined up with the Bulls, and as the puck dropped, their tiger centre's stick clashed with Jet's, allowing him to slide it back to his own defenceman.

"God damn!" Mike lamented from behind Basil, before he lined his body against the opposing bench in case the Bulls tried to ring it around the boards.

Chasin spread back against the blue line on the right of the zone, while Larry shot right to attack the Bulls defenceman from behind the net. Basil muscled himself away from the winger on the half-boards to also close in on the defenceman.

The fox looked down to receive the puck, and then back up to find Basil diverging on him, while Jet wrestled against sixty-two.

He slapped the puck left along the boards to coordinate a clear with his own winger. The fox turned after the pass to inspect his play, only to jump once he noticed it landing on the stick of a green jersey.

Basil cut away, looking to get open for a pass, while sixty-two shed Jet and flew towards the puck carrier. With both of the Bulls' wingers gliding around Legion defencemen, attempting to stop passes to the blue line, Larry had to scour for a play to either of his forwards: one of whom was clambering back up onto his skates out of range, and the other being Basil. The problem for the restrained wolf happened to be the tiger barrelling at him from beside the net. Larry jolted, half-turned along the boards in an attempt to avoid a check, and dished the puck back towards Basil's vicinity.

Basil first lunged his stick out to collect a wild pass, before his tail twitched with the crashing sound of a giant tiger slamming against the boards, and the hollering of a roused crowd. What followed in Basil's peripheral vision was a wolf crumpling below. Distracted, the exasperated caribou could only loosely commit to the motion of a shot on goal--a poor one that the hyena easily collected--before he threw down his stick, flung off his gloves, and charged blindly against the shrill screech of a whistle. Basil's sense of sound shortly fell away as his vision turned red.

The tiger stumbled to his skates and spent a moment registering Basil's intent, before he too threw off his gloves to grapple with the smaller caribou.

Basil threw his left paw out to snag the collar of sixty-two's jersey, who tried to circle around to knock him away.

The tiger then shoved his own paw out to grasp at Basil's antlers, before the enraged caribou balled his fist and drove his energy into a punch that knocked sixty-two's face.

"Grrr..." the tiger grunted, "pussy ass bitch!" He recovered with a resistant paw wrapped around an antler.

Basil's fist this time was blocked by one of the tiger's outstretched arms, but he clung onto the collar of the jersey even as the tiger pulled him by his antler and pressed him against the boards.

With the leverage on his side, the tiger could knock his blocking arm against Basil's head, who held an iron grip while he tried to lean away from the hit. Basil managed to tug the tiger along as he fell to the ice surface.

The tiger slipped forward, and started to scramble up. "Piece of--"

Basil connected another punch against the tiger, jarring his helmet, before throwing a second that knocked the piece of equipment loose. The focused caribou didn't yell anything back, or even dare breathe. He just gripped the back of the hunched-over tiger's jersey, pulling it up while he knocked two more blows in and the big guy tried to back away.

Suddenly, more whistles were blowing, and a referee and linesman were materialized, cramming themselves between the two and constraining Basil's arms.

"Fuckin' hell man," the tiger panted, holding his head in the linesman's embrace--jersey-less, thanks to Basil's tugging. "The wolf fuckin' dove!"

Basil craned his neck around the pair incessantly for a view at the end boards. When he glimpsed Larry, his heart plunged.

The vulnerable wolf was bent over between a referee and one of the Legion's trainers, gripping one arm with the other in the middle of a quarter-circle of players.

Basil struggled against the hold of the referee. "What? What happened? Is he okay!?"

The ref glanced over lazily. "Oh, uh...he's half-up. Don't worry about it. Just get in the box."

"He's fine?" the tiger grunted, still looking dazed, "Why'd you blow the whistle then?"

"Boarding," the referee answered, "that's a misconduct. Yer outta here till the third. Two man advantage."

"You've gotta be shitting me," sixty-two murmured.

Larry finally rose on shaky feet, to the roar of the crowd and the tapping of sticks customary to respecting an injured player.

Basil tried to pry himself away from the referee once more before Larry, gliding past the blue line with Mike and the trainer at his side, flipped his head towards Basil. Through a grimace emphasized by the ginger lifting of his elbow, the youthful wolf watched Basil behind green irises and lifted a solitary corner of his muzzle into a pained smirk. Larry arrived at the bench and strode his way into the Legion locker room.

Five minutes passed in seconds for Basil, until a play elongated until the end of the period, and a scorekeeper nodded for the ruminating caribou to let himself out. He hadn't quite paid enough attention to register the fact that the Legion scored in the final minutes of the period, or that Oskari was now prolonging his time at the bench, waiting for his captain.

The lynx held the door to the Legion's bench open. "Great fight, dude, you took their spirit away." His eyes shifted. "Jet said he wanted to drop 'em, didn't like you stepping in."

Basil stared sternly into Oskari's eyes. "That's his problem."

"Mmm...why'd you fight, then?"

The question prodded at Basil when he stepped off the ice. The crowd was still whirring, and the arena blared with pop music drowning out the voices of the players. He paused adjacent to the lynx.

Oskari closed the door, and waited while Basil rested his paws on the boards.

Basil found a smile gracing his muzzle. In the lynx's fur, he saw the warm browns and oranges of a sprawling sunset. Finally, Basil said the words he waited a millennium to speak.

"No one hits my boyfriend."

---

"Aw man, that's rich." Larry laughed and scratched under the edge of his cast. "I knew you had the balls in there somewhere!"

"I think you mean, 'out there'," Basil quipped, with a look up to the driver's mirror. He lowered his voice--just a little. "Easier to know they're there when you've seen 'em!"

When Basil observed Larry, he noticed a familiar lazy smirk. "Hell yeah, dude," Larry answered.

Flurries of snow waltzed outside the taxi's window, disappearing as they landed on the asphalt of the highway. Beyond the vehicle's front window, the monolithic structure of the local airport emerged.

"But yeah, I wish I was there." Larry propped his good arm behind his head and leaned back, contemplative. "Think he'll tell the rest of the team about it?"

Basil paused in thought. "Not if he wants a major leaguer to still read his texts."

"I know that feeling. Felix sent me a text this morning. A single text!" Larry scoffed, with fallen ears. They rose when he forced a smile on his muzzle. "I keep forgetting that you're gonna be famous. Don't forget to text me, Cap!"

"I'd never forget."

His smile turned radiant. "And don't forget to get me tickets, too!"

Basil shrugged. "My college buddies call me nonstop about that. Parents are already looking to fly into town, too. I'm sure I can hook you up."

Upon reaching the airport and parking near the dropoff zone of Basil's terminal, the taxi driver got out to help him with his bags while Larry remained in the backseat.

The driver was a bat, standing several inches under the towering hockey players. When he spoke, his voice whistled. "So...yer headin' up to 'Tronna? Playing for the Heroes? Will I see you on TV tonight?"

Basil gave him the warmest smile he could muster. "Maybe, maybe not. Depends if they slot me in."

The car door opened, and Larry popped his head out. "They've got 5 games this week. You'll see him eventually!"

The bat studied Larry. "You, uh..." he gestured to the jubilant wolf's arm, "you comin' too?"

"Nah." Larry tapped his cast. "Elbow's busted. Four weeks minimum."

"Damn." The driver twisted to Basil and flicked one of his giant ears. "Hell of a moral support you've got here, bud. You got any other bags, or..."

"A couple."

Larry threw his legs out of the car. "Wait! I'll help him with those!"

The bat looked quizzical. "Yer arm..."

"I'm a hockey player," spat the incredulous wolf, "I'll be fine!"

"All-righty!" said the bat, who retreated back around the car to slide into the driver's seat.

When Basil lifted his two bags from the trunk and set them on the pavement, Larry strode beside him with a wagging tail.

Basil beamed. "Okay, what's up?"

"I just wanna say that, uh, hey, you're real fuckin' cute." Larry stopped, and then nodded his head to emphasize that point.

Basil tilted his head. "Is that the pain medication talking?"

"Nah, I'm actually saying it." Larry shook his head, as if dismissing the noise in his head. "And I wanna add that, uh..."

"You'll be right behind me?"

Larry's vibrant green irises shone at Basil. His muzzle shifted, and he showed his fangs in a wide grin. "Yeah. And when you're up there," Larry winked, "don't go chasing other boys when you've got me."

Basil chuckled. "I'll be a two hour drive away."

Larry's ears flicked. "Oh. Maybe that's a dumb to worry about. Not like you're moving across the country, or anything."

"It's sweet. And I wouldn't leave you anyways, by the way. We've got the offseason...breaks..."

"Phone calls..." Larry's voice bounced in laughter. "Ha! We could tape videos for each other to...y'know."

"Yeah."

Flecks of snow graced the ends of Larry's fur in the chilly morning. While the sun hid behind the shield of the clouds, light seemed to radiate between the caribou and wolf. The corners of Larry's muzzle smoothed up in the midst of their stare, and he leaned forward and pressed his tongue against Basil's.

After a blissful moment of Basil savouring the kiss and holding Larry against him, the two parted, with the spark of passion still suspended between each others' snouts and between each others' eyes.

Basil hefted his bags over his shoulders and strode ahead towards the entrance of the airport, where a promised Heroes representative would meet him further inside. Halfway across the dropoff zone, he gazed back at his partner.

The glimmering sun peeked out above a group of clouds, climbing high over grey industrial buildings across the street from Larry and the taxi.

Larry wore the grin that Basil had come to love. The wolf stuffed his hands in his pockets, wagged his tail, and devoted Basil a single, crisp nod.

"Go get 'em, dude."

---

Thank you for keeping up with this series, even if it did take months to conclude! While current events inspired me to take on the niche genre of furry sports back in December, the direction of the world led me to pick it back up and see it through: both for closure for those who still may be interested in it, as well as myself and my own growth as a writer. Now that these ~20k words are uploaded, I'm looking ahead to new writing projects as my schedule opens up.

Once again, thanks to wellifimust for editing these three parts. You a real one.