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I'm covered in blood.

We made love and it was beautiful.

Better than beautiful. Beyond beautiful.

Godlike.

He fell asleep nestled in my arms.

The adrenaline wore off. The rush. I came down, hard.

I couldn't sleep, not like that. Not like this.

I look at him now and he's a corpse, or soon to be.

He's soaked red, bleeding profusely.

Ten minutes was all it took.

The difference between life and death.

I'm back in time: I call his name. No answer. I look around. I open the door to his bedroom. I look around. I open the door to his bedroom. I look around. I open the door. I open the door. I open the door. Again. Again and again. And again and again

and again

and again

and

I have to force myself to breathe.

I open the door.

He's there, lying on his bed, bleeding out.

I think he might be dead.

Every time I close my eyes he's there.

I open my eyes and there he is.

In my arms.

Bleeding. Bled. Dying. Dead.

Forever, eternally.

Loop after loop after loop.

It goes on without end.

And then he exhales, and I remember he's only sleeping.

And then he inhales and I remember mere hours ago we made love so bright all the lights in the universe looked fake.

And then a split second of still silence passes and the blood spills all over again.

And I'm drenched.

It's getting worse.

My head won't stop pounding.

I can't do this.

How did I ever-?

I'm hyperventilating.

I scrunch my eyes shut.

And he's there, lying on his bed, bleeding out.

If repetition is meant to numb you I only wish it would, I'm horrified.

I open my eyes.

And he's there, asleep, in my arms.

My head won't stop pounding.

At least the world has stopped shaking.

Mostly.

I let go of him for a moment, stretching. I rub my eyes and yawn.

He makes a sound. A quiet, dissatisfied yip.

He misses my arms.

I wrap them around him again and I'm met with a small, contented hum.

"I love you," he utters, in a barely audible croak. He's still more asleep than awake.

He wiggles up against me.

My heartbeat slows.

He's okay.

I squeeze him, just a little, and I can tell he's smiling, though his eyes are still closed.

I smile, and close my eyes.

I find him again, behind my eyelids.

This time he's not bleeding.

His heart is beating.

He loves me and I love him.

And I'm tired.

So tired.

I'm full of regrets, fears, concerns and questions, but I have to sleep.

And right here is exactly where I'd choose to be. In spite of everything. In spite of me.

*

I wake up with the innate knowledge that it's still very much the middle of the night.

I grab for my phone, patting around beside me, before remembering what happened to it.

Then I remember where I am. And I remember yesterday, all of yesterday, and it's so much. It's too much. And for a singular instant I feel as though I'm going to explode.

Then it passes.

My stomach growls at me. I haven't eaten in a while. My head is, well, it's not pounding like it was before, but it's not exactly happy with me.

Adrian is snuggled up against me, sleeping soundly.

God I love him. So fucking much.

It occurs to me that he shouldn't have settled for me. He could do better. In fact he deserves better, a lot better. I'm a fuck up in more ways than one. Actually, in more ways than a dozen.

I feel queasy. None of this is right. Absolutely none of it.

I stagger to my feet and pull on my boxers before leaving the room. I wish I had a change of clothes but, considering the situation, that'll have to wait at least a few hours. I feel dirty and wrong. My fur is matted, my hair is greasy, I need a shower. I would go now, but I don't want to wake anyone.

I walk into Eve's dining room and check the clock. It's three in the morning. I got about three hours of sleep then. It's not enough, but it's something.

I snoop around the adjoining kitchen for snacks and find a couple of things to nibble on before pouring myself a glass of fruit juice and sitting down with my newly acquired hoard. I feel a little bad for leeching off of Eve like this, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances and I sort of feel like if I don't get some sustenance right now I may collapse and never get up again. I'll make it up to her eventually. I already owe her my life, this is nothing compared.

I feel energy physically flowing into me as I eat and drink. I'm struck that, for the first time in what feels like forever, I'm sober. Well, I have a bit of a hangover - or whatever the hell you're supposed to call it when you wake up after a night of drinking, smoking weed, dropping acid and... and something fucking else - but it's far less intense than I thought it would be. I'll take that as some kind of silver lining but, god, I don't exactly feel good about it. I'm an idiot for putting all that shit into my system in the first place.

A sudden surge of panic takes hold of me, only to be replaced with clarity, then calm. Everything is okay. Adrian is not bleeding out on the bed. Adrian is not dead or dying. Adrian is okay. He's fine. He's...

He's my boyfriend. And I love him. And damn I want to scald myself for all the lost days, weeks, months - years? - that could have been. Instead of listening to my feelings, I quashed them and gave in to fear. I loved him for so long and never told him, I don't know if it's better or worse that I never told myself either. Now though, the fear I once felt has diminished. I've witnessed brutality and abuse and foiled a pseudo suicide attempt. I have nothing to fear from love. Loving Adrian is more than worth whatever risk it represents to my dignity or our friendship if it were to go wrong. He's worth more than I could ever give.

Though how much does that really say when I'm worthless?

I spurned him, I almost let him die, then last night I got high out of my mind at the worst possible time and Ryan got viciously raped in front of my eyes. As much as the thought of being Adrian's wolf fills me with a certain sense of childish glee, it also fills me with ambient dread. He's so much better than I'll ever be.

I hold my head in my paws and breathe slowly. What do I do? Dump him? How could I? I love him. I love his every tic and trait. He's funny and beautiful and we gel on every level, we always have, and the fact that it took me until yesterday to figure out how I felt about him is fucking ridiculous in retrospect. Well, sort of.

Really, I always knew. All my hesitations, all my repeated maybes, all my putting the thought of him off for future study, all of my impulses to push him away to deal with another day, all of my impulses to run back to him again and again and again...

It was all just a game to me. Ryan and Marty, this whole fucking 'love square'. All of it. It was a game, one that I barely even knew I was playing. Or, at least, one that I refused to admit I was.

Maybe Marty is the grand manipulator, and maybe Ryan told more than his fair share of lies, but I am every bit as culpable for this mess as either of them. I sparked it off alongside Ryan. I fanned the flames alongside Marty. I dragged it out again and again, part of me not wanting it to end.

The sheer, unrelenting arrogance of it all. My motives were so shallow: I wanted to feel wanted, to be pivotal and important. I wanted to shape the world around me. And, lucky me, I got such opportunity in spades. Then everything shattered. People got hurt. And here I am, acting like nothing more than another burn victim.

Victim? Bitch, I set the fire.

Throughout this sequence of events and its cascade of consequences I've told myself I've been little more than an observer - adjacent to the action, but not directly involved: a bard living through a tale only to tell it all at the end - but that's a fucking lie. A laughably bad one. I'm very much involved. And I'm no impartial bard, I'm a double crossing traitor. Start to finish I've made things worse for absolutely everyone, other than myself. I got the boy. I got a story to tell. Everyone else got pain and suffering.

I guess that means I won.

Hooray.

Yeah.

No.

I fucking hate myself.

I should have been the one cutting myself and bleeding out alone in bed, not Adrian. I should have been the one who was assaulted and raped by Marty, not Ryan. I wish I could have taken their places, endured their pain. It's what I deserve.

I'm spiraling.

I can see that.

But I don't care.

I hear footsteps. Reality breaks through the fog of thought. I turn to see Ryan in the hallway, walking toward me.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I ask automatically as he enters the room. He sits opposite me and shakes his head. He's wearing a plain tee and shorts. His fur is wild and uneven, his muzzle clamped tight, his entire body tense. I can't help but think I did this to him. If not for the mistakes I made he wouldn't be in this situation.

"I don't want to be alone," he says. He's not looking at me, but into space. Lost and vacant. "I have this illogical fear that Marty will break in at any moment, come into my room and overpower me. I'm sure that sounds insane."

I shudder. I have a certain familiarity with illogical fears. The irrational idea that awful lived events will repeat themselves is one I know all too well. It's not insane. Even right now there's a voice in my head screaming at me, telling me Adrian is dying, dead, bleeding, bled. That it's all my fault.

"I should have stopped him," I say, the words not entering my head until they leave my mouth. Hearing them, I begin to cry, and once I start I wonder I if I ever actually stopped, or if my tears have in fact been falling non-stop since some time yesterday afternoon.

Ryan eyes drift toward me, then snap into focus.

"You were barely conscious."

"I shouldn't have been," I say. And for a time he says nothing.

There's breathing and shuffling and my final, choked sobs as I force myself to stop. We share an awkward stare.

"How are you holding up?"

"Not great," I admit. My head hurts all over again.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," I say, and I let out a long breath. I'm exhausted. I rub my forehead and try my best to clear my mind. It doesn't work. Instead, a question comes to me. "You know what? I _was_wondering something. Why did you come back to Marty's yesterday? I told you to stay away."

"Oh. I explained when I came in, don't you remember?"

"Sort of, it's all cut up and surreal; I wasn't fully lucid. I don't... I don't know."

"You texted saying I shouldn't come, yeah, but I text back asking if you could grab some fresh clothes and bring them out to me, seeing as I was planning to stay out for the night. You didn't respond. I sent another couple messages. I tried to call. Nothing. I came over to check on you and, well, you know the rest."

All I had to do was text Ryan back, and what happened yesterday could have been prevented. That fucking phone. Twice I could have used it to stop something awful, both times I failed. Instead I smashed the fucking thing into smithereens. God, I am the very definition of a failure.

"I'm sorry," I say. It's not enough.

"Marty plied you with drugs, by the time I got there you were totally gone. There was nothing you could do."

"I could have had some fucking willpower," I growl, overly aggressive, but it's clear my disgust is self-directed.

Ryan doesn't respond directly. Instead he waits a moment and says: "I wanted to ask you something too."

Rubbing my temples I tell him: "go ahead."

"When I arrived..." He hesitates, seeming to struggle with the words. "Marty had... Do you remember? He had just, well, as far as I could see... he had fucked you. Did you- I was just wondering whether... It's just that I wanted to know, did you, uh, you know? Did you actually want him to?"

"Well," I begin, attempting to trawl through my fractured memories of the evening. It isn't easy. "I remember you coming in, but it's not quite... By that point I was already out of it. I mean, I was dissociating to such an extreme degree I... God, Ryan, I didn't know where I was. I didn't know who I was. Before you came in I remember him being inside of me, thrusting. I remember I wasn't angry or sad, or anything like that, but I... I don't know. Before that there's... There's like... a block. There's this chunk of time I can't really access. Moments come to me. Flashes. I know I took something, some drug. It fucked me up whatever it was. But apart from that? I, uh, I don't know."

Ryan stares at the table. He takes a deep breath, then exhales.

"It seems to me you were in no state to give consent," he states, soft spoken but well enunciated.

"I, uh," my mind races. "I guess not, but... Fuck, I don't know I just..." I grab my head with both paws and shake it. "It hurts to think back, I... I don't know."

"If you can remember anything else..." He trails off.

I close my eyes and force myself to breathe at a steady pace, attempting to calm down. There is more to remember here. It can't all be blank. Hazy, yes, but blank? I don't think so.

Think back, Kale.

Focus.

Go back further, to before you lost track.

You were in his apartment.

You went to the bathroom.

You got spooked by something and began to panic.

You became paranoid and frantic.

It was all in your head but you blamed it on the phone.

You smashed it right in front of Marty.

You...

That's where you're losing it.

Come on, Kale.

What next?

What happened?

...

Clean up. Chatter. Touching. Head-pounding.

You felt like you were about to explode and you didn't know why.

Drugs. More drugs. It was an escape. An escape from an escape.

Woozy, flowing, broken time.

No.

Fix it. As best you can.

You could barely speak. You could barely talk.

He touched you. Whispered in your ear.

You were naked on his bed.

It's still fractured, incomplete.

But it's something.

You were naked on his bed.

How did you get there?

Not quite sure.

But that's where you were.

He fucked you.

You never asked him to.

Are you sure?

You're still missing pieces.

But...

Yes.

You're sure.

You barely even knew what was happening until halfway through.

Or, if you did, the memory is missing.

You found yourself mid-coitus and you went with it.

It felt pretty good.

You spurted all over yourself, remember?

You loved it, didn't you?

You loved being wanted. Being used.

You loved being out of control.

You loved not having to worry about a thing. Not feeling any pressure at all.

You filthy little bitch.

No.

No no no.

Not then.

Not with him.

I never-

I...

Oh god.

I feel cold, close to freezing. I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest, shaking my head repeatedly.

"I never asked for it," I say. Ryan nods slow. "I never told him he could fuck me."

"It's not your fault," Ryan says.

But it is.

"I took the drugs, I stayed there with him, I-"

"It's not your fault."

"It felt good, I- Fuck, Ryan, I came."

"Did you want him to fuck you?"

"I don't- Well- No. No. I didn't want anything, I was out of my mind on drugs. I didn't want a damn thing."

Ryan stares at me, silent. He lets my words sink in, not just for his benefit, but for mine. Eventually he says: "do you know what that means?"

A flurry of doubts fill my head. I feel myself approaching panic mode. Suddenly I'm not sure of anything.

"I- I could be misremembering. It was all such a blur. There's still missing time. I... Maybe at some point I said it was okay."

"Kale. Do you really believe that?"

"I..."

I don't.

Not one bit.

"You were so far out of your head you were struggling to make memories. Do you really think you gave consent? Do you think you were even able to?"

His words are a spike in the back of my skull, a piercing, violent realization. I feel used, violated and wronged all at once. I clutch myself ever tighter and scrunch my eyes shut.

"It's my fault," I say. "I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have got high. I-"

"It's not your fault," Ryan insists.

Did Marty really-?

Losing control like that, it's-

God, that's wasn't me. It couldn't have-

It's over. It's gone.

I barely remember a thing.

What I do remember of... of him being inside of me. I... I enjoyed it, the feeling. The physicality. The moment, out of context as it was. I...

It's over. It's gone.

I don't want to linger on it. I won't.

I am not the victim.

I can't be. Not now. Not when-

I can't be.

I don't want to think about it.

I do all I can to push the whole thing out of my head.

I can deal with it later.

Or never.

Not now.

Not when...

"I failed you," I say, choking on my words. "I could have stopped him, Ryan. I could have stopped him. I-"

"He manipulated you Kale. He used you. You're a victim here, same as me."

"It's my fault. I didn't have to get high, I did this to myself."

"Didn't he offer you the drugs? Didn't he make the idea of taking them seem reasonable, even intelligent? Maybe it was subtle, maybe you didn't notice at the time, but can you honestly tell me he didn't try to influence you?"

Of course he did, but it's not like that.

"Sure, he influenced me, but I took those drugs of my own accord. I made that choice. I damned myself, and you. I could've left the apartment and gone home, but no. I stayed and dropped acid."

"Yeah, sure, you could have left him to himself, and his gun, and his suicidal threats, or you could've taken a hit of LSD and prevented a death. Come on Kale, he manipulated you. Plain and simple. He figured you out and used your empathy against you. Then he used you, physically."

I stop talking.

No.

I cant be a victim.

Nothing that Ryan has said absolves me of my guilt.

I set off this chain of falling dominoes. I made mistake after mistake after mistake. I am not some helpless bystander. I am not some casualty of war.

"If I had just been stronger or smarter, he never would've done what he did to you."

Ryan shudders and grips the table hard, then loose, then not at all.

"Or what he did to you." He says. "If you could have stopped him you would have. I don't blame you for what happened yesterday Kale, not one bit." He gingerly places a paw in the center of the table. It's an offering. "Just don't-"

"Touch. I know," I say, placing my paw beside his.

He smiles.

"Thank you."

I frown.

He's offering me closure, and I want to take it, badly, but it's not right.

"I am not innocent," I say, stern and steady, more confident in my words now than I have been this entire conversation.

I am not the victim.

What Marty did to me, I...

I can't.

I have to push past it.

To move on.

It's over. It's gone.

Ryan observes me with a tilt of his head, considering my words, then he nods.

"No," he says. "I suppose not. But nor am I." He withdraws his paw. "I'm a liar, a manipulator and an arrogant, self-centered son of a bitch, same as Marty. We deserve each other."

"Ryan, that's-"

"Kale, I need to tell you something," he cuts in. I'm taken aback.

"What is it?"

"I never wanted you."

Another spike in the back of the head.

Thankfully I'm growing numb.

"I suppose I should have seen this coming."

God,none of it was real, was it?

I wanted to feel wanted, to be important and irresistible. Ryan and Marty helped me live out my little power fantasy, but all I've ever been to them is a pawn in their spiteful game. And that's all it ever was: a game. Though I'm as much to blame for it as anyone.

"I found you attractive, sure, but that really wasn't the point. From the moment I met you up until now I've used you," he says. His voice is quiet, but it coveys a sense of certainty that leaves no doubt in my mind as to the veracity of his claims.

"To what end?" I ask.

"You were an out," he says. "A way to get away from Marty."

I nod, letting the words wash over me.

"Marty guessed as much," I admit. "I suppose that means he didn't lie about everything after all."

"No. Just most things."

The world feels out of focus. Everything is uncertain all at once.

"Have I ever even met the real you?" I ask.

His words catch in his throat. I stare at him and he stares back. The corners of his eyes glisten and I'm convinced he's going to cry, but he sniffs and shakes his head and dabs at his face and, ultimately, he's okay.

"Yes," he says. "Of course you have."

"How much of it was real then? Of all the things you told me, of all the time we spent together..."

"A lot of it," he says. "Almost all of it. You already know what I kept from you at the start; I came clean to you the other day about everything other than my feelings for you. The truth is, when I met you, I didn't care about you either way. You were a quick fuck and an opportunity to me, nothing more. I don't know if it's better or worse to admit that since then I honestly have grown to like you, quite a bit actually. But, still, whatever relationship we have now is based on false pretenses. Having sex with you, dating you, chasing after you, that was all just leverage; at first on Marty, and then on you. After all, I had to keep you chasing my tail long enough to help me figure out just how twisted Marty really was."

"Turns out he's more twisted than you could've guessed."

Ryan nods. "And I'm more twisted than you could've. I might even have taken it further with you, you know, if it didn't blow up like this. I might've kept dating you, got real close, moved in with you. Anything to get away from him and help me find my footing. After that, eventually, I would've come up with some excuse to cut you loose. Unless I fell in love with you, or something dumb like that."

It crosses my mind that, perhaps, I should hate Ryan. Still, somehow, I don't.

"Why tell me all of this now?"

"Because it's over." He says. "All of it. I can't stay here. I'll be heading back to Canada as soon as I can. It's time to reset and start over. I have no other choice."

"Ryan," I say, so many words on my mind, all of them doing their best to avoid slipping out.

"What is it?"

"You and Marty don't deserve each other. What he did to you is unforgivable. I don't care if you lied to me, even used me, you are nothing like him."

"How can you say that with a straight face?"

"Would you ever rape someone? If you were high and upset and angry? Would the thought even cross your mind?"

His chest convulses and I'm sure he's going to throw up again, but he doesn't.

"Never," he says. "Fucking never."

"There's your answer," I say.

His ears twirl and his tail sways erratically. He nibbles at his bottom lip.

"I'm still a dick," he says.

"Maybe," I say. "But so am I."

He considers me carefully, absently drawing circles on the table with a stretched out finger, then nods and goes back to staring at the wall. He seems to understand the sentiment of my self-deprecation without needing any sort of explanation. I suppose from context it can't be that hard to imagine the mistakes I may have made, or the things that plague me.

I carry on staring at him, even as he studies the wall with an expression of vague discontent. Memories of Marty mounting him, violating him, flood my mind. Ryan used me, but I let so much worse happen to him.

"Do you want to be better?" He asks, his voice having taken on an ethereal quality.

"Of course I do," I say without a second's thought. Then I take that second's thought and ask: "do you?"

He breathes in, then exhales a ragged breath.

"More than anything." He's quiet and uneven. "I'm sorry for using you Kale. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too," I say, and I find my voice comes across every bit as quiet and uneven as his.

I want to reach out and touch him, and I can tell he feels the same, but I don't. Nor does he. We just sit there in total despairing silence - apart, but utterly together - for minutes and minutes.

Then he stands.

"I, uh, I don't know if I can claim to feel better, but I feel less awful having shared the truth with you. And less alone," he says. "I, uh, I should really try to get somesleep. Goodnight, Kale."

"Goodnight, Ryan," I say, struggling for words. "I... I..."

"Kale. It's okay. You don't have to say anything."

I'm disarmed. I go slack in my chair and nod. He nods back, walks out of the room and heads up the stairs. Seconds later I hear his door open, then close.

I'm left alone with my thoughts.

Exactly where I don't want to be.

I try to expel them, to empty my head entirely. It only half works.

I decide I should try to get some sleep too. I head back toward the living room, and Adrian, but as I pull the handle and open the door to our makeshift bedroom my heart stops.

Déjàvu.

Blood and death and panic.

No.

Sleeping fox.

God, will it be like this forever? Will I never get that memory out of my head? Will it haunt me every night and day and every time we turn off the lights from now until my end?

This fear, this pain, it's...

Maybe it's exactly as it should be. Maybe it's all I deserve. The cascade of dominoes that lie squarely at my feet have effected nothing but suffering, for them to impart some of it on me is only just.

I perch on the edge of the sofa bed and sigh. Adrian's paws find their way up my sides and he mumbles a question: "Is it morning already, honey?"

His touch and words warm me, setting a conflict in motion internally. I don't feel worthy of this warmth, or of his love, not at all. I'm fool and fooled. I'm user and used.

But I can't admit all of the doubts that run through my mind. They would crush him. He deserves to be happy, to feel joy. Now. Eternally.

"No, foxy, I just had trouble sleeping."

He brings himself part way up, supporting his upper body with his elbows, and frowns at me. He clears his throat, rubs his eyes, and turns on a lamp. Moments later his expression inverts, and he's grinning.

His golden eyes glimmer in the soft light. He's wearing a mischievous and playful grin, full of life and love and the kind of thoughts that usually result in pleasured moans when made manifest. It's so very him, so Adrian, to look that way, to be this way. I'm exactly as dumbstruck in love with him right now as I was last night.

"Now, now darling," he says. "That just won't do. Get out of those boxers and snuggle up against me won't you Kalie? If you're not going to sleep you may as well keep us both awake."

He runs a paw down my chest, then slips it inside my boxers before I can react. He strokes my sheath and in seconds I'm poking out and leaving a damp patch on the inside of my underwear.

My self-hatred, my unresolved trauma and the questions and concerns that had been clouding my mind since waking up are all shunted aside in an instant. They aren't silenced, or erased, just ignored. Forgotten, for the moment. It's good timing really, there's a lot there I could do with forgetting. Hard dicks and contemplation seldom go paw-in-paw.

I let out a little, low growl as Adrian tugs at my boxers. Soon enough I push him away and pull them off completely. I lay beside him and he turns away from me, allowing me to spoon him. He pushes his butt into my crotch as I grind my now-unsheathed dick between his cheeks, leaving a mess of pre trailing through his fur.

Giving in to my desires was as easy as breathing, and I'm so glad I've done it. Frankly though, it was unavoidable. In this moment Adrian is utterly irresistible. It's true that I fucked him mere hours ago, but there's no way that would ever have been enough. That wasn't some grand conclusion, it was a beautiful beginning, an introductory fuck.

Right now I feel primal, dominant, male and so very, very horny. Last night wasn't like this. It was cerebral and gorgeous and delicate. I felt halfway in-the-moment and halfway out-of-body. Half of me was in bed with my fox, half of me was lost in the infinite cosmos. The whole thing held a surreal sort of grandeur that I'd never experienced before.

This time is different. I'll live every moment like it's all I have to live for, I'll commit every detail to memory, every sensation, every sound and scent. This time will be visceral and physical and immediate. Here he is, pressed up against me. I can feel his flesh and fur in my paws and against my chest. I can feel my balls pushed up against his ass and his cheeks surrounding the length of my dick, teasing me, making me drip. I can see his every involuntary twitch and intentional motion, I can hear his every breath and vocalization. I want him. I need him. Best of all, I have him - all of him - and I intend to use every last inch.

I want to take in his absolutely everything, to crystallize this instant for all time. I press my nose against his neck and sniff. His scent isn't remotely subtle, he's a fox after all, and after everything we've been through in the past twenty-four hours it's perhaps less subtle than its ever been, but I love it. It's so naturally him, and right now he's all musk and maleness, with barely a trace of any sort of perfume or scent-neutralizer on him. To me, in this moment, it's perfection.

I pull my snout away and create just a little distance between us. I run my paws down his back and along his tail, then over his butt. I give it a firm squeeze and he yips the cutest little foxy yip. I move on, sliding a paw between his legs, stroking his balls then rubbing his sheath and lightly tracing the length of his already protruding, dripping cock. His dick is a little on the smaller side, but that doesn't bother me. In fact I find his modest size actively attractive. The small-dicked fox is about to be topped by this big-dicked wolf. Okay, well, I suppose its more like the below-average fox is about to be topped by this above-average wolf. That's reality for you, getting in the way of poetry as it tends to. But, god, being with him like this is even better the second time around. This time it's less a rush of imminent need, less a heady, half-high, almost spiritual experience and more a concrete one, more direct, more tangible, more titillating. It's fucking amazing.

I'm harder than I've ever been.

I want badly to just stop with the teasing and the theatrics and shove my dick deep inside of him and pump and pump and fucking cum, but, no. Patience. I run my paws over his flat chest and his belly. Maybe it's my imagination but he's not quite as slim as I remember him being. Coming from me that's certainly not a complaint. He's not at all fat, but there's enough of him to grab and grope and squeeze, so of course I do exactly that. It drives me crazy just feeling him. I'm panting hot air against his neck and ears and he's already moaning like the bitch he so readily becomes in my presence, though barely a thing has even happened.

I could have had him years ago, but I waited. Why?

It's not really a question. I know the answer. I was scared.

I lean into his reaction and nibble his ears, then his neck. He twists and writhes in rapturous spasms. He can barely contain himself. He needs me exactly as I need him. He loves me exactly as I love him.

I grab his hips and force him to twist toward me, urgent and ferocious, not holding back. It's exactly what he wants; I knew it would be. I know him better than I know myself. He may be a switch - he's shown interest in topping me many times - but I know that, right now, what he wants more than anything is for me to make him mine. I push my muzzle against his and we kiss, my tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He takes me in, tastes me, submits to my desires, tries to give me exactly what I want and succeeds.

I linger in the moment as long as I can, then pull away abruptly. He's panting, out of breath. I am too. There's still so much to do. I kneel and flip him onto his front, positioning myself behind him.

"Get on your paws and knees," I command. He does as I say without comment or question. "God, Adrian, how did I ever fall for an out-and-out fag like you?"

He huffs a breathless laugh. I run the tip of my dick around the base of his tail and over his butt cheeks, painting them unevenly with drips of pre and forcing both of us to the limits of our patience. It's difficult not to just give in and plunge deep into his hole, but it's worth it to tease him like this. Gradually I escalate, narrowing in with my tip until I'm circling his tailhole and he's practically shivering with anticipation.

This is every bit the escape I needed it to be. For all the recency of our last fuck we're both thirsty for more; we're all excitement and infatuation, lust and opportunity.

"You know, girlfriend, I had a similar question. How'd I ever fall for a bully like you?" Adrian asks between tightly wound exhalations. "Fuck, Kalie you led me on for years. Now that we're finally a thing, the least you could do is actually stick it in."

With that he bucks his rump against me. My tip slides just a little way inside of him and oh-my-fucking-god. Any other day that would've been it, the rest of my length would be in near-instantly, but today's different. I pull out, against every instinct inside of me, and spank him instead. He yelps in shock and mild pain, then proceeds to wiggle his butt at me, giving his unspoken approval and all but begging for more.

"Girlfriend, huh? You know, foxy, you don't need to call me that anymore."

I lick and suck at a couple of my fingers, lathering them in saliva.

"I guess you're right," he says. "Boyfriend."

I bring my fingers to his hole and tease at it lightly. He whimpers. Powerless. Needy. Loving every second.

"Boyfriend," I confirm, then I shove the fingers in.

He gasps, mumbles profanities and pushes his hips against my paw as I work his hole. God, it was difficult before, but now it's almost impossible not to reduce myself down to my most base instincts, not to give in and mount him with untamed, feral fervor, not to breed him as if he were a literal bitch.

Still, to waste this moment on mindless sex would be sacrilege. I love him. I don't want give him something as common as a hot fuck, I want to give him perfection.

My free paw finds its way to his stiff, leaky dick and I stroke his length in slow, methodical motions. His tail lashes, then twists around my torso, enveloping me in him.

"Kalie," he whimpers. "Honey. You're torturing me. If you're not careful I'm gonna splatter these sheets before you even get your dick inside me."

I respond, naturally, by speeding up my strokes. He yelps just a little too loud. I hope we don't wake anyone but, I won't lie, that concern is far from foremost in my mind.

"That would be embarrassing wouldn't it foxy? But I don't see how that's anything other than a you problem."

His breathing is heavy and labored. He forces out a few words between staggered huffs. "You. Are. Cruel."

I pull my fingers out, then spit on my paw and rub saliva over my dick as a sort of makeshift lube. It's not ideal, but it's what we have to work with. It worked last night, it'll work again now.

"Cruel? Is that what you think of me? I guess that means you don't want this then," I say, poking my tip into his hole. He draws a sharp breath and protests my words with some high-pitched, desperate sounds, the sort that all subs seem to know how to make.

"God, Eve is going to hate us," he utters in a rush with the last of his breath. Accounting for our previous encounter, by the end of this we will have made quite a mess of the bed sheets, but I'm not worried.

"Eve? No. She's more likely to eternalize these sheets in amber and daydream about how they got in such a state than be mad at us."

Adrian rocks his hips back and forth, forcing my tip to slide in and out of him just a little. If his intention was to milk me of my precum then it's working. I'm doing much the same to him, my cock-stroking paw is already damp with his pre. We're both at the absolute edge of our endurance. Perfect.

"Fuck me, Kalie, Please." Adrian begs, pleads. "Fuck me."

There's no way I could hold back now, and I don't intend to.

I push in, not all at once, but slow and steady and, oh my god. The warmth, the tightness, the pressure. Everything. Its infinitely more than I can consciously process.

Adrian moans, not holding back, but using a pillow to muffle himself. I exhale in a supremely self-satisfied sigh as I finally hilt him, my knot pushing up against his entrance, begging for access. Patience knot, patience. I run my paws down his back, dragging my claws lightly through his fur. He shivers and squirms, then settles, overwhelmed and contented in equal measure.

"You're going to be a good fox for me, aren't you?"

I don't give him time to answer. Instead I grab his hips and grind my knot against his hole, hard enough for us both to feel it, but not so hard that it might actually go in.

He groans and revels in the moment, then says: "yes, master."

Master, huh? Not what I was expecting, but... I like it.

I let a growl build at the back of my throat as I pull my hips back and push forward in deliberate motions. He feels so fucking good, better than good, better than anything I've ever felt, other than perhaps the last time I fucked him, and if this isn't better it's at least on par. That was different, anyway. That was a fevered, exalted rush of love and lust, this is grimy, dirty, hot-as-hell sex; the exact kind of sex I fantasize about while touching myself.

I wish I could take the credit for all of this, and I think I deserve some, but Adrian's on another level. He has transformed his entire body into an instrument for my sexual pleasure, the little slut.

Fuck.

There's no way I can keep this up forever. I give in fully, finally, and thrust with renewed speed and vigor, slamming my knot against his hole and my balls against his taint repeatedly.

An epiphany hits: heaven is real, and it's found deep inside a fox's asshole.

"God, Adrian, you're tight."

He pushes his butt back as far he can, forcing every one of my thrusts to go as deep as it can go.

"All the better for... squeezing every... last drop... out of that dick," he says, his sentence disjointed by gasps and groans in time with my pumping. When done speaking, he bites his pillow and moans into it.

"Damn right it is."

I growl and lean over him, letting go of his hips and placing my paws either side of his chest. I speed up my thrusts and, god, I want to spurt inside of him right here and now. It would be all too easy.

He has temporarily lost all ability to form sentences. He's all expletives and wordless vocalizations. I stick my muzzle out and nibble at an ear, teasing his earrings with my tongue. He flinches on first contact, ears flicking away from me, but he overcomes instinct and forces them back to their neutral position. I don't let up my thrusts as I bite and lick, feeling his fur and flesh between my teeth, tasting him. From here his scent is so strong it's all encompassing. In this moment he is all I am or could ever dream of being. I'm in love with the feeling, and so is he. His every movement and moan tells me so.

I slow but don't let up, pounding him hard with successive, powerful thrusts. I would spurt imminently if I didn't slow down, and that just wouldn't do.

He gasps with every hole-stretching, knot-squeezing slam of my hips and I know there's no way I can keep this up for long, even like this. But I have to keep going. This is euphoria incarnate, matchless in it's majesty. This is as close to god as I have come or has ever really existed.

I pull out of him entirely, against all instinct. He whines and moans and looks at me. I click my fingers and point at my dick.

"Be a good fox, like you said you would."

He grins, all sly, and wags his tail, positioning himself so that he's on his paws and knees with his muzzle pressed against my crotch.

"I remember how you like it master," he says, then his tongue laps at my balls while a paw glides over any part of my body it can reach. He's still wagging his tail; he's cuter than anything.

I groan and run a paw through his hair. Precum pools at my tip and I'm convinced it's about to drip on him but, before it can, his tongue works its way along the underside of my shaft, then over my tip, licking me clean.

He looks up with a smile. His golden eyes shine brighter than they have any right to. He's absolutely gorgeous - I mean, that's obvious, he's never had trouble getting guys to fawn over him - but that for all his options he settled on me is something I find completely incredulous. But, he didn't 'settle', he wants me. Wanted me. Now he has me. And I have him. I am more than lucky. I'm goddamn blessed.

"I love you foxy."

"I love you too Kalie," he says, and he opens his muzzle.

In one fell swoop he takes in the entirety of my length and, well, it's like ascending to a higher dimension. Goodbye subjective reality. Hello infinity. It appears all the keys to the universe were contained in a fox's muzzle this whole time.

He licks and laps at my length as he pulls his muzzle back and forth along it. He cups my balls with a paw, squeezing them gently. I put both of my paws on the back of his head and help guide him, panting and grunting with every bob of his head. My cock twitches as it drips more pre down the back of his throat. He swallows every drop and indicates his pleasure with an appreciative hum that reverberates through my dick, leaving me tingling.

"God, you're good," I say. "But slow down a bit, I don't want to finish quite yet."

He follows my instruction as he continues to work the entirety of my shaft with his muzzle, generously applying pressure and dampness across its surface with his tongue as he does so. He knows exactly how to work me, exactly which buttons to press to make me go crazy. Even going slow like this there's no way I won't blow soon if I don't stop him. I thrust once, hard, forcing him to deepthroat me, then remain still.

"Stay," I say. And he does. I briefly wonder how many cocks he's warmed with his throat just like this. A lot, I'm sure. The thought doesn't put me off in the slightest, if anything it only has me more eager than ever to make him mine.

After spending about ten seconds down his throat he makes a sort of gurgling sound and I pull out completely. A strand of saliva drooping between my wet, dripping cock and his chin. "Good fox. Very good."

His eyes meet mine and a woozy smile breaks out across his muzzle as he catches his breath. He's enraptured by me. His paws make contact with my sides and he pulls himself up to kneeling. The thread of saliva breaks but our eye contact doesn't.

"You..." He starts and drifts off, then shakes his head.

His paws trace my sides, moving up, then run down my back. I grip his hips and tap my nose against his. He giggles and we nuzzle. Then, without warning, he pulls back and launches his muzzle, parted, into mine. I catch him open mouthed and we kiss. The force of his approach causes me to fall back but he follows after me. In moments he's lying on top of me, his paws all over me, his tongue in my mouth, mine in his. My hard, leaking dick is pressed tight against his belly while his own member nudges into mine as we continue to grope and kiss and generally be a mess together.

I grab his butt and squeeze, in response to which he wriggles in my grasp, sweeping his cock through my fur as a sort of pseudo-masturbation technique. Devious. I pull him a little further up on me and smack his ass. He groans into my muzzle as we continue to kiss. It's the hottest thing.

When we pull apart we're both panting hard in frantic search of oxygen. I'm euphoric, somehow both worn out and restless.

When I've caught my breath I grab him and roll us both over completely so that he's under me. I pin him by the shoulders and he feigns an escape attempt. I growl and bare my teeth and he makes this delicious little squeak. It's the sound of total submission and it sparks something inside me. I spread his legs and get on my knees between them. I pull his legs up and rest them against my shoulders, my hard dick poking into his plush rear.

"I'm gonna fill you up foxy."

"Yeah," he says between heavy breaths. "You better."

I grab my dick and run the tip across his tailhole, teasing him one final time.

"I'm gonna leave you dripping with cum."

"Fuck yeah."

He grips the sofa bed, readying himself. This time I don't hesitate. I go in, hard.

All over again we're reduced to communicating through nothing more than expletives and monosyllabic exclamations. My balls smack his butt with a satisfying thwap on every thrust. His hard dick flaps uselessly against his belly, his paws and mine all otherwise occupied. Still, he's dripping. He doesn't seem far from a paws-free orgasm, the mere thought of which is hot as hell to me. In fact he's hot as hell through and through, all over, inside and out. Even now in such a compromised state, with his eyes half open, rolled back, losing himself in physical ecstasy. He's so fucking beautiful, he's-

He's-

Huh...

It catches my eyes, that cut on the side of his muzzle, from where Marty hit him with the gun. I stare at it and find I can't stop staring.

That cut, it...

It's...

It's there because of you, Kalie.

Because you didn't leave when you had the chance.

Because you got high and refused to face reality.

His arms too. Look at them. His left, especially.

The entire underside is shaved, covered in stitches.

Self inflicted wounds. He could have died.

That's on you, Kalie.

Because you played your little games with Ryan and Marty instead of being there for him.

Because you were careless and distant, thoughtless and foolish.

Because you didn't listen to the person you cared most about in the world.

Feeling sexy, important and wanted mattered more than him, didn't it?

Admit it.

You're selfish to the core.

Look at him now, laying on his back, powerless, relenting.

Doesn't it remind you of something, Kalie?

You remember, right?

All that blood.

Total panic.

You thought he was dead.

Fuck.

I need to kick this monster out of my head.

I-

But there is no monster. There never has been.

There's only me.

My actions.

Their consequences.

_These_consequences.

My head is pounding.

My thrusting slows, almost stops.

My eyes are wide, my mind clouded.

A flood of unwanted thoughts make themselves known to me in waves, crashing violently through something that should have been perfect.

You're running. Again.

You're not facing reality.

You've caused so much pointless suffering; what makes you think you deserve joy?

Adrian is better than you, and he deserves better.

You are worthless.

He shouldn't have been the one bleeding out in that bed.

It should have been you

Everyone else's lives would be better off without you in them.

But you don't want to think about that, do you?

You keep doing this, Kalie, but its not going to work.

Don't you see?

You can't run forever.

No.

No no no.

Enough.

Out.

Get out of my fucking head.

I hilt Adrian in one powerful thrust and close my eyes.

I breathe in deep and slow, then exhale.

This is a beautiful moment. I won't let myself ruin it. This is too important, too pivotal. Not just for me, but for Adrian. I love him. I want him to be happy. In this instant everything else is secondary.

I won't let anything ruin this. Not a damn thing.

I grit my teeth and pump, pump, pump. Hard, fast, testing his hole with my knot, stretching him a little more with every thrust. It's only a matter of time until it pops in and I coat his insides white.

All that self-sabotaging anxiety and disgust is ejected from my head. None of it matters, not now. I am here to pleasure and be pleasured, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do.

Finding fresh strength I open my eyes and bathe in Adrian's beauty, not succumbing to violent flashbacks, not dwelling on trauma or personal failings, just enjoying him, reveling in him. He is gorgeous, scars and all. Every inch of him deserves to be cherished. His golden eyes, his bright red fur, the stitched-up cuts along his underarms, the fresh injury on his muzzle, all of him. Whatever pain those wounds represent, whatever memories they bring to mind, they are still a part of Adrian, they are still a part of my fox. They are to be loved, wholly, not pitied or fret over.

He's moaning louder than he really should be, if anyone else is awake they'll hear. It's a huge turn on. I know I won't last long.

I focus on the tightness and warmth of his hole, the sensation of my body pressed against his, my fur on his fur, being a big wolf on top of a little fox, being a man fucking another man, my dick in his ass. You can't really break it down any further than that.

God, I want to cum. God, I need to. God, I'm going to.

Any second now.

My knees are shaking, my legs losing all structural integrity as my orgasm rapidly approaches. Pumping. Thrusting. So fucking hard. So fucking deep. I'm panting rough and heavy, losing all control of my body, my mind, everything.

Everything.

With a bestial roar and a final thrust, my knot goes in and my cock goes off like a goddamn hose, firing spurt after spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside of him. At near enough the exact same time his cock twitches and, unassisted by any paw, shoots ropes of white over his belly.

By the time we're both done he's drenched in the stuff, inside and out.

He's moaning and I'm moaning. He's panting and I'm panting.

We're all used up, spent. Nothing left but love. Nothing to give but devotion. I want to howl, I'm all instinct and adrenaline, but I know it would be a bad idea. I'd wake up the whole street.

Stuck inside of him as I am, I lean forward. He does too, as best he can, and we kiss. It's soft and gentle, the polar opposite of how we've been. We linger in it, in each other. It's a delicate and pretty kind of kiss, a glittering, radiant sort of thing. When it ends I merely wish it would begin again.

With my knot still inside of him it takes some maneuvering to get where we want to be, but we manage, and soon enough he's my little spoon once again. Settled and spent, at last, I turn off the lamp.

"You..." He says, still struggling for words, breath or both. "You were fucking incredible."

"Oh, all I did was give in to instinct." He laughs and wiggles his rear, teasing my knot. I half want to start up all over again, but I'm tired. So tired. "You know, Adrian, it won't go down if you keep doing that."

"I know. I just want you to stay inside of me for as long as possible."

I growl playfully and nibble the back of his neck, he yips in mock-fear, then laughs. I squeeze him tight and he hums, content.

We stop speaking.

His breathing grows shallow.

Soon enough he's asleep.

I'm not.

The sex was amazing. Adrian was - is - perfect.

I'm not.

It's too much for me. When I find the strength to look my flaws, mistakes and imperfections in the face I feel fear. I'm scared of what I've done, of what I might do. I don't want to hurt people anymore.

All that pain and terror boils and bursts inside of me, expanding and exploding forever, unending and it... it's too much.

And when I realize that, I run.

Yesterday, with Marty, I took acid for this very reason. Last night, with Adrian, we lost ourselves in lovemaking as I was still processing what had happened. Not a coincidence. I wanted to stop thinking, to escape. And now, so soon after, I've done it again. All it took was one conversation with Ryan to set me off, and I went running.

Is that all I do? Run and use sex as an escape? Yesterday it was drugs, I suppose, but they led to sex too.

Do I think I'm some kind of rockstar?

Sex? Check.

Drugs? Check.

Rock 'n' Roll? Not really.

I'm a self-absorbed whirling dervish of destruction that tramples everything in its path. But, hey, if that's not Rock 'n' Roll, what is?

I'm never going to be a better person if I don't face up to my faults for more than five minutes at a time. I'm never going to improve if I just fuck until my brain is mush whenever I'm actually on the path to making any sort progress.

Adrian deserves better.

But...

I don't have the energy for this.

My eyelids droop and my breathing slows. I suppose that was exactly the plan: exhaust myself to the point that any option other than sleep is off the table.

I am my own worst enemy.