FSE

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This story was original published in FANG 8 by FurPlanet (Paperback/E-book). Support fandom writers and publishers.

Mina's soft, uncut cock slid along my tongue as the genet's legs trembled on either side of me, his weight supported with help from his locked elbows, claws gripping to the marker tray beneath a dry erase board smeared with Marxist rhetoric and illustrations. Echoes of a broken accordion and ukulele melded with the familiar received pronunciation drone of the BBC News. I held Mina's open fly and loose boxers below his plump package, the dark spots in his coat melting into the brown-tan underbelly fur in the corner of my eye. He was a nerd, the Computer Science undergrad type who wore loose clothing and thin-frame glasses, hotness hidden in poorly fitted clothes and accessories. His tail he couldn't hide, ringed in bands of black fur it was as long has he was tall, more tail than I could imagine dealing with. He volunteered to run tech for the camp of protesters and the embedded journalists currently occupying the main foyer of the administration building.

I tasted him; my tongue swirled around the tight skin around his tapered tip. My free paw traveled underneath his shirt, his stomach was soft and squishy, a deceitfully prominent stomach. His chest was just as doughy, not much muscle build up between the satiny short fur and breastbone. Mina's shaft jerked, pre-cum leaked out on my tongue as blood filled the flesh in my muzzle. It was nice that he was responding, and the weight and girth suggested a good mouthful. He gasped, his head and chest falling forward. A chain brushed against my fingertips, sign of hidden faith, though his dick gave away more than a hidden Coptic cross. I jerked my paw away out of reflex. Virgins and the faithful I tended to keep a wide berth from, sexually speaking.

"I-I don't know... how long I can--" Mina's legs were wobbling even more, and he had sunk enough that I could feel the weight of his sac in my palm.

Pulling back, I teased his tip as he slipped from my muzzle and down the wall. His thin muzzle was parted, his tongue pressed against his lips as he panted. I switched to one paw, kneeling beside him and rubbing and squeezing the thick base of his cock. "Ever done this before?" I asked, burying my reservation beneath a gravelly growl.

"Not in the middle of a bloody public classroom."

I doubted he seriously minded too much, his balls certainly didn't as they jerked a heavy drop from his tip. "Get much tourist action?" The indescribable flavor of cock skin and pre was still prominent on my tongue and in my throat.

The genet growled a laugh in response. "I was too terrified. The clubs would get raided, we'd be imprisoned, and that tourist would be going home."

I fiddled with my own pants.

"I came to England for uni prep, and partied for the first year."

"Availed yourself of our delicate young males, did you?" Pants opened I leaned into his warm body. It was awkward, that was the nature of this little coupling, I settled for straddling one of his legs unable to slip between or over his legs. We were both larger folks.

"Hardly." He accepted my advance, his knee pressing up between my thighs. "Do I look like clubbing is something I do? Nah, just fucking casual shit. Got old quick. Not the casual, just the scene." Mina grabbed my hip, claws curling around the waist and belt loops of my jeans.

"Glad to hear it." I pressed my canid muzzle into his neck. "Wouldn't want to ruin the moment with a proposal and meet the parents' invitation." My ears flicked. Shouts and cheers sounded from the common room. Nipping at his neck, I pulled his length against mine.

"Yo, Landon, you in'ere?" Tix appeared in the open-door frame looking as disheveled as usual, his white t-shirt was looking a little gray, but the noose around 'Tories' was still very clear. "Hey, Landon!" the red squirrel sauntered up to our little pile of two large guys on the floor. "And... stranger." He seemed to notice that he'd walked in on me and someone not of our community of misfits.

As calm as Tix was, Mina was quite the opposite. His amber eyes seemed to vibrate between wide-eyed embarrassment and slit-eyed shame. I stroked his cock to keep him focused, and from freaking out anymore. "I'm Tix," he held out his paw, "Pleasure to meet you..." His paw hung there for a moment, fur caked in different forms of paint: acrylic, oil, and gouache.

I licked up the side of Mina's neck and along the underside of his jaw. "Shake the nice squirrel's paw and introduce yourself."

"Mina." His voice wobbled slightly as he shook Tix's paw; I squeezed as they shook, to see the bug out expression on his face.

"Nice to meet you Mina," Tix paw fell to his side, while the genet's just hung there.

"He's a hugger," I said to reassure Mina.

"On account of all the dicks out I figured I'd get the hugs in later. Now, Landon are you and h... What pronouns?"

I could feel his discomfort growing in the void left in my paw as he started to soften. "He's a cute boy I found from Egypt." Not wanting to lose more of his mood, I wrapped myself around him. My one arm snaked behind him as I stroked his dripping, but soften cock, now hidden by my body.

"Well, anyway, to the point so you two can get to the point, bunch of school kids are heading to Parliament."

"School kids are always visiting Parliament..."

"These are college and secondary kids, under 18 variety, protesting tuition hikes."

"You're not planning on hijacking it?"

"I hijack fuck all. We're picking some representatives, don't want the police to catch us snoozing and stop our occupation early. I'm climbing over to the theater in ten minutes if you want to come."

"We can try..."

Tix patted both of us on the shoulder. I could see his discreet glance and sly smile at Mina's reawakened arousal before jogging out of the room. The squirrel was generally jogging somewhere.

"Sorry," I said, "Tix tends to be rather brash. Parental issues, mainly." Looking down, my own arousal jerked at the glistening shaft in my paw. "Now, I thought you folk were routinely circumcised over there..." Mina bit his lip as I toyed with his covered tip, much like my own. It didn't really matter to me. I slipped down and pressed my nose to the base of his frenulum. I had a curious itch I wanted to scratch, but it wasn't about to stop me from blowing him.

* * *

I jogged ahead, pulling Mina along, the taste of his seed lingering in my throat and tongue. My pants were tight and a little damp, but there wasn't time for that at this time. We reached the top floor of the administration building. There was one of the old, tall windows that opened out onto the back roof. Tix was standing by the opened window, alone. "The others went on ahead, took my impromptu banner, too," he explained, black ink smudged across the fur of his forehead.

The squirrel ducked through the window, at home with these heights. I had snuck my way into several buildings from the third or fourth floor. That was how most of us were coming and going without the auspices of press credentials. Not that all who had them were journalists, undercover security, and of course Mina. The genet hung back even as I pulled him out onto the roof despite the protests. By the time we made it half of the way between the window and the back of the theater, Tix was already jumping down to the theater's roof. The slow going was starting to get at my vertigo as Mina inched along, pressed into the pitched copper roof long since oxidized. The roof was crenelated with the same old stone as the rest of the building, but Mina didn't seem to trust it. I was getting to the point of following suit, fortunately the rain had held off despite the overhanging clouds. It would be nice to say the view was great, that I could see all of London from up there, but I certainly wasn't paying attention.

Of course, the crossing wasn't the worst to deal with. The back roof of the theater was three feet lower but was flush with the taller building that our school building backs onto. I had done the jump several times already, both recently and as an undergrad. It was intimidating, small guys like Tix could use the exposed bricks and utility boxes and lines to cross the gap, but big guys like Mina and me needed a bit more dedication. "You should go first," I said, sliding across the genet's front. "Just go up to wall and ease yourself over."

"You're fucking nuts."

"Come on, you're one with heights, aren't you?" I answered, "Just go up to the edge and jump over. It's barely a foot away." I hooked my claws around his waistband as he inched to the corner. It was, in all honesty, a minuscule gap, just the angle and height difference made it easy to psyche yourself out. "You got this, just jump." His fur was on edge, catlike tail whipping in the wind.

Tix appeared around the blind corner. "Come on. You don't wanna get caught up there."

"Oi, shut the fuck up!" I shouted and Tix ducked around, back out of sight. I bend my head to his ear and stroked his hip. "You ready?"

Mina's eyes were closed, and his muzzle was moving. Then he leapt, my fingers sliding free of his waist as he flew from my grasp. It was windy up on the roof, but he landed with ease, and I followed. Bumping into his back I hugged him. "See? Easy." It hadn't been easy; I could hear his heart pounding and his tail hung in a languid arc.

Tix was sitting half in, half out of the window of the theater, brushing flakes of paint and glue out of his tail. "We should hurry," he said, as he pushed himself off the windowsill into the building.

We hurried after the large tail, breathing heavily to catch up with the swift squirrel. "Should I mention that I'm here on a visa?" Mina said as we pushed into a stairwell.

"And?" Tix called back over his shoulders as he skipped down steps, our progress echoing in the concrete brick tower.

"They'll kick me outta school, the country, back to Egypt to marry some Coptic girl, from there everything falls apart."

"About a third of my roommates are ex-students with expired visas," Tix began as he jumped the last few steps down. "They have no plans on leaving."

"See," I said, as we paused on the first-floor landing, "You can move in with Tix."

Tix started down the final stairway to the ground floor, "We got one bedroom, one shower, one toilet and a trench outback... at least until they shut off the water or force us out."

"Are you serious?" Mina asked, following Tix just ahead of me.

"It's really nice!" Tix insisted.

"Certainly, better than the foreclosed warehouse you all were in before," I echoed.

The heavy metal exit door clanged shut behind us as we pushed out of the ground floor stairwell. It was hard to imagine this primly dressed genet showing up to live among an anarchist artists commune squatting in an abandoned building or empty Russian oligarch's flat. We danced between the cardboard and rubbish piles along the cobblestone alley and dodged by puddles of filthy water to the empty street that ran along the back of the university and ran through the center of central London's higher education. We snuck by the back entrance, staffed more by construction workers than security, and veered around Senate House. Today was not a day to pay respect to where the University of London Union died.

Our goal was first to reach Piccadilly Circus where we saw the remnants of the unexpected tidal wave. The chill in the late fall air was hard to stand, but the mass of bodies we were heading should help assuage the presence of cold. Piccadilly should be bustling, it normally is at all hours, but this mid-afternoon day it was scattered with more coffee cups and newspapers than onlookers or tourists. The number of pedestrians was noticeably low, although not as deserted as an hour after last call, after the tube stops and only night buses run.

It can be difficult to catch up to a protest already moving. They tend to proceed rather fast to get to the rally point before the police block it off because they don't like how we look or too many. When we start seeing people with their phones or cameras out ambling in the opposite direction, I know we're getting close. While mildly inconvenienced by protests, the very least they could do was get a good photograph to show off the ungrateful blighters.

* * *

The stragglers were next, and we blended into the crowd. Tix was off, his size making it impossible to follow in most crowds, too short to spot, and so small he can fit through the littlest cracks. I kept hold of Mina's paw. "Look, if we get separated," I began pulling him in close so he would definitely be able to hear over the rising street noise. "Do whatever you can to get out, look for the small side streets."

"What about them?" he asked, eyes darting to the line of police on either side of the march.

"Don't mind them, you're not breaking any laws, they've no reason to detain you for just being here."

"What about you?" His fingers tightened around my paw.

"Meet back at the university."

We dodged through more of the scattered rear guard. The chill of November was already starting to fade from the concentration of bodies. "What about Tix?" Mina asked, the red squirrel long gone.

I laughed, pushing in between a group of wolves with anti-Tory placards. "Tix are practically untouchable. Small, quick, and climbs."

The further we pushed through the marching crowd they seemed to grow younger and smaller. Tix was right, these were mostly children. There was a young rabbit, she didn't look over fifteen, prancing down Whitehall waving a sign as tall as her. This crowd was filled with hundreds like her. How many of them could have possibly been to a march before? I couldn't imagine they knew what they were doing. It was exciting, it made my heart race, this demonstration of raw emotion. As we pushed further into the crowd I wanted to join in the poorly synchronized shouts. Of course, to join in anything more than gibberish would mean I could translate the variety of slurred phrases ringing through the air.

When the closed street opened up on Parliament Square it was a madhouse with rows of police three lines deep blocking off the south and east side of the park to protect Westminster. For a moment we stood still as streams of children pressed into the park. "Crazy, en'it?" I asked Mina, his amber eyes wide. The streets were mostly empty, most of the demonstration living within the confines of the park. "Mind your tail," I said, wondering what one could possibly do with six feet of tail in a crowd like this.

The crowd divided into small groups talking, dancing, smoking, drinking, shouting. All of us were here to be seen and heard, our sheer number the rhetorical message. Tix was likely ringside, fearlessly facing down the police guards in riot gear. As exhilarating as that could be, I doubt Mina was ready for it. Today we were along for the ride and I pulled Mina toward the climb that preceded the first drop and spike of adrenaline. In among the smokers and stoners, hippies, students and socialists, ukuleles and vuvuzelas, the sounds and smells were overwhelming: pot and cigarettes, sweat and stale beer and coffee, cum. My pants tightened. Mina wrestled with a scent bottle, dabbing just below his pointy nose. "Too much?" I asked. He nodded, stashing the small bottle in his hip pocket. "You'll get used to it. Though you gotta start using the scents less."

"How do you do it?" he asked as we passed by a drum circle.

"Practice," I answered, "And some desensitizing. Things tend to smell less shitty if you hang around houses with backed up septic systems and mold. Smell of life is much better in comparison."

"I--uhh--think I'll pass on that."

I threw an arm around his shoulder and brought my muzzle in close to his cheek. "I'll let you know if you miss something."

The hour grew later, but the crowd only grew. November can get chilly and temperature can be hard with all these hot bodies in one place and the biting wind of approaching winter. With time and density growth, order declines. I could smell the trouble starting. The acrid odor of burning wood, plastic, and chemical sealant. Smoke rose out of the middle of the park. I waited with a paw on Mina's shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"A fire." Fires weren't rare, especially when it's cold and no one's moving. This smelled more like property damage. "Watch out, things might get dicey," I warned. "They're burning a bench or something. They come when property is damaged." 'They' were the mounted unit, and they appeared riot helmets affixed to their heads rising three feet above the crowd; they had the power to part. "We should start backing away," I began just before a stone bounced off one of the officer's shielded face.

"Knock it off!" Mina shouted into the crowd, his voice dying in the overwhelming collection of shouted slurs, whistles piercing over top.

"I don't think they're gonna stop, Mina," I said. "It's too late anyway." The sun was already below the roof line.

We started fracturing, the crowd not sure just which way to go. Some headed straight for the mounted unit, others to the rows of riot police, some for any exit they could find. With more police streaming around the park from fire and flung objects, the scene was loudly and quickly devolving. Holding tight to Mina, I pulled him with me toward the northwest corner of Parliament Square. St. James Park was a quick hop away, the open space made it hard for the police to kettle us. On the outskirts of the park a group of protesters, muzzles covered, swarmed the treasury building as another contingent appropriated several eight-foot sections of portable chain link fence, virtually blocking access. The glass windows splintered, but did not shatter, the reinforced glass far stronger than a mob armed with rocks and bits of discarded building materials.

The line of fences blocking off Great George Street to the east was falling in on itself, the barricade propped up by the bodies of experienced protesters failing. Outside of the square, groups lined the rim of the treasury, a small lip a foot or two above the sidewalk providing greater sight lines around the square. Others had climbed streetlamps and traffic lights; a group was hanging a crudely painted anti-capitalist sign across the mouth to the square.

As the streets were getting darker, I climbed a concrete bollard to see if the way out to St. James Park was clear. Another riot squad was jogging down Great George Street. "Shit," I said, jumping back to the pavement. They were likely going to try to block off our escape route and kettle all of us in here and we were still within the perimeter.

"What about down there?" Mina asked, pointing to sunken area between the building and the sidewalk along the south side of the street.

With the other chaos, we could hide from the initial wave and sneak away after I figured. Pulling Mina along I ran for the doorway half down the block and we leapt over the stone railing into the private sunken path. Our heads came up just high enough to peek out street level. We followed the path until it curved around and found a path out half a block later and bolted south. Fuck the park, the Met would likely be increasing their presence around it and the fancy shops near the northern edge of the park. We disappeared amongst the streets and alleys until I jumped and climbed a set of scaffoldings against a building. From the roof, we could see Parliament Square as the police overrode the protest. The groups on the outskirts around the treasury were a splintered mess.

"What's going to happen?" Mina asked.

"They'll be there for several hours," I answered with a shiver. The cold on top of the building overwhelming me for the first time.

"But they're just kids..."

"Not all of them, most, and it doesn't matter. Some will be arrested, only some will be charged, some hospitalized, some will get away just fine." Someone out there had started a fire in the middle of the park, this time more for warmth, probably. The police were enclosing around the park and the square. Power to the people, anarchy in the UK in the middle of a crusade led by children.

* * *

My pulse was racing, and I was shivering. We should head back to the college, get out of the chilly November weather. Certainly, we should not be hanging out on top of a building with the wind. Neither one of us wanted to look away. The glow of lamps and fire, sirens and a few helicopters, news or police, couldn't tell which. I was wide awake, the adrenalin serving as a direct injection of caffeine. "We got out, at least."

"What now?" Mina asked, shivering just a bit.

I kissed him. It occurred to me that we really hadn't done that yet. I was pushing things beyond the bit of fun we'd already had to something more serious. He gasped as my tongue slipped against his. It didn't occur to me that this could be his first kiss either, having revealed his sexual history, I didn't think this was the one thing he may not have done. I pulled back, both of us breathing heavily, his paws had gotten tangled in my braids. He pulled me back until my larger muzzle was pressed against his thinner one, his tongue returning with force to roam against my teeth and tongue. Our bodies melded into one another, my groin a hardened mass of fire from the teasing attention I'd given it earlier.

Mina slid to his knees, claws sliding against my trouser waist and button as he zeroed in on his goal. I swore his hot breath was melting through the layers of my clothes. My pants clanged to the roof around my ankles and my tight compression trunks slid partway down my thighs. He sucked me into his muzzle, pulling me in until his nostrils flared against fur. Even the slight bulge at the base of my shaft throbbed behind his lips. Using his tongue for all the work, his paws wrapped around the back of my upper thighs, fingertips teasing me beneath my tail.

As quiet and shy as he seemed, his muzzle told a different story as he slurped, suckled, and salivated with a salacious smile all the while. Chills rocked my body, but not from the cold, which was distant and forgotten. He pulled off, whiskers twitching as pre dribbled on his chin.

"Turn around," he instructed, and I wasn't going deny him. He bent me over the roof ledge and his tongue slid along my taint. I groaned as his tongue pressed into me.

Closing my eyes to the ongoing confrontation below us a mile to the northeast, I pressed against his muzzle. My cock throbbed against my stomach, my shirt and fur growing damp. "Hurry up," I moaned.

He scrambled up behind me and his length slid beneath mine. With a teasing touch, he rubbed my pre and saliva slickened shaft with a light brush of fingers, spreading a growing mixture of fluids around his cock. I gasped as the warmth of him against me retreated and pressed against my spit slicked hole. It fucking hurt, I gritted my teeth, no amount of relaxing making the intrusion easier. With some effort, I rocked my hips back against him, adjusting until the hurt subsided into the dull ache of cock filled ass. Rocking into me at a swift and steady pace, he felt so much different than I'd imagined. I imagined him sweeter with this, more fumbling, maybe even in my position, but his thrusts came with precision and the pain was more manageable than a bumbling virgin with too much lube and no skill.

Braced against the sturdy rampart, I arched up against him. One of his big arms wrapped up around my chest as he purred a rumbling growl into the nape of my neck. Beneath us order was returning. He fumbled a bit, reaching for my shaft, something I'd always found awkward. One of the unexpected hardest things of fucking like this was managing the reach around. His paw found my shaft and gripped me almost painfully tight, stroking me in short rapid bursts. Out in the park most of the protest had diminished into sitting and group huddles. A few skirmishes continued along the police line, the standoff would continue until they all were allowed to leave or arrested.

Through half lidded eyes, I recalled the exhilaration of the moment, throwing myself over into the shouting and fighting back the disillusionment of our government. I snarled in frustration as he pulled out, rapidly turning until he caught me in another kiss. Hot seed splashed against my cock, his essence boiling into me as his orgasm subsided. Without stopping for a moment, he returned to where he'd started with my length pressing down toward his throat. I clutched at his cheeks, ears, and whatever else I could grasp taking my turn to fuck his muzzle. "I-I'm close," I whimpered, legs starting to shake.

Mina pulled back until just my tip remained between his lips, his tongue toying with my foreskin. His fingers slipped around the base of my shaft and he stroked until my seed was flooding his mouth.

Sure, our walk back to the university was sore and uncomfortable, at least for me, but it'd been fun. We strolled through Piccadilly as the streets returned to normal. The bourgeois rich cats were hitting the clubs in their fancy chauffeured limos and Lamborghinis. My fur was dirty and matted, my walk of shame covering the few miles between King's Cross and the Thames and several hours embarrassingly early. Mina was quiet and I hadn't much to say. The recollection of our passions lingered in our noses. We avoided passing too close to others on the street and would dash across the street if we noticed an adroit muzzle coming too close. Some guys I'd been with didn't understand the need for discretion, but Mina shared an implicit understanding that just because we had this country's law and culture was on our side, our dark continent heritage was more unpredictable.

We arrived back at the college a little after midnight. The cold November air was starting to get to me and the cum caked fur rubbed uncomfortably against my jeans. Hopping the wall was easy enough. After hours, they liked to keep the central campus locked down to discourage any off-color pranks or political artwork. Few years ago, Tix tagged one of the statues with blood red spray paint and the school was less than pleased to see a distinguished alum and benefactor called a pig. The school couldn't do much since the statue was of Tix's own patrilineal great-grandfather. I'd never asked why Tix had such a bone for Dr. Morris.

As the hour was considerably later than we'd normally try to get back into the administration wing, we couldn't use the theater shortcut. Instead we had to do a little hopping and climbing. Mina seemed more comfortable despite his earlier hesitation. Maybe our little rooftop fuck cured him of some of his fear of heights.

Everyone was clustered in the little IT station listening to the news. I paused at the doorway, ears perked for the latest from BBC or SKY, but Mina pushed me toward the washroom. Like any other washroom, there wasn't a whole lot we could do with just fur dryers, toilets, and sinks. Mina locked the door and started stripping.

"Here?" I approached him as his shirt fell to the ground. "I liked the office better." His trousers fell to the ground. I reached for his loose boxers, the fly gaping tantalizingly open. My head was clouded by the outpouring of pheromones of our unwashed post-penetration state. "My turn?" I asked, slipping my claws beneath waistband along his hips.

Mina paused for a second. Even the sway of his long tail halted mid swing. There was a sparkled in his eye as he butted up against my muzzle with his. I eased the waistband down until his pants joined his trousers. "Stop." He huffed, breathing hard into my parted muzzle. He didn't pull away very far, just enough that he could dodge my attempt to re-engage. Even his cock jerked hard against my thigh.

Whining, I asked, "What's wrong?" My ears drooped involuntarily as though I were drunk. "You could do me again, if you're not into bottoming..."

Then he was gone, the coolness of florescent lights and neutral tile filled the gulf his retreat formed. "It's not that... we should wash up, get some sleep." His eyes seemed to search me for a reply, reminding me that we were essentially strangers, not familiar enough for silent communication.

"That's fine," I said with a shrug, off playing the disappointment my cock was experiencing. "I feel kind of icky anyway."

Mina bent down, his tail swinging in the air. How I'd love to feel that tail as he is moaning... I bit my lip, starting to undo my pants. The genet stood straight again, boxers in paw, cock bobbing. "Fine with sharing?" he asked, running the boxers underneath the sink tap.

"Huh?" My pants hit the floor despite having to clear my boner.

"Rag," he answered, soaping up his drawers.

Looking down I realized my briefs were look worse for wear, not quite up to wiping off the cum. "Better do," I answered, pulling down my underwear and tossing them in the garbage.

He patted both of us down with the soapy cloth, paying attention to my problems areas until I thought he'd pull the fur out. I wished he'd do more than wipe up and down my body, barely lingering along my hardness. We both left the lavatory hard and our underwear was in the garbage. Knowing he was not wearing underwear would haunt me, the bagginess of his trousers perfect for defining his bulge.

Unable to deny exhaustion, we headed to the "bunk" room and curled up in a corner. I hated being horned up before bed, too tired to get off and too horny to sleep well. Morning was likely going to suck.

* * *

Morning sucked. It came with shrill whistles and heavy banging. "Fuck." I rubbed the drowsiness from my eyes. My head pounded like a fifteen-day binge and of course my phone had died, no charger in sight. And the whistling and pounding persisted.

Mina let out a large yawn, his tongue flexing out as his fangs glistened. His open maw reminded me of the fun we'd had. Cute as he was, though, my mood was sour, my back stiff, my lips chapped.

Max, a big bull of a cow, appeared in the doorway. She'd been one of Tix's girlfriends from before Tix was Tix. The large dyke ran our circus. "We gotta clear out." Her accent as thick as blood pudding as red as her fur. Despite her Scottish tongue, Tix assured me she was quite good at feminine linguistics.

"What's it?" I snapped as she turned to leave.

"We gone and pissed off the chancellor. Now we have'ta piss off or it's bondage night with unfriendly folk."

"That's it?" I asked with a groan.

"Ass up, Landon," she grunted as she disappeared into the hallway.

"Eat it," I shouted back, but she was gone and ignoring me. Now Mina was looking at me, his head cocked to the side. "Don't worry about it Mina." Resisting the urge to curl back up into him and the faint desire to reacquaint myself with his uncut cock, I stretched my limbs. My ass hurt.

"You okay?" Mina asked, standing with surprising ease.

"Yeah," I answered, rubbing at the ruffled fur on my cheeks. "We should get moving, though." I stood up, bones cracking. "But first some painkillers. And a piss."

We were greeted by zombies staggering around the wing. Clearly, I was not the only one surprised. Our removal was happening way too fucking early and that meant the coffee machine was being packed up rather than pumping out disposable cups of rejuvenating heartburn. Outside it was so early that the chill of an early sun still clung to the air. Mina was an exception. Acting completely unzombified, he stood out on the sidewalk like it was a fucking bright sunny noontime summer day. His crew was busy leaving with their arms filled with their networking gadgetry. Our little sit in occupation fizzled as the Marxist name Wi-Fi trotted away. I spat at the flagstone sidewalk. We just followed the rules, after all, whether they were stated or a reasonable understanding of our underlives. Actual transgression wasn't possible here, not when a knowing hand of the powerful institution come out in "symbolic support" drawing attention to what involved and bright students they had. I sighed.

"Tesco's?"

"Ugh!" My exasperation bittered my tongue. "I need a cigarette." Something to chase off this unfeeling taste in my mouth.

"I didn't know you smoked..." Mina's words came with that familiar 'it's bad for your health, I can't believe you'd do this to yourself' look.

Damn it! "I don't," I sighed. I didn't mean I don't in the same way I don't do heroin or some shit like that; more that I don't do it often or regularly. "I have one here or there." The look faded as though it hadn't actually been there. I could deal without a cigarette for now, I decided. Tesco was nearby and they'd be able to fix me. At the very least it was something to do and I could do with water and caffeine at the least. "Too bad they don't make caffeinated water," I said, "Just water, caffeine, and nothing else."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mina came in close, proximity driving me to kiss him.

PDA was not a thing I did. Sometimes fucking, sometimes groping, but this kiss was very much affectionate, so much so that my jeans didn't tighten around my free hanging package.

"Fag?" Tix jogged into view pulling out his trashy pack of crappy budget cigarettes even though everyone knew he could afford the fancy shite.

"You're looking awfully clean," I observed, noting the white t-shirt and flawless jeans, the scent of high-end fur cleaner wafting from his exposed red fur.

"Got picked up," he slurred as he lit his cigarette.

"What'd you do?" The smell of burning tobacco made my stomach rumble.

"Punched one."

"Okay..." I looked at Mina and noticed he had the same puzzled expression on his face as me.

"You know that whole bourgeois MP affluenza shite?" Tix asked, blowing out another cloud as Mina stepped out of the wind. "True."

"Shit."

"They held me in an interrogation until Minister Morris showed up this morning to collect their ungrateful little scion who used his communion dress to burn the rest of his pretty girly dresses. Took a shower, changed, and buggered right off in thanks to the lecture."

"Hey, Tix!" The red squirrel turned around as his name was called.

"Hey, Maryam!" Tix waved over a hyena in a bright rainbow headscarf. "Guys, this is Maryam, Maryam this is Landon and Mina."

She greeted us with a kiss to both cheek. "It's good to meet you," she said with a smile and accent thicker than Mina's. When she retreated from greeting us she stayed close to Tix. They were nearly the same height, but the natural huskiness of hyena blood made her wider.

"What you guys up to?" Tix asked, his arm slipping around Maryam's waist.

"We were heading to the market," Mina answered.

"Yeah, the early hour's eviction really sucked."

"Better that you were there," Tix laughed. "Getting evicted in absentia really sucked. Lost a whole bag of my shit that way."

"There's still time before the pre-pre-march assembly, what are you planning to do?" I asked.

The squirrel looked down to Maryam. "Kentish place, I think."

"See you," I said, and they took off. Watching them go, I wondered if she was as good with her tongue as Max. Tix's ass, at least what was visible beyond the bush, swayed fine.

* * *

Mina stayed with me. Through the market run and the little cafe and the used bookstores along Charing Cross, he kept me company. Waters felt a little rocky as they did when a hook up or one-night stand hints toward something a little more formal and permanent. I can't say I always ran in those situations, but me and relationships were never too jolly. Usually the younger ones hung around until dismissed without ever really stating their desires or opinions. Older knew to go once shit was done, and they usually retreated right quick. I didn't feel like dismissing Mina mostly because I couldn't deny something was there to make me want to keep him around. Not that I felt he would go, at least not without backfiring my dismissal. He'd say something like 'Why? We're both waiting for the march so why do you want me to go? Having feelings for me causing some problems for you? Can't concentrate?'

Yawning, I sipped my third espresso as Mina and I made our way to assembly point at Torrington Square. The square was one of the feeder spots, situated in the center of the Bloomsbury based collection of universities. Longer than it was wide, schools flanked the park on all sides. We got there a little early and the square was already filling up. Unlike yesterday there was miasma of anger, not a ukulele to be seen.

My hackles bristled with adrenaline as I soaked in the atmosphere. The need to rip something apart with my jaws ground my teeth. Mina appeared more confused or observant than participatory, gazing at the crowd with wide eyes. "This doesn't get your blood moving, your hackles quivering?" I asked as we intermingled with the various organizations. I could see Max to one side with a mobile cradled to her head.

"It's new and honestly kind of scary..."

"Not as much as in Tahrir Square," I answered.

"I wasn't there..."

"You missed out, probably. I can't imagine a people's protest actually causing a revolution."

Mina pulled me to a stop, forcing us eye to eye. "Then why do you do this?" he asked, eyes locked with mine. "If your goal is not revolution, if you do not even believe this has meaning, why do it?"

"Because if I don't, they don't, no one does, the government won't recognize the pain they're causing. They'll assume us compliant and they'll cut shit more and more until none of us can afford a glass of water let alone a degree." I pushed away and continued moving toward Max. Mina fell in step with me, which sort of surprised me. "Max," I called out with a wave. She returned a blank stare as we approached.

"Have you seen Tix anywhere?" she asked, holding the receiver part of the mobile to her paw.

"Not for a few hours." I chose not to spoil her mood more by sharing Tix's new friend.

"Fuck, okay..." Max turned around and went back to talking on the phone. When she finished, she rubbed her rusted furred forehead. "They've locked us out of Parliament Square."

"So, where we going?" I asked.

"At least they didn't pull our permits after last night's shit show." She sighed. "No one has a definitive answer so we're in a holding pattern."

"There's always HQ." Tix slid out of the crowd with the casualness of a summoned ghost. His shirt was a little dirtier and his fur less combed. Max's nostrils flared.

"Where's your friend?" I asked.

"Maryam's hooked up with the Fractionals. Now," he turned to Max, "let's go for Millbank."

"Tix..." Max started, gnawing on her lip, "That's only going to cause more trouble, marching thousands right up to Tory HQ."

The squirrel shrugged. "After last night, I'm out of fucks to care; they kneeled children for hours, arrested, and hospitalized us for speaking up."

"Why do you even plan?" Mina asked, silencing the discussion. "It's clear last night was chaos. Today will be chaos, too. Why not just go with it without a plan?"

"He has a point," Max said, a slight smile forming on her large muzzle. "Whatever we did we're headed the same direction. Just no assaulting royalty or Downing."

Tix and Max set out to talk with the other organizers. Mina and I just perched against a wrought iron gate over a basement access ramp. "You don't have to come you know," I said. Even my words were weird, like I was breaking up with him. Or at least giving him the space to leave me. Instead of leaving or replying he kissed my cheek and pivoted so he had me pinned to the gate.

I became increasingly aware of the lack of underwear on either of us. Brushing the spot warmed by his kiss, he said, "I like being with you."

"Is that it?" I asked, trying to avoid thinking about the bulge I could feel pressing into me. "You don't have to stay here for me." I hooked my fingers into his belt loops, one on either hip.

"No, I want to do this," he said as he pressed his lips to mine.

The crowd grew louder, our numbers starting to burst onto building steps and walls. Mina turned to the crowd, everyone starting to shuffle around as the mass surged forward a few steps. We fell in steps as the pace steadied. Without a real formal organization or banner, we just floated in the mass together in between Maryam's Fractionals for Fair Pay and the SWP student chapter. With no concern for destination we headed at a steady pace toward the Thames, past flats and semi-detached homes, museums and shop windows.

As we came to St. James Park, our only real access to the areas around Parliament, it was clear our numbers were too large. The Met would be panicking. Neon coats ran fast to try and catch the mass before they barreled through the Parliament Square barricades. The main column didn't branch off, and I could guess they were heading for Millbank screaming chants with the power of our voices.

Passing streets aiming to Parliament, we could see the flood of our fellows swarming over fences to take over the green outside the castle. The square wouldn't fit all of us, and the police were rapidly working to block off access with vans and riot gear. Our column skirted Parliament and Westminster as our number shrank and then reinforced with a group from across the Thames. The Millbank Tower grew into view.

Already the Met was focused on trying to contain us. A police van was swarmed and now firmly within our tide. The police were too late. When Mina and I arrived in the concourse outside the tower housing the Conservative Party, the lobby was smashed through, the glass doors and windows shattered. Our chants melded with the crunching of glass under paw.

There was a group on the roof, a series of canvas banners waved from the top of the tower. We craned our necks to see them up there, waving and shouting. I was breathless. My heart pounded; my tail wagged. I squeezed Mina's paw tight. This was the closest I've seen us come to revolution. This was a step beyond trashing police vehicles or destroying property. This was the seat of political power, or at least symbolic.

We weren't getting closer to the lobby. The police were pushing in between the demonstrators reluctant to trespass and the tower, their diverse muzzles covered by riot visors. They poised with their backs to the now empty lobby. Whatever demonstrators had been there had run up to the roof or were busy ransacking the offices. Shouts echoed from our column. A louder, more raucous and impossible to decipher symphony than last night. They lambasted the government, the education cuts, police culpability and brutality, standard rhetoric inherent in our leftist discourse. I joined in and I think Mina did, but my ears were tuned to the collective.

At some point, Mina extricated his paw from my tight grip. While the natural jostle of the crowd pushed us around, the genet stayed tight to my side, his tail in his paws. It was too late when I noticed we were in the front row, my shouts screaming straight into the row of armored officers. The front row was not the place I wanted Mina to be, not the place I wanted me to be. I was older and had gone through my fair share of daring officers to knock me with a baton. These officers all had their shields planted between us and them, baton drawn in their free paws. Fear hung heavy in the air with a layer of anger.

I reached for Mina's arm to try and fade back into the faceless mob. Usually there were bold and eager protesters all too willing to step on others to get to the front. There was confusion and the row behind me seemed to be trying to get away, and behind them another group was pushing towards us. There was no place to go. If or when they decide to start pushing, shoving, and striking we'd be screwed. Squeezing Mina's arm, I leaned into his ear and said, "We need to move back." The trouble was the only space to move was the two-foot demilitarized zone between us and the batons.

"Don't throw anything!" Someone was screaming over the others.

In earnest, I started moving sideways as I could, careful to not step too close. Step too close and it is a sign of aggression. Inching our way along the front was hard, but not as impossible as trying to push into the too thick current behind us. Then I lost touch with Mina, my grasp failing. The genet stumbled in our awkward shuffle, or was pushed, or jostled, but he fell toward the row of batons and shield ready to strike. I reached for him, but he was too far to grab. The lunge agitated the officers he fell towards. They yelled, "Move Back."

One raised their baton, a fairly small wolf, I could sense their fear. I lunged as the baton came down toward Mina's back and neck. My stomach lurched as the pain sparked in my arm. Paws were grabbing at me as I fell on top of him. Tears burned the side of my face. Something cracked against my he-

* * *

Safe to say I don't remember when I woke up. All I know is that at some point I realized I was awake and in a hospital, although I was told I had been awake several times before. My arm had already been set and cast, but my concussion was worse than my arm. Of course, my folks came, none too happy. I'd been handcuffed to the bed for the first twelve hours until no charges were filed. Mina met my folks, likely without planning to. I, of course, blissfully unaware between head trauma and drugs.

When thoughts became solid again, I was at my parents' place in the outskirts of Reading. Everything I had was in my childhood bedroom with three beds. I required observation and no amount of cajoling would convince my folks otherwise. Effects of the concussion could last a month or more. My arm would need at least that to start to mend with periodic x-Ray checks to make sure the bones were healing as intended.

I was looking at nearly six months of total recovery time, in Reading. So instead of being in the action out in central London and joining in egging the Prince of Wales' Rolls-Royce, I got too busy myself with catching up on six months of law books. After all, even at one class a semester it shouldn't be taking me this long to earn my LL.M, unless I wasn't taking myself seriously. At least my folks took an interest in me after my elder sister moved to Nigeria and changed her name, older brother went in jail for embezzling money and younger trying to balance being a daddy with his sixteen-year-old baby mama and college. Out of the four of us I wondered if I was the biggest disappointment because of their time invested.

So, for six months I spent exiled in Reading. Suburbia. I barely had contact with the outside world. Mina would visit, but Tix and the others would only send a text or something. Of course, my parents loved Mina. Must've been something with his wholesome nature or just how he feels more normal than my normal crowd. My twenty-four-hour date had exploded into a relationship, blown completely past the meet the parents phase, all because I flung myself in front of a police baton. Nothing I regretted, he had more to lose, far more than me.

After progressing well in physical therapy after my cast was removed my half year recovery came to a celebratory end. By celebratory I mean my parents invited Mina together and were leaving us alone for the night. With a sigh, I changed from the comfort footy shorts to a nice pair of stuffy slacks, deflection from parental nagging.

I greeted Mina at the door, an uncomfortable affair made awkward by the presence of my parents. He went for my muzzle and I for his cheek. I blamed the desync on the circumstances. That didn't happen in greeting Mr. and Mrs. Elison. A smile lighting up his diminutive muzzle, he grasped my father's paw and shook with a, "How are you doing, sir?" My ears burned; sir was not an acceptable word in my vocabulary. The hierarchical construction of such honorary speech nauseated me. Mina followed his impeccable manners by embracing my mother and a kiss to the cheek, telling her, "Thank you for inviting me to dinner, ma'am."

It's not like I'm Tix or something, I don't hold my parents in contempt. I respect them; I just don't see them as magically endowed as my parents. Mina was quite striking in his trim, semi-formal dress coat and neatly tied bowtie. Sitting down to dinner, I wondered if the drugs were still lingering in my system. As I watched Mina laugh and converse with my parents, I didn't see the same Mina I did before the hospital. It didn't help that after six months I'd yet to figure out exactly what he was to me. He wouldn't have stuck around for six months of a sexless relationship if he were sticking around just out of obligation.

As Mina helped Mother clear the table, wash the dishes, make the tea, it seemed unknowingly, unwillingly I had a boyfriend.

"Something wrong?" Mina asked in my bedroom a little after my parents left.

I lay on the bed that was too small to share. "Just eager to get back into things," I answered closing my eyes. I flexed my right arm, rotating my wrist, enjoying the freedom.

Mina unbuttoned his shirt. "How are you feeling?" Mina asked. My ears flicked at the sound of his trousers falling, belt and all, to the floor.

"Fine, like I said."

"That's... not quite what I meant." The bed creaked and the mattress shifted, protesting the weight of two adult males more than it cared to handle. "I meant..." Mina slid on top of me, pressing his muzzle to my neck. "It's been half a year; I still owe you for that one night." His hardness pressed against me.

My chest lurched and my stomach somersaulted. "Is that what this is?" I asked, pushing him up. "An obligation for taking a beating?"

Mina drew back, ears flattening to his skull. Settling back on his knees, there was a look in his eyes that made me think back to the time by the fence among the punks and ASBOs that the Tories wasted no time in defusing, starting with our identity. "I-I'm just saying," he stumbled over words, tongue catching on his fangs, "you said it was your turn... and I know you've been drugged up. I thought now would be good..."

I flushed, blood burning my cheeks. "Look, Mina," I said pushing myself up with my arms. My right arm protested at the strain, but Mina's body anchored my legs. "I'm sorry. It's been a long time and being here is driving me crazy." I reached out with my formerly broken arm and brushed his cheek; I rubbed my muzzle along his. "If you want," my voice just above a whisper, "maybe I'm a little pent up." Time, I figured time heals lots of things. I had an attractive younger guy sitting in my lap, asking, begging, me to fuck him. He'd already won the approval of my parents, whatever that is worth. In time, I should heal and feel normal with him.

The genet's arms were strong and warm. He laid me down like I was a glass flower that would shatter if I fell too hard against the mattress beneath us. Mina did not observe the same difference as he assaulted my muzzle. Claws slid up and down my chest beneath my shirt. Memories of how he'd blindsided me on the roof, bending me over and leaving me in the dust as he took me without any sign of thoughts or reservations. Even before his claws trailed over my trousers, I was hard. He pressed and teased over the bulge. Arousal warmed my blood. Mina undid my trousers, pulling the fly as wide as it could open. Sharp teeth plucked at my chin.

My cock ached at Mina's touch. He fished my shaft from my underwear, teasing my foreskin. "Aren't you going to do some prep?" I asked, my hips shifting against his weight.

"I've practiced. Besides--" I hissed as cold liquid spread along my shaft and between my skin and cock tip. "--we have lube this time."

Mina shifted and the bed shuddered. It'd be a miracle if my bed survived this. A decade of a fourteen plus stone African Wild Dog slugging one out once or more a day followed by a decade of rest and almost thirty stone would be rocking the thirty-year-old frame. The entry was hot and tight, but slippery. Mina slid down until his balls and cock pressed against my fur. Hugging him tight, I fought the urge to come, biting into his shoulder. The months of pent up borderline impotence retreating in a flood of eager surges in my abdomen. I came after a few seconds. "Fuck," I sighed, his hips preventing me from moving.

"Oh, God," Mina groaned as he rode the flood of seed.

"I'm sorry," I said as the genet slowed.

"It's so odd," he murmured, sitting up. He rocked on my cock with soft swivels of his hips, stroking his own erect length.

"I couldn't pull out with your thighs locked around me."

"That's... what I wanted," he said between deep breaths. His forehead creased and he closed his eyes. He rubbed his cock against my fur, his stomach flexed and rippled. Ropes of his burning semen shot up my chest and shirt.

My bed survived. Thinking on this little miracle I relaxed, the remnants of my erection fading, still trapped in Mina's tight embrace.

"One more?" Mina asked, wiping his cum covered paw on the sheets.

My cock pulsed at the thought. "I was thinking how great that night was..." I shook my head. "No, I need to pack, but we should do that again."

"Go? Again?" Mina asked. "You're going keep going out there?"

"Why wouldn't I? Why wouldn't you?" I asked, my voice rising. "If we don't fight tuition is going to keep rising. Only the rich offspring of the fucking Tory cunts will be going to school. Our entire educational system will be reduced to some ruling class finishing school mockery!"

The genet got off me, seed seeping down the inside of his thighs. "It's dangerous and fucking terrifying." He hugged himself, keeping his thighs locked together.

I propped myself up on my elbows. "It's necessary. If we don't go out of fear than they'll just keep doing what they're doing and their powers will grow. My friends all believe this, all go..."

"And get arrested, beaten..."

"Okay." I sat up, resting my arms on my knees. "You don't have to go if you don't fucking want to. Does that make you feel better? I was never forcing you to."

"That's not it." Mina's voice rose in a crescendo to match mine. I'd never heard him reach this level.

"What is it, then?" I balled the sheet beside my knees in tight fists.

"You fucking scared me." His eyes were wet, and he was breathing hard. "I'm going to go shower," he said, his voice dropping several decibels. Amber eyes lingered on my before he ducked out for the bathroom.

I scared him? As his tail disappeared, snaking behind him on the floor, I was left alone on the bed. Had we a normal relationship I may have followed him into the shower. We weren't normal. Our relationship was a crazy twenty-four hours and then six months of dates like grammar school sweethearts. I rubbed my head. The time since I was hospitalized was a blur of routine, dulled by drugs. No well-formed or defined memories existed. Kisses and movie nights jumbled in my head.

The pipes rattled as Mina turned on the shower. I guess he could've formed a crush as I blew him or something. He didn't exactly need to be crushing on me to bend me over on a rooftop. Maybe that crush, seeded by our experience outside Millbank, had grown into something else while I was recovering?

I looked up at the lame room I grew up in. The posters of a childhood embracing the sweet world of capitalism with fast cars, big tits, and Coca-mother-fucking-Cola. Mina was asking me to give it up. Although, I suppose he only really didn't want me joining the protests. Was that something I could do? Flopping back, I stared up at the sparkling popcorn ceiling. The shower squealed to a stop.

Even dripping, Mina was cute. His fur matted and spiked, his long tail in his paws, too heavy to keep from dragging along the floor.

"So, no more marches?" I asked, swallowing hard. It was worth a shot, I supposed.

It was like he deflated; the sopping wet genet sunk to his knees.

"You're wet and your cum is all over my chest. You collapse and I can't help you."

"Then go take a shower," Mina said, "cunt. And... Landon? I love you."

I brushed his shoulder as I went to shower.

* * *

Everything was okay for awhile. Mina never pushed for an answer after my silence. Can one know what love is anyway? I played the boyfriend, waiting to feel like I imagined he did. We went out together on dates, just the two of us. We fucked one another in turn in my new tiny studio flat. We even hung out with Tix and my old crew despite my retreat from the active duty roster of ASBOs. Although Tix was an asshole about it at first, he eventually stopped most of his belligerent badgering, but only after I assured him Tories were scum and I wasn't about to go join the might neoliberal forces of the grandmaster Capitalism.

Everything should be perfect, but it wasn't. There was something haunting me. My heart would race with anxiety when Mina and I shared a bed, wondering if he was enjoying it, and if I enjoyed it. Nothing compared to the first span of time we spent together. At least not for me, but I was anxious that he didn't feel the same. Our desync seemed utterly complete.

"What's wrong?" Mina asked as we sat in some odd art-nouveau restaurant.

The number of times he'd asked that question over the last few weeks was uncountable. The answer was already prepared and on the tip of my tongue, but I froze it was a long sip of ice water. "Nothing, just tired I guess." I stirred the ice around in my glass.

Mina dabbed the side of his muzzle with his white linen napkin. His eyes were down on his empty plate. I waited, expecting some acknowledgment, or even an argument from his slanted posture. Nothing, though. No push, just silence.

"So, have anything in mind for after dinner?" I asked, resting my silverware on my plate with a small clink of metal on china. Maybe a shift in topic could push us out of this envelope of awkward silence. That wasn't how we were supposed to be, right?

Mina's whiskers twitched and he looked up with just his eyes. "We could... try a club or something?"

"Which one?" There weren't too many left. There were almost as many bathhouses in London as good queer clubs, a testament to the priorities of sex over parties. The ones I frequented in the past had shuttered from years of rising rents and housing inflation, and with the queers finding greater acceptance in conventional clubs and pubs meant they didn't have to be bothered by loud drunken drag queens anymore.

The genet looked down at his plate again, stirring the saucy remnants of his meal with a knife. He usually was more chipper. All I could think was this was me; I was bringing him down. "Want to try--" I leaned in, wanting to whisper the rest. "--taking me to a bathhouse?"

His tail swayed, peeking up from beneath the table. Even his ears perked up. I'd reasoned the atmosphere of a bathhouse might beat both of our moods. I for one did not enjoy the dour feeling that seemed to be internalized within me for the last several months. Interrupting the routine with the variables of sex and encounters should do something. Sitting back, I said, "Guess you're interested, then?"

"It... could be fun," he said after a moment, his ears flicked. "I... umm... that's how I practiced, during your recovery..." His eyes shifted to the side.

I shrugged. "Ready to go?" I asked.

"That's it?"

I nodded. "I blew you after meeting you for like five minutes, you really think my moral compass is that disparate that I would object to you going and playing around?" I had never considered any sort of relationship I had ever been in as conservative monogamy. Us, sitting there in the restaurant, the scene was unnerving.

Mina led under my request; with his greater knowledge of the scene we were entering. It was early afternoon in the middle of the week, an off-peak time for most traffic. As we arranged entrance I wondered if this had already contributed to making things better. We never really discussed or set parameters, never communicated our views on relationships. It very well could be a fuck up that we didn't need to live with for over half a year. Mina certainly seemed excited, a little more than I'd seen recently. His ears were erect, and his tail bounced with the graceful, exaggerated sway of his hips. If the prospect of public sex potentially involving strangers motivated him, maybe I would finally feel the same as him. After all, it's not like I was private before, blowing Mina in an open office was hardly my first bit of passive exhibitionism.

Crossing my fingers, I wished for the experience to work as I followed Mina's long tail through the maze-like hallway in a west London bathhouse. It was quiet, which was a mixed bag for excitement and comfort. We were doing, well I was doing this, hoping for a thrill, a shock, and that required participants and witnesses. I adjusted the thin towel wrapped uncomfortably tight around my waist, present more out of erotic decorum than practicality. The lights were cheesily dim.

Mina led me to the showers, a large open wet room, and perfect for public shows. When he turned the shower on, he started his show. It was clear with how exacting his paws moved with his hips and swaying tail he was into this for more than just washing. He was here to give a show even if just one elderly elk and I were here. As paws slid from his abdomen to my hip and down around beneath my tail, I was pulled into his sensual dance of soap and water. He enjoyed this, far more than he enjoyed the blowjob in the office with the door open. This space was special, where acts of sexual openness were encouraged rather than punished. Here he showed no reservations about himself or his sexuality, no problem with sliding a finger up my bum as he kissed my neck. As skillful as ever, his touch was arousing, but the spark wasn't igniting yet.

Gay bathhouses function primarily as a place for hooking up for sex. No worry for lost connections or mixed signals. It was a safe place for bonding outside the realm of homophobia. Mina showed me the meatheads' gym, little better than a cheap hotel's. There was also a sauna and steam room, cafe and hot tub, and a host of specifically sexual spaces. Mina assured me we would enjoy most of what was on offer with a playfulness that belied the last few weeks.

Sweating in the sauna resulted in unflattering fur conditions. We were both bred for sweltering temperatures, although I was born with longer fur than my native African cousins. The Asiatic lion who joined didn't seem to mind. Sex in the heat seemed almost absurd. Nevertheless, the chubby lion toyed with himself when he walked in after us. His eyes were drawn into thin slits darting from me to Mina and back again.

Mina opened his legs inviting him over with a nod. The lion knelt and nuzzled into his fuzzy balls, likely sweating as much as mine. I observed the genet, trying to get a handle on how communication and the scene worked. In turn, Mina gripped my thigh, the lion lapping at his hardening shaft. His paw sank into my lap, gripping my soft cock moist with sweat. Taking the hint, I spread my legs and the lion found his way to mine. He switched between us and pulled one hind paw from each of us into his lap. The heat of his cock was more than apparent. This lasted until the heat became too much.

Gasping we sought out water for our dry muzzles and a cold show, our nameless friend disappeared into a dark tunnel along the way. Sex in a sauna was indeed a chore, and likely impossible for any northern species not used to the dry heat. I was starting to get into it. My hard-on persisted through the cold shower and into the hot tub.

Flanked by two slim Thai felines, it wasn't long before our laps were occupied. They looked identical, but they assured us it was only coincidence, their accents differed significantly. Mine purred higher than the other, almost squeaking when my cock pulsed against his hole from the thought of Mina and I taking the "brothers" in tandem. They bid us goodbye before long, their slim erections bobbing as they climbed dripping from the water to follow a well-endowed wolf to the showers.

"It's not always like this," Mina said, floating onto my lap until my pointed shaft was pressed against his. "When it's crowded, things tend to happen less." He shifted rising until his uncut tip pierced the surface and my cock pressed against his hole. "But those times, when things happen, they really happen." He sank down a centimeter and then launched himself up and forward. Genet cock bobbed in front of muzzle, the length glistening from water and the viscous pre leaking from his tip.

Leading me into the steam room we were greeted by a huge Arabian horse. He eyed me up with an aggressive stare. My legs squeezed shut at the sight of a broad-shouldered horse, at least seven feet tall, with a cock that looked large on him. After a minute of him gazing at me, he asked me to bend over. The request came off as a demand and I stood up and moved to leave, but Mina insisted I stay. My heart stopped as the horse approached my rear. I scrunched my eyes, bracing myself against Mina. His whiskers bristled against my cheek. The horse pushed my legs apart forcing one up onto the bench. I then received the best tongue bath of all time. As long fingers gripped the cheeks of my ass holding them apart to expose my hole, his tongue snaked all around and in my hole. The experience was overwhelming, my hard cock spurted a loads worth of precum. Still, I found myself slipping out of the experience, there wasn't a spark of spiritual pleasure grounding me in the physicality of this.

Mina, cradling my head, provided an emotional connection. He was fantastic about it, stroking my ears and braids as I sucked his cock in the humid steam, providing both emotional and physical pleasure. Something still felt empty that constantly had me slipping in and out of our time together. Later, when he slid into me in the dark room, flanked by a number of faceless others, it felt good. I couldn't deny the amount of arousal we'd shared. It blew almost everything we'd done recently out of the water. The pleasure was pure, nothing I could imagine was purer. When I finally came, I did not feel the same as that first day. As Mina pounded into me, muzzle full of some fennec's cock, I held what I could of him and cried.

* * *

I didn't tell my parents about the breakup. It was easier to just dump everything and disappear. Our relationship had gone on as long as it could. A few days beyond the bathhouse and I couldn't justify staying. Of course, my parents probably knew about it already. They probably invited Mina to dinner. They'd always been very supportive in that way. Rather than dwell on the absence in my life, I skipped out on my studio flat with one bag of my books and one bag of clothing.

Tix had moved from his old squat in Kentish Town to a partially finished old factory conversion, the project abandoned in the recession. I moved in with him and his transient artist friends. He and Max were on friendlier terms and seemed equally taken with Maryam. There were nights of music, bathtub gin, pot, and cheap cigarettes. Midst the queer artists, the dirt grime lifestyle of living in a building we had every right to, but no legal recognition, felt more like home than ever.

In our fight, the last one we'd had, Mina asked, his voice drowning in quivering anger, "What's the point? If you torch everything, what happens? What do you do when you win?"

There is no winning, if we win, we also lose. With Tix and Max and all the rest I felt that was implicitly understood, the bond we recognized in one another. Mina repressed or locked away that spark. I'd seen it that night, but no amount of love, romance, or physical pleasure would substitute. That small period I'd felt a spark, but the cops arrested and defused it before it ignited.

I didn't sleep the first few nights. Shitty gin and cigarettes with little food can only knock me out so many times. Instead I just stared up at the lights of London reflecting through the negligent skylights. I had a pack of Tix's cigarettes beside me, nothing or no one to stop me. I could smoke one stick or a whole pack. One night the squirrel joined me, setting out his paints and makeshift canvas and easel.

"How are you? He asked, laying out brushes and paint tubes.

"You know." I sighed and lay down on the rough cement floor.

The silence sang and we focused our attentions on our individual activities, mine to fight the futile search for stars.

"I was hoping you'd come back," Tix said, looking up from his canvas. "I missed having you around." He switched brushes, the scent of paint growing in the room. "Wasn't the same."

"No," I agreed. "Can we talk about something else?" The ragged metal roof, rebar jutting from crumbling concrete, as desecrated as it was here, it was a welcome change. The aesthetic was perfect.

"Gonna stick around?" Tix threw the brush against the canvas, splashing color just out of sight.

"Yeah, not planning on running anywhere just yet," I answer, running my thumb along my claws of either paw.

"Well there's a PLO and JVP march coming up if you fancy. Shouldn't be as hot as last time."

I laughed, but cringed at the memory, "Only if you take the hit instead."

"Sorry..." Tix started, his voice faltering. "I thought you were cute together. Sucks it didn't work out."

"Tix..."

Tix put down his brush, tail twitching in the air. "Sorry, Landon." With a sigh, he crawled off his concrete bench and lay down beside me, his head by my hind paws.

"How're the girls?" I asked.

"Seems like they like each other just a bit more than they like me."

"Welcome to the patriarchy," I joked.

"It's sexist jokes like that which contribute to your boys only club."

"Sarcasm."

"A lot of it," Tix pushed himself up on his elbows. "Pass the fags?"

I tossed the pack to the squirrel and we both settled on our backs again. The familiar scent of shit cheap tobacco started a few moments later mixing with the acetonic paint fumes. "You have a nice ass."

Tix coughed; a large pool of dark smoke expelled from his throat but succeeded on the next drag.

"Figured I should share," I said, "Mina... Mina agreed."

"Well I'd fucking hope so. Glad to know my ass is highly appreciated."

"Seriously though--"

"Be careful with how you continue," Tix interrupted.

"Just saying. Anyway, best sex I ever had was Mina fucking my brains out on this random rooftop the night of the children's crusade."

Tix grunted and shuffled beside me. "That sounds hot."

I tilted my head, but Tix was just casually sucking on his cigarette. The squirrel had this habit of ambivalent tones, obscuring his true intentions. "It was, fancy a turn?" I asked, but his shoulders arched in a shrug.

"Maybe, if Max and Maryam are fine with it. Just the right time and place."

"Serious?" This conversation was going unexpected places. I wanted a cigarette. "Thought you stuck to the ladies..." I adjusted myself in my jeans.

"Paws up!" Tix commanded.

"Come on, it's normal for guys to jerk off together."

"Landon Elison, don't lecture me on what guys do or do not do together. Sitting in a circle jerk is not every guy's idea of a good time."

"Throw me the cigarettes. And a lighter."

"You took my cigarettes and not a lighter?" Tix chastised as he tossed the pack and a lighter in a small arc.

"Don't tease," I said, lighting one of his budget cigarettes. "If you aren't serious and get me riled up, I'll have to go take care of it all by myself."

"Heaven forbid the recently single faggot would have to go take care of anything himself. There plenty of big cocks and tights asses out there to get your rocks off with," Tix flicked his cigarette away.

I contemplated me and Tix, allowing my cigarette to burn until ash fell down my paw. "Which M is better?"

"A gentleman doesn't answer questions about his ladies." Tix sat up and stretched his legs. "For the record, me."

"That is the most democratic answer."

"Fuck. This shitty gin has been getting to me. I could go for some nice shit." He jumped up and started pacing between me and his paints.

"And where does one get a bottle of gin at this hour?" I asked, rolling to my side.

"There's my folks' flat in Fitzrovia. They can't possibly drink enough to empty their spare house of liquor."

"It would be nice, in the least," I answered. Shuffling to my feet, my spent cigarette joined Tix's on the ground covered in concrete dust.

I waited outside, Tix taking a moment to talk to Maryam before taking off into the night. Fitzrovia was an hour walk through quiet streets and over the Thames. Tix had grabbed a spliff from Max and we partook to make the miles seem less daunting.

With the tingly sensation of THC and tobacco bubbling in our veins our tongues vibrated. Tix's parents just didn't have a flat in Fitzrovia, they had a bleeding building. When we arrived, I'd expected Tix to pull out a set of keys or pick up an idiotic rock with a key taped to the bottom. Instead he sprinted at the wrought iron gate locking off the rear garden access. He clambered over it with enough clanging the whole neighborhood would wake up, if anyone actually lived in the land of million-dollar flats. "Give me ten minutes, walk around the block or something," he said through the bars.

I shrugged, "And then?"

"Knock or something." The red tail flitted down to the dark alley until he disappeared.

A quick walk around the block wasn't much, certainly better than a grungy African Wild Dog standing outside a fancy flat owned by a conservative MP. Not by much. Despite my inherited privilege, it was nothing in the eyes of this crust.

Completing my circuit, I knocked on the door, my knuckles producing nothing but dead silence in the faux wood reinforced iron. The door opened slowly with a hydraulic hiss. Tix's porcelain white teeth glinted in a crooked smile. Imagining the tiny squirrel trying to move the bomb proof door was a quest of absurdity.

I followed him through rooms and halls of overindulgent Tory excesses, wishing I could just reach out and smash the ornate vases on carved solid mahogany tables beneath gold gilded mirrors with perfect roses, lilies, or carnations. A wet bar straddled the living room and a large sunroom enclosed completely in glass with a little 8' by 8' courtyard in the middle. That door was open. Tix had climbed up the side of the glass room and walked on the ceiling to the courtyard. Smudges covered his point of entrance. "Why not the chimney?" I asked.

"Fucking scotch, scotch, whiskey, vodka... an African Wild Cunt..." Glass clinked as Tix thumbed through his parents untouched collection. "Here!" His hand retreated with a tall, skinny bottle, popping the sealed cork. "Cheers." Tix tipped the bottle to his muzzle and held it for a healthy amount of time, air bubbles erupting as the bottle became less than full.

"Don't hog all the gin," I said, holding out a paw. "Shouldn't we think about leaving?"

Tix passed the bottle to me and I took a sip, followed by a long drink. I don't care what anybody says, even fancy gin offended my tongue.

"First a thank you for my parents and their offerings." Tix was back fingering through bottles until he found a bottle of seventy proof bourbon. "For their American friends." The squirrel grabbed all the towels and tossed them in the sink. He tilted the bottle into the sink, the amber colored liquid seeping into the fabric, filling the air with a surprisingly sweet burning alcohol scent.

"You're not..."

In response Tix pulled out a lighter as he let the emptied bottle shatter in the sink. "Won't be much, but at least a wakeup call, EU kitchen safety standards." He lit the alcohol-soaked rags.

They wouldn't burn long, and the stainless steel and stone left nothing for the flames to jump to. "Now we should be leaving," I said, heading for the front door with our prize gin bottle.

Tix tarried behind, watching the flames lick the sides of sink. It took the alarms a few moments to detect the burning alcohol and then Tix joined me at the front door. I fumbled with the door until Tix worked his magic and it hissed open. We bolted out into the street; the door swinging closed behind us. The squirrel was laughing. He ripped the bottle of gin from my grip downing several ounces in one go. "It's not London, but it's something," he commented, wiping his gin moistened muzzle across the back of his paw.

"Fancy burning it all?"

"Only if I'm there in the middle of it all with the best view," Tix pulled out a cigarette, tossing the gin back to me.

"Save me a seat?"

"Or you could just be my seat. You're big enough."

"As long as you aren't offended when I react to a cute boy in my lap."

"You can count on it, and my punishment will be swift."

My ears picked up the siren before the flickering lights appeared behind us. Tix turned back and looked, his cigarette hanging lopsided out of his smiling muzzle. His paws were shoved deep in his trouser pockets. Blood pumped to my groin. The combination of chemicals rushing various hormones through my nerves. "Gin."

"Please?"

"Cunt."

Tix held the bottle just out of my grasp. "You did ask politely."

Grabbing Tix, the squirrel couldn't escape, and his shorter arms couldn't prevent me from grabbing the bottle. But then he kissed me. We found a small alley, the kind that leads to the rear gardens of different houses. Unlit and out of the way I fiddled with my jeans, Tix with his. I drank more of the botanical liquor. Tix climbed onto me, claws digging into my sides and shoulders as the agile squirrel wrapped his legs around my waist. "Max and Maryam okay with this?" I asked, shivering as my length slid along the light squirrel.

"They'd want to watch." Tix kissed me, my tongue picking up the bittersweet aftertaste of gin and cigarettes. His fur had traces of burnt bourbon.

I pressed into him, his hips and paw guiding me. His back pressed into the wood fence attached to the brick stone wall. Tix nursed the bottle of gin in between moans and kisses and bites, sharing the gin with me. My stomach burned, balls aching. "Fuck," Tix grunted, throwing the half-spent bottle down the alley. The glass exploded on impact.

With paws freed, Tix shoved himself against me. His body rocked, the compact muscle of the tiny climber flexing as his hips rose with ease and speed. "Next time, you're on bottom," he breathed into my cheek.

My tail wagged at the prospect of a next time, insides already starting to twist and tighten. "I'm always ready." I bit his ear and grabbed a bony shoulder, pushing against his thrusts, flattening him to the wall.

Tix gripped me, claws prickling along my back as he slammed against me. Chest heaving, fur damp from sweating, his gasps beat like his thundering heart in my ears. Our voices crescendo, anyone around would be able to hear or smell our combined intimacies if their windows were opened.

The walls around my length spasmed. "Fuck," Tix grunted, teeth grinding as his essence flooded the space between us. "Fucking cum, you bitch." He gnawed on my chin. "And you better clean up your own mess."

With the stamina greater than any power bottom I'd ever seen, the squirrel rocked through his orgasm. Thirst hit my tongue, a moment of remorse for the wasted gin. I detached Tix from chin and sucked at his muzzle. My load sprayed into his passage so hard my muscles clenched painfully tight. His thrusting rocked to a slow, relaxed pattern.

"That was fun," he gasped. "Now to get you up to speed in linguistics." He gripped what bit of my shaft was exposed, covered in the mixture of our fluids and raised his paw to muzzle level. My first taste of a new language. We tasted of fire.