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** Link in the Chain **

by peppygrowlithe

I guess I like this guy.

Mike stared at the Arcanine in the mirror, bringing a hand up to rub at the dark creases under his tired eyes.

It made all the pieces fit. The roiling in his stomach, the tensity in his nerves, the unfocused sense of jealousy without a target. It was the extra element turning tonight's date from a casual event into a looming threat.

Damn.

It had been too long since he had felt this way. He thought the very urge had been stripped from him long ago, tapped out like a mine with all the valuables extracted and exported.

He had been on dates since Jolene. He'd even slept with them a few times. Dating was easy when neither party had the delusion of romance in mind. A handful of these partners had tried to follow-up in the days after, to see if a second date was in the cards, but these were the exception. Most of his dating partners understood without explicit mention the temporary nature of their tryst.

Get in, get off, get out.

But tonight was different. In an hour, Mike would be sitting down to a third date. The first third date he had been on, in fact, in...

He tried to count, but lost track around a decade prior. Jolene must have been his most recent third date. He could remember the month and day of their wedding, but not the year. Twelve years ago? That seemed about right.

The Arcanine ran his eyes down the figure in the mirror. He was broad-chested, and he could see the musculature of his pectorals even through the bush of fur. His arms were less impressive. He had started to let himself go about six years into his marriage, and his biceps were the first to turn on him. Not small. But not massive.

He had started to grow a bit of a belly as he grew older, though he had always tendered toward slenderness for his kind. Looking at his cream-white upper chest and the black-furred furred stomach in the mirror, his mind wandered, conjuring up the image of the guy he'd be seeing tonight.

The vision came easy. Samson's smile was toothy and broad, lighting up his green eyes. It was infectious, and it was the first thing that popped into his mind. Those eyes just stood out about him, more than his bright orange-red fur, more than that big white cloud of a mane, more than that huge mass of fluff he called a tail.

He tilted his head and recalled the Growlithe's puff of a belly. Mike had been growing a little bump, but Sam was flat-out chubby. Plump. Just big. Mike was taller, a credit to his evolution, but he didn't think he'd ever met a Growlithe built like a bear.

He didn't know if others would find him attractive, but Mike definitely did. He found Sam's tummy endearing, even cute in a way he hadn't expected. Being fit himself, his previous partners had usually been thin, and Jolene was skinny as a rail, but he'd always had a soft spot for the bigger morphs. More than once, he had imagined what it would be like to reach out, to just tug up the Growlithe's shirt with one hand and run his padded fingers along Sam's stomach with the other. He imagined the belly was probably white-furred, undoubtedly warm and soft, and he could imagine Sam squirming and beaming and giggling and...

Mike looked up at his expression in the mirror and saw he was grinning. His tail, which he had taught himself to control long ago, was swaying to and fro and threatening to knock over his towel hanging against the wall.

He willed it to stop. It was easy enough, easier still when the next thought came into his head, unbidden, unwelcome, but omnipresent.

Don't expect you're going to get that far. He didn't sleep with you the first two times because he doesn't like you. He just doesn't know how to let you down without hurting you.

The Arcanine lowered his head and splashed some cold water on his face. He didn't genuinely believe that. Deep down, he knew Sam was just the sort of guy you took it slow with. There was undoubtedly an attraction there, a real one, something meaningful, something shared. Something that shouldn't be rushed.

Something that would be worth the wait.

This, of course, didn't stop the nagging doubts. What was it they said about third dates?

The third date is where all the stuff that you've been keeping in comes out. The third date is where a person confesses their deepest, darkest secret. Their felony, their intense prejudice, their unusual sexual obsession. The third date's where you lay it out on the table and see if the other person is still willing to stomach you.

Mike stared at the tired old dog in the mirror, and he sighed. He picked the comb off of the sink and began to work at his mane.

"He has to know," the Arcanine said to the empty bathroom, and his voice sounded bitter. He bit the urge to growl, but it slipped out when, after four swipes of the comb, his hair was still a great, puffy, unruly mess.

Tonight would be the night Sam would hear about the divorce. About Jolene, and about his daughter.

He'd mentioned Sarah once, on their second date. He had brought her up just long enough to say that he had a daughter who would be entering the third grade soon. But, upon seeing Sam's interest piqued, Mike had quickly switched topics to one he knew the Growlithe would find irresistible -- food -- and Sarah was soon forgotten amidst the excited chatter that followed.

Jolene wasn't what worried him. Mike was 38 years old. An ex-wife isn't the mark of a fault in character. Sam would understand that. Hell, it might even give the old dog some panache, some distinction as the experienced Arcanine he was. Besides that, he somehow got the impression that even though Samson didn't have any children of his own, he would be good with kids. Sarah would probably like him, if they got that far.

He expected that Sam would be understanding about the limp, too. He was a sweet guy. Too sweet, maybe, for a tired old grouch like Mike, but he'd be sympathetic. The Arcanine's injured footpaw wasn't the thing that weighed most heavily on his conscience.

No, the thing that Mike was holding tight against his chest, the one thing he was most reluctant to reveal, was his depression.

He thought he did a good job hiding it from the world. He was a polite and self-aware person, and though he did not smile much, he had been told it was a pleasant one. He had a wry wit, and other Pokemorphs generally found him amiable. To his knowledge, his presence never brought the mood of a party or social event down. Nearly four decades of experience had taught him how to cope, to deal, to hide, to suppress.

But the truth is that he was a sad, lonely, and pessimistic old man. Jolene had thought she could change that, could lift him out of his funk. While they were dating, he had tried to explain that depression wasn't a swamp, it wasn't something for which you could take somebody's hand and pull them out. It was like a black hole, a sucking, drawing force of nature, beyond nature, from which no light could penetrate, and from which escape was impossible.

You don't escape a black hole. But being careful, you can use the darkness as a shield to mask it, and you can live in spite of it.

Mike brought the comb down. Immediately, his mane sprung back into place. The firedog rolled his eyes and decided to let it be. It was too late to go out and buy hair gel now. This always happened in the colder months, where his mane grew out and got unruly. He had been proud of his explosive, luscious mane as a young adult, but now, it felt ostentatious. Unkempt. Immature.

Well, he would deal with it. It wasn't the worst thing he had inherited from his father.

Sam's not going to understand. The sureness of it caused him to sigh. _He saw his chest rise and fall in the mirror, and his shoulders fell. He brought a hand up to rub at his left temple. He might be the kind who thinks he can fix me, but he won't. He can't, and it'll be better if he doesn't even try. Maybe it's better that way. Yeah. It's better if he smiles politely, says it doesn't bother him, says he can still get along just great no matter what mental illness I have. But then he's busy next Friday, and the Friday after that, and he doesn't answer my texts, and pretty soon he's gone from my life forever.

What does it matter anyway? It's not going to work out. I'm not good enough for him, and once I get to know him, I bet I'll find he's not good enough f--_

"Shut up, Mike," he said aloud. His voice echoed in the tiny bathroom, loud in his ears. "Are you a teenager? No? Then shut your mouth and brush your damn teeth already."

He squirted out a strip of the minty stuff onto his toothbrush and crammed it into his mouth like a bitter child. He stared at himself in the mirror as he brushed. It took him a moment or so, but he relaxed as reason set back in. He really was too old to be thinking this way.

He's such a sweet guy. He seems so jolly all the time. I don't think it's an act. He seems so kind and so... vibrant. Maybe that's what I'm worried about. Maybe I don't want to drag him down.

He snorted, more amused than irritated. His brain just had to sneak that one little attack in there.

More than that, he's carefree. Happy-go-lucky. We've got a date in an hour, and I'll bet you anything he doesn't have a worry in the world.

***

"Cobalt, I think I need to wear a tie to this."

"Then put on a tie, Sam."

"I don't know how to put on a tie! I used to have my roommate set it up it for me."

"All right, Sam. Just make a--"

"I don't know, does this shirt, I mean, does it even go with a tie? What if, I dunno, what if I just went for a collared shirt? I don't want to overdress."

"Okay, Sam. Try on the--"

"The tie's better, it's more elegant. Right?"

"Sam, y--"

"Co, I don't know how to put on a tie. What do I do?"

"Listen! You need--"

"Cobalt, come over and do the tie for me, please, can, can you please come and help me with it?"

"Sam, I'm two thousand miles away."

"I know, I know, I'll, I'll pay for your flight, will you just please come do my tie for me?"

"Sam, the date's in an hour."

"Co, what do I do? How do I do the tie? What if it looks sloppy and he walks out on me?"

"God, forget the tie, Sam. You still have that gray blazer? It still fits?"

"I -- yeah, it, yeah, it does."

"All right. That, and a white shirt, brown belt, and you're fine. No tie. It'll look good."

"All right. Okay, all right, I'm -- putting it on THUMP."

"Sam?"

"Rustle rustle rustle."

"Sam, did you drop the phone?"

"Sorry. Yeah. I was putting my shirt on. How do I look?"

"I don't know. I'm not there."

"Sorry. Man, I'm sorry, Co. I'm a mess right now. He's just so cool, Co. He's so -- I don't know, he's confident and suave, and so calm! And I'm just this nervous wreck.

"You're fine. Just calm down. Were you like this the first two dates?"

"Well, no, but a third date is different, Co."

"Different how?"

"The third date's where you have to put out."

"What are you, 16?"

"Hey! I'm 33."

"Oh good, you fooled me for a second there. Turns out you are old enough to make your own choices. Sam, you don't have to put out if you don't want to."

"But he'll be expecting it, won't he?"

"Doesn't matter. Isn't he like 40-something anyway?"

"38. But he'll still be thinking it, right?"

"Sam, of course he's thinking it. Every person in the history of dating has been thinking it."

"Well, I mean... but I mean, I don't always want to put out, you know, even if everything's fine."

"Right, that's not the point. You at least think about it. Right?"

"Right..."

"So just play it by ear. If you want to fuck him then fuck him."

"Cobalt!"

"And if you don't, then don't. Honestly, you firedogs always overthink these things. You're both in this for the long haul, right?"

"I mean, I really hope so."

"Yeah. So don't put out because somebody told you once that banging on a third date is mandatory."

"Okay..."

"If he's in this for real, he'll understand no matter what."

"But he's going to... I mean, he's going to want to, right?"

"Duh. You're going to want to as well, right?"

"It's... there's more to it than that."

"I know, I get it. But I think by the end of the night, you'll know what to do."

"All right. ... Thanks, Co."

"You feel better?"

"A lot, actually... yeah. I think I really like him, you know. I really just, I mean, I just want things to go perfect."

"That's impossible, Sam. Perfection isn't possible. So don't worry about the small mess-ups. And don't call attention to them either. If you spill something on yourself, laugh about it, move on. A small mess-up becomes a big one when you shine a spotlight on it."

"Cobalt, that's really smart."

"Yep."

"Thanks again. For, uh, you know, for helping me figure this out. ... Do you think I should tuck the shirt in?"

"I don't know, Sam. I can't see it."

"I'm gonna do it."

"All right, go for it."

"Unless you think I shouldn't..."

"You're impossible, Sam."

***

Samson reached into his wallet and, distractedly, pulled out the first bill his chubby fingers came in contact with. He handed it to the taxi driver, a Skuntank with an impressive sneer, and piled out of the cab.

"Whoa-ho, thanks man!" the taxi driver grinned, tossing him a flippant but amiable salute. "You take care, big guy, don't get too wild."

Sam blinked, looking over his shoulder. He peeked into his wallet and, just as the taxi was pulling off, realized that he had slipped the guy a $50.

"Guess there's no groceries this week," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he slipped the wallet away with the other. This fancy dinner was already putting him in the red, and he suspected his future held a lot of ramen.

Oh well, that guy was nice. Even if he did smell like a-- er, a Skuntank.

Samson couldn't rightly blame himself. He had hardly heard a word the taxi driver had said the entire ride. He had been staring out of the car into the night, his heart pounding in his chest like a non-stop Belly Drum. Even now, out of the car, it was a struggle to keep his gait calm and collected as he steps across the gravelstone pathway leading up to Le Chez Feunard.

He was dressed up in a deep gray blazer, one he thought went well with the bright orange of his striped fur. He wore a nice white shirt beneath, along with long black slacks that went down to his bare paws. He had briefly considered matching his shoes to his belt, but decided it would be fine to go bare-pawed. He had been to dozens of weddings, and the Pokemorphs there wore fancy clothing, many of them wandered around without shoes on. Sure, most of them were Growlithes and Arcanines, being part of his family and all, but he figured it'd be fine.

Right?

Pokemorphs of all kinds stood around in delicate, polite conversation, dressed in their very best. Sam spotted a Stoutland with a monocle chatting up a Gardevoir in the most elegant dress he'd ever seen. Beyond them, a pair of well-dressed Snubbulls laughed with a smirking Azumarill. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought people were staring at him as they passed.

Is every person here dressed better than me? Or is it my imagination?

He put a polite smile on as he passed by a sashaying Jynx, but the woman gave him an unimpressed side-eye. His shoulders sank.

I feel so out of place. I should've worn shoes. Most people here have shoes on. Are they looking at me? I should've worn shoes. Dangit, dangit. This was a mistake, this was all a mistake, Mike's going to think I'm a caveman. Maybe I should just -- maybe I can text him, say I have, what, that I have a stomachache? Yeah, that's it, indigestion, fire-types are always getting indigestion. I'll just shoot him a text and--

And there he was.

Standing tall, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, Mike stood staring up at the chandelier over the fountain. His dark eyes watched the light twinkle in the crystals, reflecting the water and the subtle shapes of the little Magikarp swimming around within it.

His chin was drawn upward, the scruff well-kept, but it was the Arcanine's vibrant mane that Sam couldn't stop staring at. It burst from his head like a grand sun, like white fire dancing along his neck, disappearing into his satin shirt only to gush into glory by the massive tail exploding from his slacks.

As Sam stared, Mike lowered his head, casting a glance over the crowd. His head stopped as their eyes met. His posture remained casual as he lifted an arm, showing the pads of his palms in a small wave, and the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Hey, Sam," he said.

And Sam, his insides turning to jelly, his breath catching in his throat, his heart racing in his chest, found it in himself to return the smile.

"Hey, Mike!"

"Hope you made it here okay. How's your day?"

"Getting better," the Growlithe said, still grinning that toothy grin of his as he crossed the distance between them. His voice dropped to a whisper which still felt loud in his ears. "Can you believe this place? I've been to weddings less fancy than this. Honestly, you think they're going to announce our names when we step in?"

Mike tilted his head a bit. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know, like the, what do you call him, the Master of Ceremonies. You know..." Here, Sam cleared his throat and furrowed his brow. He adopted a faux-British accent as he said, lowering his voice, "Now arriving... Oh, wait, put your arm in mine."

Perplexed but willing to play along, Mike offered his arm, and Sam linked it with his, elbow to elbow. The Growlithe continued his proud announcement in that same faked accent, making a sweeping gesture with his free hand. "All rise! Now arriving, from the estate on the other side of town, Master Michael the First, Duke of Dermatology, and cohort, Sir Samson the First, Vanquisher of Video Games, Preparer of Pizzas."

Despite himself, Mike couldn't help but chuckle. "Duke of Dermatology?" he echoed.

Sam gave the Arcanine a sidelong look, fighting and failing to keep his grin suppressed. "Yeah," he joked. "I mean, I would-a given you a higher rank, but I still don't know if it's pronounced mar-KEE or mar-KWIS."

They had started walking along, moving through the vast restaurant toward the podium and, beyond that, their reserved table. Arm-in-arm, Sam discovered two things that he hadn't noticed before. One was that Mike's arm was buff, way buffer than he was expecting, especially for an older guy. He definitely liked that.

The second thing was that Mike had a small limp on his right foot. It was slight; Sam wasn't a particularly fast walker, and he didn't feel that he had to alter his pace much to keep stride with the Arcanine. But the subtle shift of the bigger male's body, the way he swung his left foot forward quickly to reduce the pressure on his right, was something he could detect now that they had locked elbows.

He was about to ask about it before Mike gave off an amused rumble. He had seen a pair of snobby Pidgettos looking their way, and he gave Sam's arm an encouraging squeeze as they passed them by. "Duke works. But you know, my name isn't really Michael."

"Really?" Samson asked, and his big bushy tail gave a quick series of wags. "Let me guess. Is it Michaelangelo?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Mikael?"

"Nope. It's just Mike."

Sam turned to look at Mike's upper body in full now. The Arcanine didn't notice at first, but he turned just as the Growlithe was finishing his appraising look. He tilted his head in that perplexed way that only canines can do.

"That fits," Sam decided. "You don't look like a Michael, but you're definitely a Mike."

"Thanks, Samson."

"Eugh." The Growlithe stuck his tongue out."Spare me. Honestly, I'd rather my birth certificate just said 'Sam' on it. I don't even need a last name. Just 'Sam'. Can you imagine how much time I'd save when I need to sign my name?"

"Right, but how would your poor dad feel, 'son of Sam'?"

"That's the worst part. My dad's name is Jack!"

Mike chuckled once again, giving Sam's fuzzy elbow another squeeze. Another set of eyes were on them, these belonging to two stuffy fire-types. The Cyndaquil-morph crinkled his nose at them, and the Flareon brought a paw up to suppress her smirk as she watched the two dogs go hand in hand. She leaned forward and whispered something to her companion, who let off a small snicker.

Sam saw these looks, and it seemed to embarrass him a bit. With some reluctance, he began to let go of Mike's arm. The Arcanine found, with mild surprise, he didn't want to let go yet, but also didn't want to draw undue attention in this fancy place. He gave Sam's arm a parting squeeze before they disentangled.

They queued up behind a group of dapper gentlemen. The foremost of the six, a Persian wearing a top hat so large that Sam found it comical, seemed to be getting the facts straight about their reservation. Sensing they had a bit of time, the Growlithe decided to take the plunge.

"Is your leg okay, Mike?" He had dropped his voice to a near whisper. "Are you in pain?"

Mike could see the apprehension in Sam's expression, and he forced a smile to his face. He didn't want to talk about it, but, it was out in the open now. Best to get the easiest of his three issues out of the way.

"It doesn't hurt too bad. Hiking injury from a couple years ago."

Sam's brow furrowed in concern. "Was it bad?"

"The doctor said it was a combination of the injury and age," the Arcanine replied, lifting his broad shoulder. "Digital fasciitis. It affects the area just below the big pad. I couldn't walk for a few weeks. It felt like walking on broken glass."

Sam nodded, listening but silent. His ears gave a little flick. Mike pressed on.

"But it got better. I don't notice it much if I don't run. I still have to stretch and massage it every day, though. First thing before getting out of bed in the morning, right when I get off of work, and then before bed. Otherwise, the pain builds up."

Here, Sam's mouth opened, then closed. Mike gave him a sidelong glance, and he could see the gears in the Growlithe's head turning as there was something he wanted to say, or ask, but was holding back. Mike kept his expression placid, but his tail gave a single quick shake as he thought -- or hoped -- that he knew what was on the Growlithe's mind.

He wasn't sure Sam would actually give voice to this thought, and he wasn't surprised when the Growlithe veered down a much safer path.

"If we ever go hiking, Mike, I'll keep it in mind, and I won't outpace you. Maybe you can use a walking stick. That'd be fun, don't you think, a trip to the park?"

"It's a date." Mike smirked, spotting the other dog's bashful smile with a side-eye. The group in front of them had resolved their issue and were being lead into the dining room, so he stepped forward to confirm his reservation.

"Good evening," the Arcanine said to the Rapidash at the podium, whose fire curls made an impressive moustache below his prominent snout. "Yes, I have a table for two, name of Brickendell."

As the horseman bowed his head and began to look through the listings, Samson took a moment to look around the room. The tables were laid out spaciously, all with fancy dinner mats and candles and flowers. He couldn't scent out any of the food, despite possessing a strong sense of smell even for his species. The place had an austere, sanitized scent.

What he could smell, though, was the big canine standing beside him; he could tell Mike had put on something spicy-scented, a cologne or aftershave or something, but it wasn't enough to mask his own personal brand. His scent was like warm bricks and smoking meat. Clean, but distinct.

A thought crossed Sam's mind, and when he was sure Mike was distracted by a question from the Rapidash, he lowered his head and looked down to check what sorts of shoes the Arcanine was wearing.

Bare-pawed.

Sam couldn't help it. His tail started going crazy. He bit down on his lower lip to keep from smiling too broadly as the Rapidash made a sweeping gesture, and the two firedogs made their way toward their table.

***

The appetizer was a garden salad for each of them, with a thin but flavorful vinaigrette with sesame oil. There were warm breadsticks, piping hot and twice-swiped with a garlic oil concoction that melted on the tongue.

Samson was halfway through his salad, but Mike had hardly touched his. He was too busy gesticulating with his hands, unaware that he was smiling. He kept his voice level and quiet, but his voice was still animated.

After all, the story was too good.

"So she's standing there just staring at me, gawking as I'm just... I'm thinking I'm so bloody suave. I'm singing this awful, awful song that I wrote myself. I'm standing there in the moonlight, and--"

"And your fly's down!" Samson had his paws up to his muzzle, watching in a sort of delighted horror, but he couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Oh Mike, you're kidding me. This can't be real. Don't tell me she could see--"

"Everything," Mike confirmed, bringing a hand up to rub at the side of his temple. His smile was embarrassed but true, even as he closes his eyes to bring the paw across them. "Imagine me there, moving around her, whispering the real sensual parts, holding my hand up like some --" He gestured, one paw on his broad chest, the other raised before him with palm upward. "Like I think I'm some handsome medieval bard, and all the while she's just staring at my crotch, speechless, stunned, as I'm just hanging loose like a drunk frat kid."

Sam squished both hands against his muzzle, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep his laughter quiet. The Arcanine watched as tears formed in the corners of the dog's eyes, and he felt the maddening, perilous urge to join him.

"How did it end?" Sam managed to gasp, sniffling and wiping at his nose and eyes. They were seated, but the Growlithe's tail, even squished as it was against the back of the chair, was wriggling frantically, trying to free itself. "Did she, did she stop you?"

"Nope," Mike said, and he chuckled as this drew another peal of helpless laughter from the 'Lithe. "She just stared at me. She was horrified, Sam, she was incredulous. But I was... I was young, I was, what, 19? I was thinking..." Mike's voice dropped an octave. "Hey, not bad. She's starin' at my crotch. That's a good sign. She's got to be into this."

Sam was giggling so hard by now that people in the quiet restaurant were staring. He was squeezing napkins against his muzzle now, so red in the face he was almost glowing. The poor guy was aware that he was making a scene, and it visibly embarrassed him, but he was entirely unable to stop it. The mirthful sounds had spilled over into snorts and sobs, and Mike, with almost comical casualness, gave the other male a reprieve by focusing on his salad for a bit.

Sam eventually recovered. He wiped his nose and eyes again, tugged on his shirt to cool off, had caught his breath, before he dared to trust himself to speak again.

"So... so then what happened?"

Mike crunched his salad, looking across the table at his date. He lifted an eyebrow in silent query, checking to see if Sam was really sure he wanted to continue. When the Growlithe nodded, Mike set his fork down.

"In the end, I was kneeling before her, hand outstretched for hers. The plan was for her to place her palm on mine, I'd bring it in and kiss it, then lift her into my arms, and then I'd haul her off and we'd do what randy 19 year olds do."

"But she didn't," Sam said, shaking his head. He was still sniggering, though he had it mostly under control now.

"Nope. She looked down at me, back into my face, and said... are you sure you're ready for this, Sam?" When the smaller dog nodded, Mike continued, affecting a feminine lilt, "Uh, I should tell you that your cucumber's fallen out of the salad.'"

Sam slammed his hands back against his muzzle and started giggling again, madly, uncontrollable. It was quieter this time, but his whole body was shaking with the movement. Mike decided to push on, thinking it was better to just get the story finished, lest the 'my worst date story' he was currently telling be superseded by the Growlithe having a heart attack right there in the restaurant.

"I stared at her, and I was just wasn't getting it, so she said, what did she say..." He thought for a moment. Then, as recollection returned, he nodded. "She said, 'Listen, big guy, that was a sweet song and all, but I don't think you needed your microphone out for it."

That got another round of helpless laughter from the Growlithe, but Mike just kept going. "So she said, 'I'm just going to zzzzip on out of here, and may I suggest you do the same?' and that's where she left me, right there in the park, still on one knee, and by the time I realized and had, you know, adjusted and tucked everything back in and zipped back up, she was out of sight."

"That can't be real," Sam gasped, shaking his head, still blushing furiously beneath his already reddish cheeks. "Mike, I'm so sorry that happened, that's humiliating. You wrote her a song and everything!"

The Arcanine waved it off. He shook his head, his cream-white mane shaking and shifting with the motion. "I was young and lazy. I wrote one song and sang it to at least five girls. I think I tried it on a guy in there, too. It was a shtick. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't, but now, looking back, it's embarrassing to think about. I think the fly incident was the last time I tried, and that's for the best."

"Well," Sam said, giving one final sniff as he rubbed at his nose. He chomped down on a small bite of salad, swallowed, and said, "Be that as it may, I bet you have a lovely singing voice."

"Don't even," the bigger dog said, but he was grinning. "My singing days are long behind me." He set his elbow on the table and spun his fork around a bit, waving a thin leaf of lettuce speared on the end. "All right, your turn. Worst date, Sam."

"I think I've been lucky, Mike," the Growlithe replied, but his green eyes twinkled with just a hint of mischief. "I dunno if I've ever been on a bad date. I mean, a really bad date, you know? But there was one time..."

Mike raised his eyebrows, eating in silence as Samson spoke.

"So, uh... you ever, hrm, you ever dated a Slowpoke?" When Mike shook his head, Sam pressed on. "I met one at a party, uh, I think I was, hrm... I was probably 21 or so, old enough to drink. He was sweet and all, and I drank a little too much, and my friend was there, and she really really wanted to hook us up, and..."

As the larger male watched, the Growlithe shook his head, waving his paw aimlessly in the air. "I'll spare you the details. Eventually -- and I mean a long eventually--" This drew a sudden snerk of amusement out of Mike, and Sam grinned. "We ended up at his place. I, uh... um."

Sam scratched at the back of his head, brow furrowing, one eye squinting, trying to think of the most delicate way to phrase it. "I... you know, I, I got myself off with him all right. It was easy. I was young, and I mean, c'mon, I was 21. I was excited for the chance, I really didn't need much help finishing, and he really was sweet, Mike. C'mon, don't give me that look!"

Mike was grinning madly at him. It hurt his jaw, he couldn't remember the last time he had grinned this wide, but he couldn't help it. Almost all of his teeth showed as he sunk back into his chair. He feigned ignorance, lifting his shoulder and jutting out his lower lip, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What look? Don't mind me, Sam. Go on."

"Anyway, I... you know, even though I had already... finished, I wanted to return the favor. That's just being courteous, right? But I spent..."

The Growlithe was blushing again beneath the orange-red of his cheeks, his grin sheepish. He set his fork down and brought a single paw up to his muzzle. He propped his chin on his palm, his chubby fingers masking the shy smile, as he peeked over his claws at the larger male. "I spent... two hours, Mike... I spent two hours trying to get him off."

Mike raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt. Sam pressed on, lowering his green eyes and shaking his head, the puff of hair that composed his mane bobbling and shifting as he did. "I did... everything I knew, and I mean everything, Mike. I used my mouth, my paw, my, you know, my backside. I used everything, and he was just... lying there, barely erect, with his... well, I mean, you know that goofy expression Slowpokes have."

Mike nodded, but he let out a quick and quiet bark of laughter as Samson replicated the look. The Growlithe had tucked his chops around most of his teeth, leaving only a couple fangs showing. His jaw was slack but smiling, his expression dopey. All in all, not a poor approximation.

Mike ran his hand through his mane, then propped up the side of his head on his palm with his elbow on the table. He lazily ran his eyes down the Growlithe's body as he said, "Go on, Sam."

"So nothing was happening. In the end, I was exhausted, Mike, I was just... I was sweating, and panting, and puffing, and just -- I was so tired! I apologized, and he said it was all right. I mean, he eventually said that, I had to wait for it, but everything was fine, so we went to sleep."

Samson paused for a moment to take a drink of water. Mike stabbed a cherry tomato and took a bite. His brow was furrowing, wondering if the story had already reached its end.

"... I don't know how long I was out," the Growlithe continued. "If I had to guess, maybe an hour, maybe two. But I woke to just..."

He brought both of his hands up to his face, covering most of his muzzle with his furred fingers. Mike reflected briefly on the Growlithe's broad hands, but noted that the fingers were short and stout. They were surely dog paws, but they reminded Mike of a bear. He knew Sam had mentioned an Ursaring father, and the thought flickered in his mind like a candle that he may have inherited them.

The thought was then snuffed out, as Mike suddenly realized the direction this story was heading. His heart skipped a beat, and he sat up in his chair. "No," he said, disbelief rising. "No, Sam. Say he didn't."

But the younger male nodded. "I woke up thinking somebody was spraying me with a hose," Sam said, his voice muffled by his handpaws, his eyes and cheeks masked by them. "My first thought is that it was wet, and then that it was hot, and then that it was itchy, and then it all sunk in and I started--"

It was Mike's turn to lose himself. "No, no, god no. He didn't, Sam, he couldn't," he cried out, before his maw burst into a sudden chortle. His hand clenched into a fist. His laugh was deep and rich and real, but more than that, it was unexpected. The Arcanine didn't laugh easily. He hurriedly brought a napkin up to muffle the worst of it.

"I was spitting and slapping and still waking up, and I'm just, just, just trying to block the worst of it with my hands, and I was crying out like, no, wait, gah, no, stop, stop! And he was just laying there, with that big stupid look, and his, his, his manhood just going wild, Mike, just, just, going crazy, and the whole time he's just making this sound like, GUHHHHHHHH, GUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, GUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--"

Mike was pretty sure he was going to die trying to keep it all in. He had crammed the napkin into his mouth, and it did nothing to dull the sound of his laughing. His body was convulsing with it, almost choking on it, and he could barely see the Growlithe through the tears streaming from his dark eyes. He could hardly breathe, and the few times he could were ragged, unsteady gasps. It took him some time to realize that Sam was laughing too, even with his face covered.

Distantly, he had the thought that this was not the way that two men well into their adulthood behaved in a fancy restaurant.

But much, much closer, he couldn't have given a shit.

In fact, even when the Rapidash came up and quietly told them that they were disturbing the other guests and would they please make a greater effort to contain themselves, Mike felt no embarrassment. He apologized, yes, and said they would behave, but there was no sting of shame. They could have kicked him right out on his hindquarters, plastered his picture with a 'DO NOT SERVE' sign on the front podium, and he'd not have regret for a single sound.

********

Mike's dinner was a linguini with lemon, with shredded salmon and a creamy lemon sauce. Samson's dinner was a steak, well-done, and a side of garlic potatoes.

When Sam ordered the steak that way, the Arcanine couldn't prevent lifting his eyebrows, surprised that the 'Lithe would prefer his steak overcooked. He knew Sam liked to cook and had a knack for eating, so to hear him order so was astonishing. In his youth, Mike had once joked with a waiter that he should just hold a candle under a cow for a couple minutes. More than once, he had derided those who like their meats overcooked.

He didn't comment, though, and he wouldn't, even when the blackened steak was set down on the table before them, and the Growlithe began to happily dig in. He figured that if the night ended and the worst thing he could say about Sam was "he has a disastrous taste in steak", he'd have made off pretty lucky.

They were quiet for a bit when the plates were first put down, enjoying the first portions of their meals in a comfortable quiet.

Samson was the first to break it. "So, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Shoot."

"You mentioned, uh, I think you said Sarah. She's your daughter, right? What's she like?"

Mike had been mentally preparing himself for this, and so the question was no surprise. Even so, he felt a small stab of anxiety in his gut. He bought himself a few moments by wiping some sauce from his face with a napkin and set his fork down.

"Right, Sarah is my daughter. She'll be entering third grade soon. She's very bubbly, very smart for her age. She likes games, too, Sam. I think you'd like her."

"Really?" the Growlithe replied, looking up from his steak. Flecks of fat and meat were sticking to the tips of his chinscruff, and he wiped them clean as he grinned. A bit of herb was stuck between two fangs. "You know, I really like chess, and I learned it when I was, I think, six or seven. I bet she'd catch on fast if I taught her how to play."

Mike gave a small snort as the pun fell onto his lap, and he couldn't pass it up. "Real fast. She's an Eevee, you know, since Jolene's a Jolteon. She says she's the fastest runner in her class."

Sam nodded, taking another small bite of his steak. He looked up with a silent question, and Mike acknowledged it, lowering his dark eyes and giving two small nods. He was silent for a moment, trying to think of how best to start, and was grateful when his date didn't press or, worse, tell him he didn't have to talk about it. They both knew that he did.

"I should tell you. Jolene and I divorced last year. Our marriage was twelve years ago. We would have separated earlier, I think, but we made the most classic of mistakes. We stayed together for Sarah."

"I've heard that before. From other couples, I mean. It's an impossible choice." Samson held his napkin up in his right hand, covering the edge of his muzzle. His left was doing something that took Mike a couple moments to figure out. He was picking at the piece of herb in his teeth. "How unhappy were you?"

"Very, but not in the explosive way you'd expect of fire and electric types." That got a small, pitying smile out of Sam. "We were cold to each other. There was a bitterness. I think by and large, we resented each other, for..." Mike lowered his eyes. "... The same reason as countless couples before us. She thought she could change me, and resented me when I didn't. I thought she could accept me for who I am, and resented her when she couldn't."

"Change you?" Sam had gotten the offending herb out of his mouth, and he sat up in his chair. His bushy brow furrowed in what appeared to Mike to be genuine surprise. "Look, I'm not --" The ball of fluff on his head bobbed as he shook his head animatedly. "Listen, I'm not saying this just to be complimentary. What's there to change about you, Mike? I like you the way you are."

"Thanks, Sam," Mike replied, his smile thin. "But that's actually something I wanted to talk with you about."

"Yeah? What's that?"

Mike opened his jaw, showing his rows of sharp white teeth. He blinked, frowned, and shut his jaw. His nose gave a small wiggle. There was a lump in his throat, like a barrier as big as a bubble, and the words wouldn't come out. He held up a finger, and Sam watched with concern as Mike sipped a bit of water, then tried again.

He was able to get more of the words out on the second time, but it was not without effort. His voice was not even as he said: "I've been putting my best face forward, Sam, but I think you deserve to know that I'm, stripped down and open wide, I'm..."

Silence reigned for a few moments. Sam didn't say a word. He wasn't even breathing, just watching, his brow pulled back, green eyes watching.

"I'm unhappy all the time. I'm cold. I'm..." Deep breath in, and the words were the exhale. "I'm bitter. You know, pessimistic. I'm working on it, and I've learned to not mask it so much as deal with it."

"You're depressed," Sam whispered, and Mike nodded his confirmation. The Arcanine could see the cogs in the smaller dog's head working, and he felt his heart start to sink. Sam looked apprehensive, and the older man's mind filled the gaps in the silence between them.

He's having second-thoughts. He realizes he's in too deep. You've torn off the veil, Mike, and he doesn't like it. Scorch me. Of course he didn't like it. It's a fucking mental disorder. You should have told him about it right away. Now you're a liar on top of everything else. God damn it. Why didn't you save this for later in the night? You could have given him an easy out. Now this is going to be all awkward as hell. He's not going to know what to say. Watch him change the subject. Or maybe he'll fake an emergency phone call like that one girl. You goddamn idiot. You messed up the only--

"That's all right, Mike." The Growlithe started to smile, but then he jerked up in his seat. His eyes brightened, and he held his hand up, quickly saying, "Oh! I mean, of course it's, you know, of course it's not all right. I'm sorry that you're suffering from it, and I'm sorry that it's obviously... I mean, it's cost you lot."

Mike's brow furrowed, and he watched Sam as the other dog went on.

"But, I mean... I can tell you've been worried about this. It's because I'm so happy, right, you'd think we'd be, be, uh, what's the word --" He snapped his fingers. "Incompatible. Right?"

Mike didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Sam continued.

"I don't think that way at all, Mike. I mean, yeah, of course I get along with happy and excited people, but they don't, they don't relax me like you do. I like that you're calm, I like that you're serious. It means that when you smile, or laugh, that you really mean it. I think you're a genuine person."

Mike swallowed. Something inside was forcing him to be resistant, and the words came out before he could stop them. "I should've told you earlier, Sam."

"It's not like you lied to me, Mike," Sam replied right away. His tail was squished between his body and the chair, but it was active, shaking as much as it could as the chubby 'Lithe's eyes lit up. "I suspected this by the end of our first date, I mean, I think it's more obvious than you think it is. At least to me, it is. Because I do think you're honest."

"Well, that's because--" Mike started, again without thinking. The two canines made eye contact and held it, Sam with his brow lifted, Mike's furrowed. The Arcanine exhaled through his nose. The next words felt like a confession.

"It's because I don't feel like I need to put on an act around you, Sam. But," he added quickly, seeing the smaller dog's eyes light up. "... You have to understand that I'm not going to be this content forever. A year, five years, ten years down the road, when the luster's faded, I'll still be me. We'd be good for a while, but I can't always hide it, and behind closed doors, I won't always want to. I'll still have this weight in my chest. I'll still drag you down."

"You've got it wrong, Mike."

The Arcanine's brow furrowed deeper.

Sam went on. "My mom always says I have my head in the clouds." Sam's voice was quiet but earnest, and his tail was still in motion. "You wouldn't be dragging me down. You'd just be keeping me grounded." The corners of his mouth tugged into a grin. "And I'd be lifting you up."

"... Sam," Mike said, but he didn't say any more. The corners of his eyes were stinging. He blinked, feeling wetness gathering, and as he squeezed them shut he realized that he wasn't going to be able to hold them back, not entirely. He managed to hold up a finger toward Sam before turning away, bringing his napkin up to dab at his eyes.

His body did not move. He did not sob, he did not sniff. He sat there, stoic as a statue, paw and napkin up against his eyes and brow, waiting it out.

He didn't move until he felt something below the table, nudging at his foot. This did cause him to make a little sniff, and he brought the napkin down, confusion momentarily overtaking his emotions.

It was Sam's foot, bumping against his under the table, resting side by side against his. He could feel the warm furs of the fire-type brushing along his own, could feel the Growlithe's smooth pads sliding along the bridge of his foot.

Mike didn't understand at first. He had played footsie before, but it was a flirtatious gesture, like the physical contact equivalent of a wink. It felt inappropriate in this context.

And then he looked across the table toward Samson, who was looking back at him with his green eyes deep with concern and compassion. And then the Arcanine understood.

It was the invisible version of reaching out for his hand. Of physical contact in a place where physical contact was viewed with disdain. Sam was giving comfort in the best way he could, and without drawing public attention to Mike's distress.

Mike could've kissed him for it.

***

Dessert was Crème brûlée garnished with sprinkled sugar and a sprig of vanilla, with a cup coffee to wash it down.

After Mike had returned from the bathroom, the conversation stayed light. They needed the levity. After they discussed Sam's recent interest in chess and about how Mike had picked up a book the Growlithe had recommended, they were discussing the quality of the dessert.

"This was a perfect choice," Sam noted, waving his spoon around a bit as his tongue worked at the sweet dessert. "I'm glad you didn't go for something with chocolate."

"Not a fan of chocolate?" Mike asked, gently dabbing at the corners of his mouth. He was composed again, calm, but relaxed in a way he hadn't been all night.

"The opposite," the younger male replied with a grin, sinking forward onto his elbows. "Chocolate's not a fan of me. I could eat chocolate cake three square meals a day, but my stomach would never forgive me."

Mike rumbled, nodding a few times as he reached for his coffee mug. "Comes with being a canine, doesn't it?" He tapped the side of the cup, which they both knew to be de-caffeinated. "I don't really care for chocolate, but I love a good cup of coffee."

"You don't love chocolate?" Sam shook his head. "Dang!" He started to rise, and he gave out a mock sigh. "And things were going so well, too. I'm outta here, can you call me a taxi?"

Mike chuckled, running a hand through his bushy mane as Sam, grinning, settled back in. A comfortable silence set in. The old Arcanine leaned back in his chair, holding the coffee mug in both hands and looking around the room, as Sam dug back into his treat. The chubby pup leaned forward to give his tail a little more room to wag as he savored every sweet-salty-spicy bite, and Mike let him finish eating before he spoke again.

"So, Sam."

"Hrrrmpmmrrph?" the 'Lithe resounded, mouth full.

"I've told you a lot about me tonight, but I haven't asked as much about you."

"Ahh, that's 'cuz I'm not as interesting as you," the smaller dog replied, taking a moment to dab at his mouth and wipe his muzzle clean.

"That's not true. Do you really mean there's nothing more I should know about you?"

Sam's smile faded. He started chewing on his lower lip. After a moment, he looked away, lapsing into silence.

Mike frowned, wondering if he shouldn't have brought it up. But he didn't take the question back. Right, wrong, or indifferent, it was something that had to be asked. So he sat there, leaning back in his chair, waiting patiently for Samson to compose himself.

It took a full minute. A long, drawn out minute, lingering on far past the point where the Growlithe could deny there was anything worth talking about.

At long last, Sam spoke. His voice was soft, and his eyes were low.

"Well, I guess there's one thing."

Mike gestured with his hand. "I'd like to hear it."

Sam inhaled, held the breath, then let it go. He looked up at Mike, gave a thin apologetic smile, and then reached out to clear his mouth out with a swig of coffee.

"So I, I only started dating again about three months ago. I think I got lucky that I found you so quickly. I was scared as hell." Mike smiled at that, but it faded soon after when Sam, surprisingly, did not return it.

"My last relationship ended about three years ago. I was with him for a little over a year." The Growlithe kept his eyes low. He had sunk his spoon into his coffee and was swirling it around, watching the way the surface of the mug rippled and swirled.

"His name was Victor, and he was..." The firedog wriggled his nose. "Rather, is a Houndoom. Three years older than me. I met him on a dating website. Different than the one we used. He was very confident, very... I guess, charming. He complimented me a lot on our first dates. Y'see, it's like..."

Sam looked up, giving Mike another apologetic look. The Arcanine tipped his head slightly, but when he gestured for the other to continue, Sam glanced back down.

"Well, I guess even as a pup, I wasn't very confident. At least, not -- you know, with relationships. With romance. I've had a lot of problems with feeling self-conscious. I'm better about it now, but, I mean, c'mon, look at me."

He lowered his paw and squeezed at his gut, tucked behind his shirt. As Mike watched him do so and saw where this was going, he actually felt a stab of anger, sudden and almost violent. "Sam--" he started to say, but the Growlithe cut him off.

"I know," he said. "I've come to terms with it. Now, these days. I've got a better image of myself. I could stand to lose a bit yeah, but, I guess, kinda, I sorta like having the tummy now. It's just how I am." He looked up, and when he saw Mike put on a relieved smile, Sam returned it briefly.

"But all I mean to say is that I, I had to work for it. I had to spend a lot of time working at not being ashamed for..." He made a gesture with his paw. "For everything. For existing. Just being guilty for being alive. I spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, wearing baggy clothing, thinking I was ugly, thinking people were staring at me and whispering about what a fattie I am."

"You're not that fat, Sam."

"Yeah, but I mean, try telling that to this." The Growlithe brought a hand up and tapped at the side of his head. Mike had to concede the point there.

"Then Victor came along, and he just made me feel so good and so, you know, so happy, and loved. He made me feel so handsome, and..."

"Something happened to him," Mike finished for him. But when Sam looked up, giving him a harrowed look from across the table, he regretted the interruption, realizing he was wrong. "I'm sorry," he said, then gestured for the Growlithe to continue.

Sam bit down on his lower lip, and his brow furrowed. "It's... you know, you can, you can look back at a relationship, and it's easy to analyze after the fact. But you don't always see the problems at the time. Now that I've spent years... and years thinking, and, and talking, and processing, it's obvious to me now that he abused me."

Only a couple moments passed as Sam took a moment to clear his throat, but to Mike, time seemed to stretch out far into minutes, then hours, in the brief window before he spoke again.

"It didn't feel like abuse at the time. I mean, it... did, it was, of, of course, it was abuse. Like I said, I can, I can look back and know that's the truth. By the end of our year together, I was scared, and sad, and hopeless all the time. But it happened so gradually, and I had come to, to... rely on, to need those little... tiny... scraps of affection he gave me, that it all felt, it all felt worth it, Mike. It didn't feel like abuse. It was really easy to say, to tell myself, it's not that bad. I kept telling myself I could 'take it' and that it was all worth it."

Over their dates, Mike had quickly come to realize that Sam was a little on the loud side. Only now did the older dog realize he had been craning his ears to listen. The Growlithe was hardly whispering, and since he kept his eyes low, the words were being directed straight toward the table.

But Mike had heard every word. He didn't know what to say, but that was all right. He knew it was more important to listen.

"Victor made me, do, things, that, that I didn't want to do. I had to wear things that I didn't want to. He'd pinch or... tug on me. I think he liked it when I whimpered. I'd say no, or I'd protest, or sometimes plead, I'd tell him to stop... doing... something, and he'd pretend he didn't hear me. Or he'd, you know, he'd tell me to be quiet. Sometimes he just did it again, harder."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, and brought his hand up to his temple. He rocked his head forward until his elbow bumped the table. He sniffed, and his body shuddered, but he pressed on.

"And then one time, he threatened me. He had a switchblade, but, I mean... he's a Houndoom. He didn't need it. He was stronger than me, bigger than me. The knife got me against the wall, but that's all he used it for. He threw his body against me, and I just, I couldn't get away. He bit me, Mike, and I started bleeding, and he threatened to bite me again, and I just, don't..."

Sam had to pause as a tremor ran down his body. His head was still in his hand, and Mike could hear a single quiet sob.

Mike's insides were churned up, like a train filled to the brim with burning coal. For a normally reserved Arcanine, the swirl of emotions inside was almost enough to make him panic. His heart was hurting. He felt livid at this Houndoom he had never met, and so full of sorrow for what he had done.

He started to get up, saying, "Sam, you don't--"

But the Growlithe lifted his head. His eyes were red and wet, but he held his furred paw up to stay the other canine. "Please... just, please, just, just let me finish. All right? We're, we're this far. I'm almost done."

Mike settled back into his seat. His insides were roiling. He wanted to grab the table and fling it across the room. He wanted to dive onto Sam, to scoop him up into his arms and just squeeze him, just smother him against his chest and let him cry, and cry and cry and cry until there was nothing left.

He heard the sound of sniggering at the table to his right, and he turned his eyes to spy a pair of Pidgeottos. They had been settled at their table a few minutes ago, and he could see the two snobbish birds whispering to each other and looking in Sam's direction, hardly managing to mask their sneering gossip behind wings.

Mike growled, pulling back his chops and baring his teeth at the two. He stared at them until the female of the pairing saw him. Something in his expression caused her to frown. She cleared her throat and rightened her stance, pretending to get back to her salad.

By then, Sam was ready to continue. He hadn't noticed the Pidgeottos, and Mike had no intention of bringing them to his attention.

"The long and short of it is that he hurt me a little, but I hurt him a lot. He ended up in the hospital. I don't... really... remember it much. You know when they say, looking back, 'it's all a blur'? That's exactly right. I just don't think he expected me to fight back, and... well, he's not the only one with teeth."

"It spilled over," Mike put in.

"It spilled over," Sam confirmed. He looked up at Mike, and though there were tears in his ears, there wasn't regret. "I haven't seen him since that night. I moved a couple towns away. He texted me a couple times, but I blocked his number. I spent some time telling my mom and dad, and my best friend, Cobalt. And then I just, I just, I guess I just spent..."

Inhale, exhale.

"I guess I just spent some time crying, in my room. I quit my job, and I just, I just kinda fell in on myself. Mom stopped by sometimes to cook and brought groceries. She was so... understanding. I'm really lucky."

He put on a small smile here. "I think it's because, I mean, I was in my late 20's, I had never done anything like this. She always knew me as this, this, this happy l'il pup. Even when I was a teenager, nothing really got me down for a long time. Of course I had bad days, everyone has bad days, but I always just kind of bounced right back after a good night's sleep. So when she saw me like this, just, you know, coming apart at the seams, she knew I wasn't just being dramatic. It was... you know, it was..."

"It was real," Mike said. "It happened."

"Exactly!" Sam exclaimed, his voice raising a bit. He looked across the table gratefully at the Arcanine. "I'm tougher than I look, Mike, but that year just, it broke me. It broke me into little tiny pieces. But."

Mike was opening his mouth to reply, but the 'but' caused him to snap it shut.

"But I am all right now," the Growlithe said. He brought his other arm onto the table and leaned on both elbows, looking across the table at the Arcanine. "I think if I was younger, or if my family wasn't so understanding, I don't know what I would have done. I don't know if I'd be sitting here now. But... I've, it's been, I mean..."

He cleared his throat and tried again. "I've lived a pretty good life, Mike, and believe me, I'm grateful for it. So I could pick up the pieces all right. I don't think about Victor anymore. And while I don't, um, hrm, what's the word." He lifted his head to free up his paw, and he waved it around a bit, trying to find it.

Mike watched, having no idea where Sam was going, and he blinked when the younger male snapped his fingers.

"Glorify," he decided at last. "I don't glorify my suffering, I don't... feel grateful to Victor. But he did teach me a lot... and I mean a lot, about myself, about what I want, and about how to respect myself."

"Sam." The Arcanine had to get it out. "You don't deserve that. You're the sweetest guy I've ever met. Thinking of this jackass hurting you, taking advantage of your kindness, it makes me want to just..."

"It's all right, Mike." Sam grinned. His green eyes were still wet, but he was smiling, and his tail was wagging behind him. His cheeks were burning beneath his orange-fur cheekfur. "At the time, I admired Victor for his strength, but I realize now that he wasn't strong at all."

The Growlithe took a moment to take a sip of coffee. "I learned pretty early on, maybe when I was a teenager, that I want to be the submissive half of a partnership. I like guys who are bigger than me, more aggressive. Not, you know -- not violent aggressive, not angry aggressive, but willing to take control. I mean, this isn't anything new, Mike, you, uh." He looked across the table at the Arcanine now. "I mean, you saw my dating profile. I assumed that was okay with you, or you wouldn't have messaged me in the first place."

Mike nodded, and Sam continued.

"So when I saw this guy willing to take the lead, it... made an impression on me. But the thing is, Mike, he didn't want to rise up to my level." He shook his head. "He wanted to drag me down to below his. And I'm not going to fall for that again."

"Damn straight," Mike said. He was unaware that his tail was moving behind him. "Damn straight, Sam."

The Arcanine couldn't stop himself. The words came out like a tipped cup, contents spilling over. The normally calm, reserved man did not know that his voice was rising, that he was sitting up on the edge of his chair.

"You know how often I see people who don't get that? It's been the case ever since I got back into the dating scene. They see a dom, and they think the way to get to me is to debase themselves. Male, female, makes no difference. Lower themselves and me with 'em. It's completely off the mark." He was unaware of the passion growing in his voice, but he couldn't help it. There is a fire in his chest that wouldn't be snuffed out.

Sam sniffed, but he had mostly composed himself. His tears were wiped away, and as he saw Mike sitting up in his chair, he couldn't help but laugh. It was so strange to see the Arcanine get so heated. "What do you mean, Mike?"

"What I mean, Sam, is -- burn me, how do I even put it? Look, I don't judge what a person's into. I can only talk about what I'm into. And self-confidence is damn sexy to me." He scuffed at his nose with the back of his wrist. "I like to be on top, you know that. But I don't want my partner to just grovel before me, to make me humiliate them. I want them to hold their head high. I want to respect them even as I'm bending them over. Even if I'm calling the shots, even if I'm on the one in charge, I want it to be because I rose to their level. Not because they lifted their neck and forced my fangs against it. I want to earn it."

His voice was raising. He couldn't keep it level. The fire in his gut had nowhere else to go.

"I know you're shy, Sam, but there's more to it than that. I noticed it right away. You fluster easily, but you're still -- grrph, you're solid. You know who you are."

"Mike!" Sam exclaimed with a laugh, growing flustered. He was looking around, and seeing that people were staring at them. He was red in the cheeks, unable to stop grinning. "We're making a scene."

"Then let's get out of here," the Arcanine said, and stood up. He fished out his wallet and slammed down two hundred dollar bills. They hadn't received the check yet, but he knew it would be more than enough even with a sizeable tip.

He turned here, tall and lithe in his dark slacks. A blaze was smoldering in his dark eyes, his brow furrowed, maw tugged back into such a serious look. His long arm stretched toward Growlithe, his slender furred fingers slipping out from beneath the cuffs of his wrist, mane bursting around him like sun in a dark land.

Sam did not hear the whispers from the tables around them. He did not hear the man snickering in the corner, or the Jigglypuff woman getting in a huff about all the "gutter trash" this restaurant let in. All he could hear was the beating of his heart, the puff of his furious breath, the sliding of the chair on the carpet as he slid it back and stood up.

"How's your place sound?" Sam asked, his green eyes lit up, his maw turned upward into a helpless, pure smile. He reached out for that offered paw.

"I'll drive," Mike replied. He tugged Sam forward, wrapped his other arm around him, and squeezed him.

Sam was almost too stunned to return the embrace. But, as his muzzle smushed against the Arcanine's toned chest hidden beneath his cotton shirt, he sank against him and hugged him back, as tight as he could, squeezing and squeezing until his lungs felt fit to burst from lack of air.

They pulled back and looked into each other's eyes. Distantly, both were aware of a male voice off to the side, murmuring something about 'disturbances' and 'others are complaining', of knives and forks hitting plates as morphs across the room set their silverware down.

Mike spared the garçon a brief look with a repressed smirk, but Sam didn't so much as turn his head. He couldn't look away from the Arcanine's majesty. Mike said something -- maybe it was 'Then we'll be leaving now' -- and then they were off, four bare paws and two large tails hitting the carpet as they made their way for the exit.

***

It was dark and raining as they ran for the car.

Mike's car was small and clean. A pine tree air freshener dangled from the rear-view mirror. Samson shuffled into the passenger side and snapped his seat belt on. He turned, expecting Mike to lean over and kiss him, but the Arcanine was hyper-focused on the task at hand. He moved with blazing speed, inserting his key and putting the car into reverse.

Sam lowered his eyes to the bigger dog's right hand, and saw that his heavy paw was wrapped around a stick-shift. Having only ever driven automatic, the Growlithe was fascinated by the effortless ease with which Mike navigated the stick, shifting gears with the graceful unconsciousness of what he assumed was many years of practice.

Sam liked Mike's hands. His own felt too stubby, like his dad's, but the Arcanine's were long and dexterous. The older man hadn't mentioned any affinity for mechanical prowess, but Sam thought he must be good with his hands.

Unconsciously, his gaze began to lift up to regard the Arcanine's body. Mike was older, but he still looked broad and big, and while Mike had mentioned he had been slender in his youth, his belly jut out just enough to be visible. His cloth shirt fit snugly around his biceps. Sam smiled, watching Mike work as he navigated the car out of the parking lot and onto the main road. His face was intense, deep in thought.

The car sped up as it pulled onto the freeway. The rain splattered against the windshield, dispersing the lights of cars and the highway. It was otherwise pitch-black outside, and Sam turned to look out the window. He watched the pattern of droplets smack against the window.

Finally, Mike turned, looking at his partner. He gave him a sidelong look, then turned his eyes back to the freeway.

"I'm sorry if I got a little heated there."

Sam didn't turn to him, but he grinned, and he knew the smile was in his voice as he says, "You kidding? Mike, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

The Arcanine snorted. "Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't expect it. I didn't realize you were so--"

"What, barbaric?"

"No, passionate. You're so quiet, but man, you're a force to be reckoned with when you get heated up."

Mike turned again, giving him another look. He held this one for a moment. Sam, sensing the look on him, turned his head just enough to meet the other dog's eyes with his own. He spotted Mike with a grin before turning back to the outside.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, with only the patter of raindrops on the windshield and the churning of the car beneath them sounding between them.

Then Mike said, "Do you want to hear my favorite song?"

"Yeah!"

The Arcanine nodded. He hit a button on the CD player. It was one of those devices that could hold three or four CDs at a time, and it took him a moment to find first the right CD, then the correct song. He adjusted the volume as the opening guitar picked up, and the car was filled with the soft, anguished song of a person suffering another chip off an already broken heart.

_Outside the rain and the heart skips a beat

So you're lonely

Creature of the night, it's been almost a week

Can you love me only

Look at me, for a very long time

Long enough to know

Love is a word - I've been trying to find

Words don't matter

They don't matter at all

Maybe it's only a dream

I don't want to feel that

Well it's one more link in the chain

I don't believe that_

In the partition between their seats, Sam has unconsciously begun to tap the rhythm of the song. His head was still turned away, looking out into the night.

It was a surprise, then, to feel the brush of something along his knuckles. His own fingers twitched, then as he realized what was happening, they splayed. He could feel the fur of Mike's warm fingers sliding in-between his own. Knuckle to knuckle, their hands entwined.

Sam did not turn, content only to feel, but he knew without seeing that Mike was not looking at him. He had his eyes on the road. This moment was shared via touch and sound alone.

After a moment, Mike turned his wrist, sliding his hand into the groove of Sam's palm until their locked. The pads of their fingers rubbed as Mike interlocked them, holding him comfortably in place, as the song went on.

_So you're still lonely

You say that it's been forever

Maybe you never knew me

Maybe you thought that I'd never change

But you know I'm changing

You're wrong

And it's been like dying

No love's that hard to find

And I'm tired of

I'm tired of trying

Outside the rain

And the heart skips a beat

So you're lonely

Look in my eyes

Touch my face

Baby, there's no one

That can take my place

Look in my eyes, touch my face

Baby there's no one that

Can ever replace that heartache

Take away that heartache_

"It's so sad," Sam whispered, as the song came to its close. "The singer sounds so -- scorch, she's heartbroken, isn't she?"

"You didn't like it?"

"I loved it," the 'Lithe replied, grinning. He turned from the window, regarding the Arcanine in full now. "Mike, it was beautiful, but it was melancholy too. It's your song."

Mike realized that his cheeks were growing flush. He hoped Sam couldn't see it in the dark. He gave the Growlithe's paw a firm squeeze. "The name of the song is 'Outside the Rain'. Jolene thought it was kind of a weird title for a fire-type to like."

"It's not weird."

"No?"

"Of course not. No weirder than a ground-type listening to a song about the sky or something. Or a fairy-type listening to metal."

"Sam, you..." He started, hesitated, then decided to complete the thought. "You really are just like this, aren't you?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look. "Like what?"

"I mean, you really do just have a nice thing to say about everything. You always have such a positive outlook. I thought you were faking it at first, or at least playing it up. But you're just, you're really like this."

"Oh, go on," the Growlithe replied. He moved his chubby thumb, gently running it the inside of Mike's own. "I'm already gonna sleep with you, you know, you don't have to butter me up."

Mike laughed at that, and Sam's grin widened. His cheeks felt hot, and the Growlithe said, "Sorry, too much?"

"No, it wasn't. I had figured we were on the same page. But given what you said earlier, I'm glad for your verbal consent."

Sam's tail tried to wag, even smushed as it was against the seat. "Just one thing, though. Once we get to your place, can we, uh, can we just not start just, you know... going at it right away?"

Mike turned his head slightly, giving Samson a look. His expression was understanding, though he was confused. He had thought they were past the point of still needing to heat things up, and he had been planning on basically pouncing the 'Lithe the moment the door was closed.

But he understood, given what he had heard, that there were certain triggering events, and it wouldn't bother him to meet the 'Lithe halfway. "Of course," he said. "Did Victor..?"

"What? Oh! No, no," Sam said, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. Honestly, I expected you to ravage me as soon as we got into the car, and I would've been all over that."

The casual humor in the Growlithe's voice caused Mike to chuckle. "Wow."

"Wow what?"

"I didn't even think about that," Mike answered, shaking his head. "Making out with you, I mean. It's ironic, because all I was thinking was, I need to get home as soon as possible, so I can get your clothes off right away. So I was--"

Samson chortled, bringing his free hand up to his mouth to cover his muzzle. He caught the thrust of Mike's mental process right away. "Wait, you were too busy thinking about making out with me to make out with me! Is that it?"

Mike grinned as Sam continued to laugh it out. The 'Lithe wasn't even finished before he started speaking, beaming with mirth. "You're so cute, Mike. No, trust me, this isn't about taking things slow exactly. But it's been a long day."

Mike's right ear flickered. He was watching the road, but his right eyebrow lifted in interest.

"Your foot's probably killing you, right?"

"It's not that b--" Mike started to say, but his mind caught up a moment later. He gave Sam a sidelong look. "What are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at," Sam replied. He hesitated for a moment, and Mike could sense the embarrassment in his tone. But he also came to appreciate that Sam pushed through it, and his voice was clear as he continued. "Is that, if you want, I could -- I could massage it for you. I actually give really good massages, you know."

"Really?" Mike's ear gave another flicker. There was a stab of excitement in his gut, though he kept his voice level. "That sounds great, Sam, but are you sure? I don't want to gross you out."

"It's not gross to me," came the smaller dog's reply. His fingers twitched sliding, running down the insides of Mike's. "Opposite, really. I... uh... wow, I guess we haven't really talked about kinks, have we?"

"I guess not. So you're..."

"Um, yeah. A paw guy."

Even in the darkness, with the lights flickering on and off as they passed the headlights along the highway, Mike could tell the other male was red in the cheeks. It had visibly taken courage for him to be upfront.

God, Mike. How the hell did you get so lucky?

"Me too, Sam."

Sam's excitement was palpable. He actually jumped up in his seat. This gave his tail a little more wiggle room -- literally -- and it thumped several times against the backrest. "For real?"

"Sure am," the Arcanine replied, and he flashed the Growlithe a grin. It was quick, but it was wide and true. "You really haven't caught me checking your paws out? I must've looked at 'em three times on our very first date alone."

"No!" Sam exclaimed, and he laughed into his free hand. "Were you doing it when I wasn't looking?"

"Yeah," Mike replied, "But I thought you had caught me at least once and were just being polite. I mean, I caught you peeking at mine."

"Heh heh... um, whoops."

Mike shook his head. "Don't worry about it. In any case, of course we can do that when we get home. Fair warning, though, it's gonna get my motor going, and I'm already kinda stirred up." His voice was steady, but there was a hint of mischief just below the surface. "So I can't say how long I'm going to be able to sit still until I spring off the couch and pounce on top of you."

Sam was silent for a second. Then he said, with such mock gravity that it elicited a snicker from Mike. "This is a risk I'm willing to take, captain."

They both squeezed the other's hand at the same time, and they drove on in silence through the beating rain.

***

Mike's apartment was not spacious, but it had two bedrooms and was very clean and organized. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, there was no dust, the sink was empty, the floor clean, and Sam...

Sam didn't notice any of this. He was interested in one thing only, and that was the way Mike's majestic mane flowed behind him as he almost tugged Sam through the living room and into his own personal quarters.

Mike's room matched the rest of the house well, in that it was clean and austere. There were a few pictures hanging on the wall, but they were still-life, mostly flowers and landscape. It was very different from Sam's house, which was plastered with video game posters and bands and other geeky memorabilia. Mike's place felt almost like a hotel room by comparison, but not really in a bad way. It was certainly comfortable.

The bed was spacious, with navy blue sheets, and Mike settled down on the edge, his massive tail sprouting out behind him. He patted the bed beside him, and Sam plopped down beside him.

No sooner had Sam sat down that the Arcanine reached out, wrapped his arm around him, and pulled him in for their first kiss.

In his head, Sam had been building up to their kiss since the moment he first got the message on the dating website. He had imagined a sunset, soft music in the background, a serenade, and a slow, gradual move in as their muzzles touched. He hadn't expected his partner to simply reach out, tug him in, and force his mouth on him. It was entirely different than what he had been anticipating.

And it

was

perfection.

Sam melted against the other dog's maw, feeling his shoulders give way as he sank into Mike's firm grip. His mouth opened, bumping teeth to teeth, and he tilted his head slightly to lock their muzzles. He could taste Mike, taste his dinner, his tongue, his sweat, and he was hungry for more.

Mike had to hold himself back. He kept leaning forward, bullying more of his greater weight onto the Growlithe, threatening to pin him back to the bed to kiss him harder. Only the talk in the car held him back, kept him upright, knowing that if they toppled to horizontal, they wouldn't be getting back up.

Sam brought his arms up, holding onto Mike, as the Arcanine's hands worked at his hair and his back and his scruff. He loved touching the bigger male's mane, and his thick fingers ran through that glorious hair. Mike kept pulling him closer, trying to feel more of the 'Lithe's body against his own, and Sam gave little resistance.

Minutes passed before Sam finally pulled back, flustered, puffing. A thin strand of drool connected their mouths, and the Growlithe, panting for air, wiped his maw clean. He looked up to see the Arcanine looking down upon him, appraising him, drinking him up. There was a hunger in his eyes, and Sam felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Can you, huff," Sam puffed. "Can you take your shirt off? Then, just, lie down, okay?"

"Only if you take yours off first," the Arcanine murmured back, his voice husky. He reached out and slid his clawed fingers beneath Sam's collared shirt, tugging up at it. The Growlithe complied, wriggling and lifting his arms until he felt the clothing pull off of his body, catching on his chin before his head and arms popped free, and he was shirtless.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrhhhh," Mike growled, unable to resist either the raspy groan rising from his throat or the eagerness of his hands. Sam's belly was thick and round, even fluffier than he had expected, with a great patch of creamy white surrounded on all sides by the tiger orange and black stripes. He reached out for the Growlithe, sliding his hand along his robust stomach, and he grumbled pleasurably as he felt Sam shift and move and under his touch.

He continued to stroke Sam's belly as the Growlithe worked to return the favor of taking Mike's shirt off. Sam opted for undoing Mike's buttons one by one, drawing out the effort. Inch by inch his furred chest was revealed, until as last the Growlithe thrust the shirt open to show the Arcanine's chest and stomach. The crown of fur around Mike's neck and upper chest were a light beige, not unlike the Growlithe's. However, most of his stomach area was a deep ebony black, as though his stripes were rivers pooling into a great lake of darkness.

Sam knew Mike could feel his heart jackhammering in his chest, could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing. This became only more true as the Arcanine's lithe paws stroked between his nipples, exploring him, fascinated, visibly aroused by what he could see and feel.

It was with a great deal of effort that Samson pulled away. Mike slipped forward to close the gap without thinking, but then the Growlithe lifted a paw and gently placed his index finger on the Arcanine's cold black nose.

"Lie down," the smaller male said. "On the pillow's fine. I'll take it from there."

Mike had forgotten about that, and his eyes lit up with fire. He ran his tongue along the outside of his maw. He fell onto all fours as he pressed his body forward, rubbing it against Sam like a cat, crawling for the pillows. His tail was swaying gently to and fro, and it brushed against the Growlithe's face before he settled supine on his back.

Mike still had his slacks on, but Sam could easily see the outline of the Arcanine's erection pulsing against the crotch of his pants. The Growlithe could feel the saliva building in his mouth, and he didn't think he'd be able to look away. That is, until the bigger male extended his legs, sliding his heels along the bed until his footpaws rested only a foot away from Sam's body. Then he had a new distraction.

Like all firedogs, Mike's were plantigrade and toe-heavy. Four brown-padded toes on each foot stuck out about a croissant-shaped center pad. The bottom half of the foot was padless, orange-furred, curving at a relatively small heel slipping up toward his leg proper. Sam could see the little sprouts of fiery hair peeking out from between his toes, which extended and then clenched as he got ready.

Samson was mesmerized. They looked huge and heavy. He almost couldn't move for a moment, so great was his anticipation, but then his hands were reaching out for one of them. He wrapped his fingers around Mike's left foot and drew it forward, settling it down on his lap. He hunched over it, protectively, as he slid his palm against the underside of that central pad.

"Hrrrrmmmmm..." Mike growled. He had closed his eyes, and he brought his arms up to fold behind his mane, pulling his chest taut. His leg gave the smallest of kicks as Sam ran his fingers up the sole, delicately, testing for the other's sensitivity.

"Where's it hurt?" he asked, but his voice was almost choked. When Mike didn't reply, he realized the older male couldn't hear him over his own growling, so he tried again. "Where does it hurt most, Mike?"

"Rrrrm... below the pad... right on the side..." Sam pushed his fingers into the blaze-colored fur, and he smiled as Mike's toes clenched involuntarily. "Rrrm... little to the right... no, my right... that's -- rrrgh, that's it, Sam, that's the spot, not too much, don't overdo it..."

Sam was cradling Mike's heel in his left hand, marveling at the weight of it, but his right was all business. He had wrapped his fingers around the side of Mike's foot, and his thumb was pushing in at the indicated spot. His brow furrowed as he looked up the Arcanine's body, trying to gauge the exact right amount of pressure to provide him actual comfort.

He tried not to stare at the other male's crotch for too long, but it was impossible to ignore. His erection was pulsing against his slacks, stirring around within. Mike's hips would sometimes push upward or sideways, struggling to accomodate the growing length in his pants.

Distantly, Sam appreciated the Arcanine's restraint in not simply tugging down his slacks and beating himself off. It inspired Sam to show the same restraint, because the Growlithe was also finding himself increasingly, overwhelmingly hard inside his own pants. It was a little tough, in fact, to find a spot to position Mike's foot without having it bump against his own bulge. After a while, he stopped trying.

After treating the affected spot, the source of Mike's greatest discomfort, Sam began to explore the rest of the Arcanine's paw. He lifted both hands, pushing against the plush pad and smiling as it plumped back out. He slid his fingers beneath Mike's toes, and he grinned as the Arcanine scrunched them hard enough that he tapped some of his toeclaws against the Growlithe's hand.

There was pressure on his lap. Sam looked down, his first thought that Mike was trying to rub his foot against the Growlithe's crotch. But the Arcanine was actually started to push himself up into a sitting position, rising from his back. He pulled his feet off of the smaller dog's lap and started to bring himself forward.

"Oh--" Sam had time to say, and then Mike tackled him onto the bed. Although Sam wasn't exactly small, the Arcanine's superior weight and size easily allowed him to overtake the Growlithe. They landed in a huff and a grunt on the sheets, with Sam pinned squarely to the bed beneath the bigger male's superior bulk.

It was the easiest thing in the world for Mike to lower his muzzle and kiss Sam again, first a little peck on the nose, then lowering it for a deeper and more sensual smooch. He could feel the Growlithe squirming beneath him, lifting and moving his body, legs brushing at his side. Their crotches were smushed together, and Mike could feel Sam's erection rubbing against his own, with only their pants between them.

Straddling the Growlithe with his hips, Mike reached for both of the younger canine's wrists. He held them securely in each fist, tugging them up and then pushing them aggressively but securely against the bed, until the Growlithe's arms was pinned next to his ears.

Sam was struggling and moving under the other, not able to move beneath the Arcanine's greater mass. Though his body was protesting, neither his face nor his voice showed discomfort or fear. His grin was playful, his eyes lit up as he pushed back against Mike's arms with all his force, his body fighting against the larger dog.

But the dominant male would not budge, letting Sam exhaust himself against his superior mass. He had a grin to match his partner's, his maw tugged confidently as he felt the other push back against him to no avail. He was breathing hard, and he liked the way his chest felt rising and falling against the dog pinned securely beneath him.

But Sam didn't give up without a fight. Unwilling to surrender so soon, he bent his legs at the knees and pushed off the bed in a desperate effort to unbalance Mike and knock him over onto his side, their crotches mashing. The Arcanine snorted, dropping low, keeping the Growlithe secured under him.

And then he snuck his nose underneath Sam's chin, forced the pup's head up, and placed his muzzle against the other's throat.

"Nrrrrrr--" Samson froze up, and a shudder ran down his spine. Mike did not use his teeth. He didn't need to. He merely held his mouth against the other's furred jugular. He could feel Sam sigh, could feel rush of air coming up his throat, as the Growlithe finally surrendered.

He rewarded Sam's submission with tender licks, lapping at his neck until he could feel the smaller dog growling beneath him. What little tension had been held between them was dissipating, as Mike's assertion had been accepted -- internal, primal, innate.

The Arcanine let Sam's right wrist go, but kept his left one pinned to the bed. His now-free arm lowered, scooping around the smaller male's neck until he held him by the shoulderblade. He squeezed him tight, holding him close to his warm, furred body.

Mike lifted his muzzle, sliding his nose along Sam's chin until he found his maw, kissing him, first gingerly, then greedily, lustfully, taking what was now his by rights.

Sam's bushy tail wriggled and squirmed against the bed. His body was pushing up against Mike's, pressing his hardness against him in a slow hungry rhythm. He kissed back, meeting hunger with hunger. He wrapped his unpinned arm around the Arcanine's back, holding onto him as the bigger male grinded against him.

Mike couldn't hold back anymore. He started to shuffle his body forward, forcing more of his weight off of Sam's crotch. His own groin was soon pinning Sam's belly beneath him, then his chest.

He could see the Growlithe's green eyes blinking up at him from between his thighs. Mike reached down to open up his belt, then tugged open his slacks.

Like a floodgate opened, Mike's malehood sprung forward, eager for freedom. He was throbbingly erect, a healthy glistening wetness covering his pink tip. It hung, suspended, over Sam's head, and the Growlithe stared up at it, jaw slack, marveling at it.

Mike took a moment to tug off his slacks and undershorts. He tried to keep at least some part of his body on Sam's through the whole process, sensing that the younger male enjoyed the pressure of his weight from above as much as he enjoyed being on top.

When at last he had kicked the slacks off of the bed, he settled back into position, his balls resting on Sam's upper chest. He started to lower his body, orienting his penis toward the Growlithe's face. As he did, he lowered a hand and gently set it behind Sam's head, running his fingers through the smaller male's mane while bringing his muzzle forward.

Sam got the idea quick enough, and he shifted his weight. He pushed himself off the bed as much as he could, which wasn't much, and he opened his maw wide. His green eyes went cross-eyed as he stared at Mike's approaching member, but he closed them as he felt the Arcanine's cockhead brush against his tongue.

Though Sam was not able to grip Mike's shaft with his hand, he had done this before, and he knew what to do. His mouth was wet and warm, and he nestled his head forward until he felt the Arcanine pulsing against the roof of his mouth. Mindful of his teeth, Sam slid his smooth, pliant tongue along his partner's shaft, bobbing his head with the motion.

"Mmmmmnnnnrrrrrrrrnnnnn..."

A deep, bestial growl escaped Mike's throat. He was already hard as stone, yet he felt himself somehow, maddenly, stiffening even tighter against the Growlithe's soft tongue and mouth. He was dripping wildly inside him, and he could hear the smaller male swallowing it down now and then, taking everything he could give. He was rocking his hips, but overall was content to let Sam do most of the work.

He had only planned to warm himself up, but he realized with a near panic that he had already crossed his threshold. He was too turned on, and Sam was too good at this. His claws came out, gripping the back of the 'Lithe's head, and he growled, "Sam -- Sam."

"Rrrrmmrrrph?" the Growlithe asked, lifting his eyes, cheeks puffing.

"Sam -- get -- unnnnfff, I'm--"

It was the only warning he could give before he burst inside the Growlithe's mouth. Sam froze up for just an instant, but like a champ, he rolled with the surprise. His tongue and jaw worked, lapping and lathering at the Arcanine's dick as it filled his mouth up.

He tried to swallow as much as he could, but it had come too much and too fast. He started sputtering, gulping for breath as hot white cream dribbled from his maw and onto his chin.

"Rrrph -- rrrrrggghrrrrrrrrrpphhh---!"

Mike had slammed his hips forward, and his furred ballsack smacked and then smushed against the scruff of hair on the Growlithe's chin. He felt himself throbbing against the roof and back of the smaller dog's mouth as he gave everything he had to give.

Mike's body spasmed one final time, giving a last needy thrust before locking in place. He trembled as he spilled his last, mouth wide open, gulping down air. He breathed once, twice, three times.

He looked down at Sam, who, poor guy that he was, was still hurriedly working at swallowing down what he could. He looked flustered, and his jaw worked like a dog trying to get peanut butter off the roof of his mouth.

He looks so cute. Even with my spunk running down his cheek. Can't believe he got as much as he did.

Mike's hand on his partner's mane relaxed. He was no longer gripping with his claws, but rather had started petting the Growlithe's hair.

He began to slide back, dragging the tip of his still-erect -- and now much wetter -- penis down Sam's body, until he was settled back on him. Mike pressed his cheek down on Sam's chest, the weight of his body back to pinning the Growlithe back to the bed, and he worked to catch his breath. He could feel Sam's own chest rise and fall with his own exertion.

It was Sam who spoke first, with a quiet little: "Wow."

Mike nestled his nose against the side of the Growlithe's neck. The sudden coldness caused a helpless little giggle and squirm. Mike could feel Sam's erection bumping against him as he moved.

"Sorry. Didn't plan that."

Sam snorted, giving him a wry look. He rubbed away the last of the Arcanine's spunk from his muzzle, then said, "What, how was that not the plan?"

"I didn't mean to finish. Just wanted to, you know. Get myself ready. Just get it a little wet. I kinda lost control."

Sam gave off another helpless laugh, sinking back against the bed. He wrapped his arms around the Arcanine's broad back, holding against the bigger male. "It's okay. You're pent up, Mike," he said, voice rich with affection. "But you're forgiven, as long as that's not all you got."

Mike snorted, kissing the side of Sam's neck again. "Not by a longshot," he said. "Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be ready. I won't leave you hanging."

Mike lowered his head, watching as his paw slid down the Growlithe's body. Each new explored inch seemed to send a new spark down Sam's spine, and the pup just couldn't keep still as Mike dragged his hand across his chest and toward his belly with tantalizing slowness.

The Arcanine knew he had two choices here. The first would be to get Sam off. That would put them on equal footing.

He doubted it would take long. He could see the way the Growlithe throbbed, how even just rubbing his belly seemed to be driving him onward. He was turned all the way up to eleven. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just reach out, slide his cock into his palm, and pump him to completion. He grinned at the thought, imagining the way Sam would grunt and whimper and squirm against him as he jerked him off. He bet the big guy wouldn't last a minute.

Mike's second choice was to keep Sam stirred up until he himself was ready to go again. The Arcanine was still erect -- powerfully erect, in fact. He couldn't remember the last time he had still felt so randy, so eager even in the afterglow, and he was already planning how to take the smaller male again. He knew that Sam wouldn't have long to wait before Mike would be ready to get back to business, and the wait would be worth it.

I want to build him up, the Arcanine realized. I want to give 'im the best climax of his life.

So instead of pushing Sam toward his finale, Mike focused on teasing the 'Lithe, keeping him in the mood. He ran a hand down each of the Growlithe's furred arms, stroking along his nipples as he brushed for the tummy. Sam seemed sensitive, almost ticklish, and it was endearing how much the pup couldn't keep still as Mike explored his body.

Keeping Sam aroused turned out to be very easy. In fact, the real challenge was in not pushing him too far. The Growlithe seemed to go absolutely crazy for belly rubs; it got his tongue lolling, and sometimes his leg would lift and kick. His erection would sometimes bounce up hard enough to thump against Mike's wrist. Sam couldn't stay quiet, though the sounds were never predictable: he was growling, whimpering, whining, panting, groaning, snarling.

"Easy, easy," Mike whispered, watching in fascination as the Growlithe's hips locked. He stared at the tip of the smaller dog's spire, glistening in the faint light. He could smell Sam's precum more easily than he could see it.

The Arcanine was ready to go before he knew it.

He snuck a hand forward, stroking down Sam's inner thigh and bending his left leg at the knee. He went for the ballsack instead of the 'Lithe's erection, afraid of overstimulating his partner any further. He tucked the dog's scrotum into his palm, gently wriggling his fingers, feeling the heft of his testicles. With a low grunt, Sam unconsciously began to spread his legs further, pushing his hips upward willingly into the Arcanine's grip.

Mike's cock gave a little twitch at the sight, but he held himself back. He lowered his muzzle to the bed, bending his back to get as low as he could. He slipped it forward, pressing it against the Growlithe's taint.

He gave a few testing sniffs, his nose stuffed against the scrotum's white-furred underside, his maw a quarter-inch from the pucker of Sam's tailhole.

The scent brought a new rush of information. Like all canine morphs, Mike had a refined sense of smell, and a few quick sniffs flooded a great deal into his brain. A torrent of thoughts overtook him as his brain was assaulted by the reality of things he already knew. His nose told him about Sam's age, his health, his sex -- more than anything, his sex. His maleness, his hormone balance, his receptiveness.

The Growlithe also felt clean, clean enough that Mike closed his eyes and nudged his muzzle forward. As his tongue tapped at Sam's tailhole, he could sense in a small part the faint hint of soap, and in a much larger part, the Growlithe's natural, innate musk that had built up over the course of the night.

It was a good scent, and Mike's tongue slurped up from the base of Sam's big tail all the way up to his balls, eliciting a quiet cry and a shudder from the chubby morph. The Arcanine pressed his hands down on Sam's inner thighs, keeping him parted as he continued to slurp and suck at that entrance.

He grinned as the Growlithe squirmed and groaned with almost comical excitement. With his legs open like this, Sam's tail was waggling furiously, enough to sometimes brush against Mike's lower body and tickle his groin. This only encouraged him to slurp more deeply. The Arcanine chanced a look up the Growlithe's body, and saw over the rise of his stomach that Sam had his head thrown back, jaw open, tongue lolling, melting from the stimulation between his legs.

Mike pulled himself up, unsurprised to find himself stiff as a board again. He slid his dextrous fingers up the Growlithe's inner legs, tracing a path toward his footpaws. Smirking down at the pudgy dog, he grasped both feet as the same time, and chuckled at the immediate reaction as Sam squirmed on the bed, both legs kicking in tiny circles in the Arcanine's grasp.

Sam's paws were not unlike Mike's; they were toe-heavy and more slender at the heel, with a big brown pad coating the front half. But Mike had seen, and now could feel, that the Growlithe's paws had a wideness to them; the pads were fuller, the toes thicker than any firedog's he had seen before.

Ursaring genetics? Maybe. It didn't matter. All Mike knew is that they were immensely appealing to him.

He stroked his thumb first across the base of Sam's right toes, then his left, chuckling as the chubby dog sputtered and slobbered. The Growlithe's legs were kicking against him, but Mike had a firm grip, keeping them more or less steady as his thumb brushed along those sensitive, squishy pads.

Grinning with mischief, Mike snuck his head forward, pressing his cold nose against the base of Sam's left toes. He took in a long, deep breath, taking in his scent. More information washed in. He could smell the rain, the earth, the restaurant, but more than anything, the Growlithe's own personal scent. He closed his eyes, nuzzling against those soft pads, feeling them twitch against his muzzle.

He peeked over the ridge of Sam's toeclaws, admiring the supine Growlithe. He watched the way his chest rose and fell, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the pulsing of his malehood and the steady trickle of pre onto his stomach.

"You're adorable, Sam," he said, with open honesty. As the flustered Growlithe stammered for a reply, he head him off at the pass. "Roll over, onto your knees."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. In a daze, he pushed himself off of the bed. He spared himself just one quick moment to drink in the sight of Mike, towering above him on his knees, taking in the sheer majesty of the Arcanine before him. The ripple of muscle across his chest, the vibrancy of his fiery fur, and that mane -- that glorious, majestic mane.

Sam rolled over, his big tail inadvertently bumping against the Arcanine's chin as he did. He bent forward, putting his forearms against the sheets, and lifted his rump. Unsurprisingly, Sam had a round and plump backside. His fur was all orange-red with those deep black stripes, fading to creamy white just as the furs ran toward the ballsack dangling between his thighs.

Mike could get a better view of the plumpness of his tailhole, the tight little pucker, with that heavy ballsack below and that ever-wagging tail above, and his cock gave another twitch. He buried himself forward again, planting his muzzle against Sam's entrance and giving him another series of sloppy kisses, which almost caused poor Sam's knees to buckle under the pleasure of it all.

"Rrrrrrgggppphhh..."

When he couldn't take it any longer, Mike pushed his body forward, bumping his chest against the Growlithe's cheeks and sliding upward against his tail. He was rising up, drawing his groin closer and closer to Sam's butt, and the Growlithe was pushing back with an eagerness that bordered on desperate.

Mike hesitated no longer; he had teased the big pup enough. He wrapped his left fist around the base of Sam's bushy tail to hold it in place. With his right, he guided his dick to press against the Growlithe's tailhole. He pulsed once, twice, then slid his head inside, feeling the smaller male's pucker wrap around his tip.

Sam tensed up at once, clenching around him, his body stiffening as he did. It made him tight -- too tight for Mike's large member, and it was hard to get purchase.

The Arcanine eased himself forward, as gently as he could, sliding his big arms around the Growlithe's side and stroking for his belly.

"Relax, Sam," he murmured, his voice calm even as his heart and his crotch were raging, his voice soothing against the quiet chuff and whimpers of the kneeling male. "Easy, easy... yeah, there you go..."

The Growlithe had started to calm down. He started with a sigh, and he unclenched enough for Mike to slide himself a few inches further inside. The Arcanine pushed his body forward to cover the distance between them, sandwiching Sam's big tail between them. He wrapped his arms around Sam's chest, locking them together, as he pressed his muzzle to the Growlithe's scruff and began to rub against it.

The shivers down Sam's spine ran along Mike's chest now, only further fueling his excitement. The Arcanine began to push his hips forward in a slow, steady rhythm, sliding his dick along Sam's inner walls and spreading his pre and saliva along until he was gliding.

The Growlithe was quickly finding his own rhythm, pushing back at just the right time to urge Mike further inside him. He felt so secure with the bigger dog's arms wrapped around his chest; their mutual warmth brought a flush to the 'Lithe's face. He lowered his head, pulling his neck taut, and he gave a soft snort as Mike began to nibble at his scruff.

Mike's hands were still locked to Sam's chest, pinning the firedogs together. The Arcanine kept his left arm in place, tethered to his upper torso, but he started to drag his right paw down the Growlithe's side. His supple fingers traced a smooth trail through the other male's creamy fur, brushing along his nipple and his robust belly until, at least, they settled upon his crotch.

Sam was still powerfully erect, and his insides clenched the moment Mike made contact. He grit his teeth, almost wincing, before letting off a low, almost bestial groan. "Mike," he whispered, hanging his head. "Scorch, Mike, scorch..."

Mike gave his chest a squeeze as his hand began to work at the Growlithe's shaft. He started at the head, pooling the pre-ejaculate onto his pads before sliding it down his length.

This elicited a quiet, animal whine from Sam, whose body trembled as he pushed forward. He lifted his head, turning to glance over his shoulder to look at the other male pumping away inside him. Seeing the gesture, Mike snuck his muzzle to rest his chin in the crook between Sam's neck and shoulder, and the Growlithe nuzzled him with gratitude and affection.

The Arcanine could have continued like this. In fact, a burning urge deep within his gut was urging him to do so. The Growlithe was throbbing helplessly in his grasp; Sam was so stirred up, it wouldn't take more than a few pumps and he'd be spilling over the bed, and Mike wouldn't be far behind. Locked like this, they were comfortable, compatible, and on a straight course for a satisfying end.

But a thought burned in the back of Mike's mind, a thought he could not disregard. This was a thought that caused him to slowly pull his hips back, emerging from the Growlithe's rump with a shluck and a quiet pop.

I want to see his face when he comes.

Sam craned his neck a little further, his big green eyes blinking, confused, wondering what was wrong. He was opening his mouth to speak, but Mike was already moving upon him. His actions spoke for him as he used his powerful arm muscles, holding the Growlithe by the shoulders and side and gently but firmly rolling him over.

"Oh--!"

As Sam tumbled onto his back, Mike wasted not a second in closing the gap between them. He fell atop the younger dog, his left arm sliding under the Growlithe's body to hold him in. His right snaked under the pup's right leg, opening him back wide, leaving his footpaw to dangle in the air. Mike leaned in and kissed Sam on the nose, the chin, the mouth; as he kissed the other canine's cheek, he could feel the heat burning, could just make out the faint tinge of redness below his cheekfur, and it made him only hungrier.He pushed himself back inside the Growlithe, without ceremony or preparation, and was accepted with ease. Sam oriented his hips, pushing up and back against the Arcanine to brace himself as the larger male plunged back inside. He didn't stop until he felt the ridge of his sheath press against the laying dog's rump and his cocktip had found the other's prostate.His jaw open, tongue pressed against his sharp teeth, Sam's eyes were barely open. He drank in Mike's face, his body, his chest, his scent, his arms, until at last he squeezed them shut, enduring the assault. His body rocked with each of the Arcanine's thrusts, his fluffy belly bouncing, face caught in the thin line between pleasure and pain.

Mike had to slow down. His thrusting pace was ruthless, fueled by the warmth of his partner's body, the passion in his expression, those soft and eager whines and whimpers. But there was one thing he needed to do before he could finish inside the 'Lithe, one last task to even the score.

He dug his left foot into the bed, hard enough for the sharp claws of his toes to puncture right through the blanket and dig into the foam beneath the surface of the mattress. This gave him just enough leverage to bring his right arm further forward, wrapping it around the Growlithe's thick thigh until his fingers found the other dog's crotch.

He wrapped Sam's length up in his fist, feeling him pulse within his grasp. He ran his padded palm up and down the shaft, relishing in the way it caused Sam's pucker to tighten up and coaxed him to let off another aroused whimper.

It wasn't easy to jerk Sam off from this position, but the Growlithe hardly needed the help. He was so stirred up that his dick was dripping like a faucet, with a steady trickle of translucent fluid coating the Arcanine's paw. Sam brought his arms up and wrapped them around the older canine's back, holding him, clinging to him, pulling him down onto the bed, closer, deeper in, deeper into his body, deeper against his maw, deeper until--

The Growlithe's body bucked, pulsed, and released. His jaw tightened, teeth grit and eyes squeezed tight as he came hard against Mike's fist. The roasting heat of his seed slathered across Mike's palm and burst across the Growlithe's chest, his cum lost among the whiteness of his chest and throat.His whole body was stiff, and he was almost silent, not even breathing as he rode out his climax. He had tightened up around Mike's dick, but, maddeningly aroused as he was, this only brought the Arcanine to deeper recesses of pleasure. Still squeezing and pumping the 'Lithe's member, Mike felt his own rush of a climax charging to the surface before Sam had jetted his last.

He shoved his head forward and forced his muzzle against Sam's neck. He pulled his chops over his teeth as he sucked at the other's throat, tasting the warm, salty seed, as his own body made one final, demanding, tyrannical thrust forward. His hips locked in place as he came, and he clung to the 'Lithe as he filled his insides with his own smoldering cum.

Sam had started to breathe again, and his throat rose and fell against Mike's mouth. His exhales were quiet moans, shuddering as he spilled his last and, in turn, felt the other male reach the peak of his own finale. His body was trembling, leg and toes twitching as they were suspended in the air, and each new jet of seed he felt sloshing around inside invited a renewed shiver down his spine.

They held this pose for what felt like a long time, tightly locked together. Then, with sudden synchronicity, both males relaxed at the same time. Mike almost collapsed on top of the smaller firedog, letting his leg go as he did, and Sam sank against the bed under the weight. They were both breathing hard, panting, slathering, their eyes squeezed firmly shut.

It felt like a long time before the first of them moved. Slowly, almost delicately, the Arcanine put his hands to the bed, gripping the sheets as he started to pull back. Sam squirmed a little, but was mostly still as the other male withdrew from his tailhole with a wet torrent of white. The cum dribbled down Sam's taint and collected at the base of his tail, and some stuck to Mike's scrotum as the Arcanine pushed back forward, settling his body back down on top of the Growlithe.

"Hey," he whispered, bringing his muzzle forward and rubbing his cheek to Sam's own. The Growlithe looked so at peace, so satisfied, that he almost didn't want to interrupt the moment. But it had gotten rough near the end, and it was worth the disturbance to ensure the 'Lithe was comfortable. "You awright?"

Sam didn't reply right away. He kept his eyes closed, cheeks burning, mouth slightly open. A flicker of concern crossed Mike's face, and he leaned forward, right as the Growlithe spoke. His voice was soft.

"Mike."

"Yeah, Sam?"

He slowly opened one eye, and the corners of his maw tugged into a small, bashful smile.

"You 'n I, we've got something here, don't we?"

Mike watched him for a long moment in silence. Then he slipped his head forward and gave the Growlithe a long, slow lick, starting at the very curl of his smile and dragging it up to his cheek.

"I think we do."

Sam's smile grew, helpless and bright. He brought his arm up and pulled Mike in closer as the Arcanine leaned in, and they turned their muzzles to kiss again.

***

Some time had passed. It may have been a few minutes, it may have been as long as an hour.

Mike didn't know and he didn't care. He spent the time with his head on Sam's chest, his paw resting on his body, feeling the other dog's breathing pace level out.

His mind was quiet. He felt peaceful, at ease, in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt reduced to a unit of sensation, not a thinking, living organism but a feeling mass, absorbing heat and smell and sight but not processing at a higher level. The information flowed like a river into his mind and passed by with no delta in its wake.

Lazily, gradually, a thought rose to the surface. It took a long time for the words to form into coherency in his mind, but once the thought had surfaced, it stuck. He let off a small contented rumble.

He called me pent up earlier, but I think he had a lot backed up too. He needed this as much as I did.

He lifted his muzzle. "Hey, Sam?"

There was no answer. Mike lifted himself off of the bed just enough to check the Growlithe's face.

Sam's head was turned, his eyes closed, the chops of his maw pursed and keeping his lips apart. Mike realized consciously what he had been aware of for some time, that the Growlithe's breathing had tapered off into near silence as he --

Sam shifted slightly, and he gave off a soft snorting sound. As he fell further into deep sleep, his breathing became audible on the exhale, a snuffling growl. He was snoring, a gentle thrum that vibrated up his body.

It was a comforting sound, less like logs being sawed and more like the babble of a brook down the mountainside. Mike watched him for a long moment, propping his head up on his hand and grinning out of the side of his mouth. In his waking moments, Sam was such a loud presence, a bundle of energy that couldn't sit still. To see him here, naked and vulnerable, still and snoring and full of such peace...

I really do like this guy.

Mike reached out, wrapping his arm around the sleeping Growlithe and pulling their bodies together.

And I'm ready for it.

Mike curled up against his partner, such that he could feel Sam's snoring as easily as he could hear it. He closed his eyes and set his head on the pillow, and before he knew it, he was out.

_ The End_

***

Afterword:

I wanted to give a huge, heartfelt thank you to my friend Winter, @SnowyWinterWooF on Twitter. I don't often use an editor, but I found his insight to be absolutely essential. He caught typoes, grammatical inconsistencies, redundancies, even a small plot hole here and there.

More than that, he kept me sane and happy through the writing process. This was a story that took a degree of vulnerability and openness to write. I can say with absolute confidence that I would not be as proud of Link in the Chain as I am without his assistance.

I will continue to pay him in pictures of Mightyenas. If you liked the story, you should do the same.

I also wanted to take a moment to thank you, the reader, for taking the time. I know this was a long story to get through, and there's a lot of competition for quality writing in this fandom, but it is my earnest hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.