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March 31** st**

I spend this Tuesday morning doing laundry, before heading down to the track offices for a simulator session. I climb the stairs at the back of the garage and enter the offices above. I guess they look like any other offices, with carpeted floors, nice reclining office chairs and desks in secluded rooms arrayed along a hallway. Big screens on the walls in the lobby area are endlessly showing the same slideshows of information regarding track openings. I head for the anonymous looking door at the end of the hallway. Inside this room, there's a state of the art, beefy computer strapped to a rack. It feels very much like a race car, apart from the noise, and heat and vibration. They could have made the chair more comfortable though, I think to myself, as I squeeze myself down in front of the screen.

I flip some switches and turn the machine on. The PC hums quietly and a simulation of the view out of my windscreen pops up on the monitor. This is a much cheaper way to familiarise myself with various tracks. I tend to spend a few hours racing the local tracks that I know are in our race calendar, but towards the end, I usually skive off and play some of the international tracks, for my own enjoyment.

In my most private moments, with the headset on, and nobody else in the building, I can be somewhere else entirely. The pounding heat, the massive hills and drops, the long, bumpy straights and sharp complex turns of Mount Panorama in Australia, home to the Bathurst track. It's my most favourite racetrack in the whole world, and guess what? I've never even seen it. I should have my Australia-card revoked. The Bathurst 1000 is synonymous with racing in Australia, and it is the one race everyone, race fan or no, knows about. I poke around some more with the simulator, just ambling around the track, taking in the views. The simulator's main focus isn't the graphics of the scenery, so instead, it uses pictures from street view and satellite images. But it feels real, and more importantly, it feels near. I can imagine myself down on the track, riding in the back of some classic muscle car on the parade lap, talking to the fans scattered along the route. I imagine what I'd tell Andy and Bruce on the live report when they ask me how it feels to finally be home. I wonder at the scents and sounds, which must be similar and different, all at once. I wonder how quick I could make my car go round in real life. My sim times are close to some of the better times from last year's race, but a simulator can't simulate everything. My times on the other tracks aren't getting any better today, and I can't really justify hanging around here all night. I head home to snooze on the sofa, but shortly after I get through my front door, my phone makes a noise. A message from Reece pops up on the display.

Writing going okay-ish. Gonna have to survive for a little bit longer without me, sorry. Miss you <3

I didn't know I needed that message, but I did. I want to call just to hear his voice again. I consider just showing up at his door spontaneously. But I'm still not quite myself again, following the last workout session. I really ought not to think about myself so much, but you know what they say about old habits. I sigh and toss my phone away. I hate this. I never realised before how empty my flat is, when it doesn't have him in it. How silent it is without his laugh, or his voice, or his cries of passion. I bury my muzzle in the pillows on my sofa, where we fucked some days ago. I can still smell where we made that stain. I want to paw off while thinking about him, but I can't work up the energy, even if the arousal comes quickly enough. And I don't want to sink that low, just from being away from him for a few days. I drop off to sleep, frustrated and lonely again.

April 1** st**

I seem to recall this was Reece's father's birthday. I send him a message in the morning telling him I love him and ask if he'd like to hear about how I've arranged the track visit. I've got it worked out in my head. Maybe I should get his father a present. Like a bottle of champagne or something? Oh, right. Reece said no booze. Is champagne considered booze? Even a good one? Or worse, would it be considered too friendly? Would his father start wondering about this random racing driver guy, whom Reece most likely haven't told about yet? Better not risk it.

What if he really does come out then and there? What if he does it without telling me? If he wants to come out, and he wants me to be there, then I should probably have something prepared to say. Something kind and inclusive. Something not betraying how utterly shit-scared I am of that scenario. If his father turned out to be like Walt, that would be bad. But how could his father be so bad, if Reece is so interested in reconnecting with him? I know I should just trust Reece to know a good dog from a bad wolf, but I wonder what sort of guy I'll be dealing with. How well does the father and son know each other, really? Will he be able to tell that there's something going on between Reece and me?

I don't think we're that obvious when we're out together, I hope we aren't. But lately, I've adjusted my views on that slightly. My pride in myself is integral to who I am. I've never struggled with any body image problems or doubt in my own capabilities before. I'm not exactly proud to hide like this. It just highlights something I'm not able to do. I'm prepared to at least talk about being more outgoing and public with him. But there are some things he should know about me first. Some things which he'll have to hear sooner or later, but they're not good things to talk about.

I go back to the gym that afternoon on my own volition. Otter isn't there to shout at me, so I can do what I want. I spend the day jogging and thinking about the coming weekend, trying to zone out and listen to my music. There's no action down at the track until Sunday, so there's nothing to do for the next five days. I decide to work the muscles which I know he's attracted to, and change my work out routine for today, to focus on pecs, abs and biceps. A flashy show of big muscles like that usually only get in the way. Restrained outlines and suggestions of muscles are better than ballooning, and more weight-efficient too, which is a big factor in racing. Once I work up a sweat, I switch to the dumbbells, pumping them until I can feel my muscles protest, then doing some calisthenics until I get tired. I check myself in the mirror, and I can't help but smile. I have to admit I do look good. It's a good feeling. I like telling myself that. But it doesn't feel half as nice as knowing he thinks I look good, and that thought takes away all the pain as I do my stretches at the end of the session. I can't stop thinking about him.

April 2** nd**

Reece finally calls me, as I'm heading home from the gym. The sound of his voice almost brings a tear to my eye.

"Heya sexy, how are you doing?" he says, with what I'm fairly sure is barely restrained desire in his voice.

"I'm good, I'm good," I murmur into my phone while climbing into my car, my mind is already far away as soon as I slam the doors. "How is my pup doing?"

"I think I've got this stuff down now, I just have to pretty it up a little. I can only hope it'll be good enough."

"How about you pretty up a little and get your ass over here?" I throw back quickly. He giggles coquettishly, and I know I can catch him, if I just use the right bait. "We can order some pizza and catch some races, if you want to. Just relax, you know, Netflix and chill style."

I can almost hear his tail tapping against his chair.

"That'd be perfect, just what I need right about now."

Score two for Paul. I'm on a roll.

Reece is at the door an hour later, he's got a bottle of wine, and I've got the pizza ready. As he steps across my threshold, I yank him off his feet and bury my tongue in his muzzle. He only barely holds onto the bottle as I dip him like a flamenco dancer.

"I missed you, pup," I say, nuzzling his snout.

He laughs and pushes away from me playfully. "I missed you too, big guy."

Kicking his shoes off in my hallway, he strolls into my living room barefooted, dressed in a loose t-shirt and a pair of short running shorts, which I can't help but stare at. They're really short. For a moment, I imagine our last few sessions made him consider some cardio. But when I look at his butt, it's clear that they're not meant for running. He knows I'm staring, and sways a little extra for my benefit.

"Smells great, what kind did you get?" he calls out from the living room.

"Barbecue chicken," I say, snapping out of my little trance and following him inside. "My mouth has been watering these last five minutes. I'm starving, so don't be slow."

"Are you sure that's because of the pizza?"

"I know it's not the pizza, but if I don't sink my fangs into something very soon, you'll be even more sore than I plan on making you tonight."

He smiles that smile again. Behind it is all his desire and passion for me. He wants to seem as if he's dispensing it like some rare commodity, but I know there's more than enough of it in there. A glimmer of its potential shines through his eyes as he smiles, and the only word I can think of for it is generous.

It's a proper 6-hour race, with several different classes represented, three drivers per team and big budgets. For once, I feel like I can watch the whole thing with someone, without them getting bored or wanting to switch channels. That too, is a generous feeling, which Reece is only too happy to give me.

"I'm more of a Mitsuoka fan," he tells me, pointing at the first place car on the screen as it goes for another of many overtakes. "He's kinda' dreamy, don't you think?"

"Hey, come on," I nudge his shoulder playfully. "He's not got nearly as nice an ass as that Kiwi. What's his name, used to race Supercars when I was younger. Frosty, I think."

"Pfft." Reece laughs. "You're biased."

"But you've seen him right?"

"I haven't actually," he tells me. "I haven't been watching Supercars at all. Impossible to get over here. And it was always on late nights. So I stuck to Formula One and this GT3 endurance stuff."

"Well, we ought to catch a few races. The season is really reaching a peak now."

"Let me know, I'll be there, dear," he nuzzles my cheek, and for some reason it feels even better than his kisses right then and there. Supercars is the big ol' dream on top of the ladder, for me. As a native Australian, anything else would be heresy.

"We could've raced in the Endurance series," I mumble offhandedly, some ways into the race as the action lulls, and the commentators' banter turns to the teams and their past struggles. "Whyllis is more focused on racing local venues and private events, where he can boost his business. I tried to get them to reconsider, but they're pretty set in their ways."

"So I've heard." Reece prods my side. "Why are you with Whyllis still?"

"Uhm..."

"Because I did some research." He twiddles his fingers. "I don't get it. You're really good, you know."

"Reece..."

"I mean, you're like... seriously good, Paul, I've seen it. Way better than any of your teammates. You're faster than everyone else in your series. You could beat them on a bicycle, probably."

His tail is tapping excitedly on the sofa cushions, ears perked, and eyes fixed on me instead of the race. I realise that I'll have to tell him, sooner rather than later.

"We've had some good cars," I try, and I feel my ears flick back. I can hear the dishonesty in my own voice.

"It's not the cars, Paul. I know what you're capable of, you could drive with the pros, you could race internationally! Why are you racing for that cheap third-rate team?"

"Well, the money is-"

"You're not doing this for the money, I'm not blind. You're a passionate guy, and I refuse to think you care about that."

He's got me there.

"Has it bothered you?" I ask cautiously. "I like my team. They're a good team, and I like winning. I like my cars, and... for the most part... my colleagues."

"It confuses me Paul. It doesn't feel like something you, or any other racing driver, would do willingly."

God, he's got such wonderful eyes. I love how passionate they look. I know they can see that I'm keeping things from him, but he'll get it out of me eventually. And he does know how to compliment me in just the right way to make me compliant.

"It's a long story, Reece," I concede.

I wanted to relax and space out a bit tonight, mostly for his benefit. Perhaps end the night with some kissing and cuddling on the sofa, which we'd take into the bedroom. I'm sure that school is taking its toll and I wanted to make him feel good. But that's not gonna happen now, I'm afraid. I can smell a serious talk brewing.

"I've got time," he says and snuggles up next to my chest. I can feel his breath through my shirt, the weight of his head on my ribs. It felt comforting but now it feels constricting.

"But the race-"

He gestures to the TV, interrupting my most feeble excuse yet. "There's hours left of this thing, so don't worry about that. Tell me."

"Okay, here goes," I sigh, and mute the TV. "I got here from Australia when I was fresh out of high school right. No friends, only my dad, and he was not really there all the time." I draw a deep breath and hold it for a long time before continuing. "I... lost my mom not long before that. It was tough. I think dad travelled here to escape it all, because he once told me that everything reminded him of her. We never talked about it after that."

I pause to reflect slightly on the life I've led so far. Reece remains completely quiet.

"Mom's passing hit me pretty hard, and I disappeared into my racing for a few years. Climbing the ladder, as they say, from karts to cars. Traveling a lot, trying out for a lot of teams. Dad worked night and day, and he helped me get through, but I don't think that's why he worked so much. Because he still does it pretty often. I got my first major break almost four years ago, with Whyllis racing, and dad moved out to Safewell Springs with me. They took me when nobody else wanted me and believed in me. I learnt so much from them, and they became a family. Or at least I thought they were."

I feel like I'll need more encouragement, or perhaps just courage, for this next part. I pour my wine glass far beyond the polite amount, and drain it in a long gulp.

"I meet this wolf, right? My team principal. Older, more experienced, cool and tough. He's the first guy I befriend. I realise later that he wanted to know about private stuff that I did, and my home life, not because he cared, but because it was his job, right. He was trying to arrange my schedule more effectively."

Reece's eyebrows climb slowly until they can climb no further. "No, don't say-"

"Yeah, that one," I say. "I was kind of new to this whole gay thing, especially back then. He catches me completely off guard with his concern when I was lonely."

"So when you said... when you said that I wasn't the first one he'd attracted..."

"Don't get me wrong," I say. I can't help my ears splaying, I don't want to defend him or anything. "Walt was different then. He was cool, buff, I'd almost say kind, and not threatening. In hindsight, it was probably just because he didn't know. I'm telling you so that you understand how... difficult it was."

I have to pause and take a deep breath. I pour another glass, but Reece puts a paw on mine before I can fill it, his expression worried, and I stop. "Please, no more, dear. What was difficult?"

"Well, one night, we were working late on some changes to the car. It was just us there, and we've had some beers together after I'd gotten the last test round for the night out of the way. I thought this was a good time to confess my feelings for him. As I said, a long time ago, Reece. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, Paul," he breaks in quickly.

"Anyways. He doesn't take it well. Not at all. Punches me straight to the ground and kicks me. He breaks three of my ribs."

"Oh, god," Reece whispers, running a paw across my ribs, as if they were still hurt and sore. But the physical pain went away years ago. I feel the rest of the story coming together in my memory, bubbling up before I can moderate it.

"He said he blacked out and didn't remember any of it, but I know that's bullshit. I ended up in hospital, and couldn't race for weeks after that. His father was the first to visit me in there, threatening me with lawyers if I were to say anything 'litigious'. Said we could work something out internally. I had to tell my dad I'd fallen while cycling. I didn't know how the law worked over here yet. But I was terrified, and I just wanted to get back to racing. I told them what they wanted to hear. But I knew something was off, so I wrote an anonymous letter to a local paper. The letter got published, and I didn't expect that. So, Mr. Whyllis had to throw a lot of money at the press to make it go away. I think he chewed his son out too, because the next thing I know, He accepted the demotion to head mechanic. He has a grudge on me, and his dad doesn't like me much either. Walt threatened to ruin my career if I tried to leave, or tell anyone. He just said he knows people. Said his father will push to blacklist me from association racing for what he calls "unsportsmanlike behaviour". Said they'll cut all ties with my dad's business, and they're his most important contract. So, I keep racing for them. Keep winning, keep staying on his good side. Making sure dad doesn't have to close down. I honestly don't know what else I can do."

It is hard to dredge up those old memories, but now that I look at them again in this new light, I feel dejected. I wonder what would have happened if one of the two wolves inside of me hadn't been so afraid and desperate. And now, I can't see a way out of the hole I've made for myself.

"I'm sorry dear," Reece says a little later. "I guess that makes sense, but I'm just going to make sure I got this straight. Walt is forcing you to stay on the team?"

He sits up and leans away from my chest to look into my eyes, but I'm staring at my reflection in the TV screen. My ears flick. I nod without offering more of an explanation. Please just lay back on my chest, and let's just watch the race, I think to myself. We were having such a good time.

"Would it be so bad if he outed you, really?" Reece asks bluntly. "I mean, there's no laws against gay racing drivers. You can still keep your contract legally, I think."

I look at him, repeating the question in my head, and not finding any answers.

"It'd be pretty bad, Reece. Trust me." I mutter.

It feels better than to state the obvious alternative. What if there's merit to any of the threats Walt made. I can't give up my racing. I can't allow myself to lose the only thing that I've found joy in since mom died. And I can't imagine what my tough, no-nonsense dad would say if I cost him his most profitable customer, came out as gay, and in a fell swoop introduced him to my liberal, dainty, effeminate, cross-dressing, English-at-university-studying boyfriend. But I don't dare to actually say that.

"Why don't you want to look around for another seat, at least?" Reece's left eyebrow is fully raised. I can tell that he's working on his own way of solving this already. I can't have that.

"You don't... You don't understand Reece. It's not that simple."

"Then make me understand," he says, and takes my paws in his. "I thought it was. You could look around anonymously, nobody needs to know."

"People talk in this industry, they'd find out."

"And why are you not just ditching that asshole then, deal with the consequences later. You've got the skills to make it big, no matter what he says. He can't stop you."

"It's complicated, it's-" I can feel my shame being supplanted with frustration, and I just let words flow out of me with no regard. "He would win. I can't let him beat me. If he loses, he loses nothing. But if I lose, he wins nothing, and I lose everything!"

"Win? Lose?" Reece asks, confusion thick in his voice. "That's what this is about? Then come out yourself. Take that from him. Beat him to the finish line."

"Reece, for god's sake, listen to yourself!" I can't help but raise my voice. "I can't let anyone force me to come out. Not from blackmail or threat. That would signal that I'd lost."

"It's not a competition!" Reece protests, his ears flick down and back. "Paul, I-"

"If I'm going to come out, it needs to be on my own terms, Okay? Not on his, and not on yours. Can we talk about something else?"

Reece pouts at me from the edge of my reach.

"You damn racing driver... It'd do you good, Paul. You need to talk about this stuff, you've gone too long without. You should want-"

"Should want?" I break in, annoyed. "Why should I want anything? I decide what I want. I just wanna chill for a little and enjoy what we have. Why don't you just come out then, if it's so important?"

"Do you think I'm not planning to?" Reece asks coldly. "Your justification for staying in the closet is not healthy. You're hiding in it when you are strong enough not to need to. I know I'm not as brave as you in some respects. I can't risk my life or take the chances you take out there on the track, but I can do this. Watch me."

He crosses his arms. Boy, he can sure make a room feel cold. A long silence.

"I want to, too, but-"

"Are you afraid to be with me?" He stares at the reflection of us in the black television screen, and his ears droop. "I know it's scary, but I'd hoped perhaps you'd come around a little once you saw how much fun it was. Did I make a mistake when-"

He pauses and brings a paw up to his muzzle, as if to suppress a gasp. "No... I'm sorry. I shouldn't say things like that. It's unfair. Paul, listen. I love you, and I want you to do what you feel is right for yourself. It's just... well... this is a thing I care about, kinda deeply. I don't mind telling you that you're different from the rest. I really care about you. More than I've ever cared about anyone before. I knew from the moment I met you that this was going to be special. So it's important to talk about this."

"That's... that's okay, if you're passionate, it means you care, right?" I tell him, or rather myself. The words feel hollow to me. Is he doubting himself because of me? Am I holding him back, or dragging him down?

"Paul," He says suddenly, and turns to me. "I'm telling you this because I care. Not because I want something from you. Listen, please. You're letting them win every day you do as they tell you, every day you play into their paws, and don't fight back. You're letting them control you."

"Isn't that what you're trying to do?" I suddenly blurt out. It comes off way too strong, but now I've said it. "I mean, by wanting me to switch teams, come out, or whatever? How is that any... I mean, how's that different?" My voice is shaking. Instead of a retort or an explanation, it comes across as a cry for comfort.

"That's not how I meant it, I just want you to be happy with yourself," he says, poking me in my chest, where my heart is. "I'm almost certain you'd be happier if you didn't have all these worries. I'm fairly certain whatever the trade off is is mild in comparison. From what you tell me, there's some deep-seated issues in there which you need to work through, and I don't think you're doing it in a healthy way, currently."

"How can you be so confident?" I ask him. What does he know? He hasn't seen what I've seen. He hasn't got the memories I harbour.

"Guess you got me there. I only have the stories from my friends, online forums, articles in magazines, and my hope that things get better. Society is going to change, I promise. It gets better, Paul. But it won't change without us making the effort. You can make a huge effort, Paul."

He puts his paw flat on my chest, leaning across to kiss my muzzle softly.

"Thanks," I mumble distantly. "I guess."

"Don't try to tell me it didn't feel good to talk about these things, because I don't think I'd believe you."

I think he might be right. He's my first, in so many ways. First to hear about mom, first to hear about my difficult situation with Whyllis. First to hear me admit that I don't really like where I am in life. Getting that load off my chest did feel good. I stare at my feet and try not to think about the shame I feel at my own powerlessness, but it's useless. It's just that I'm worried he's trying to help, and I'm worried he's trying a bit harder than he really ought to.

The warmth in his voice returns with all the love and affection he usually shows me. "All of this is new, it's okay to make a few missteps. You're allowed to make mistakes, you're allowed to have doubts and worries."

I feel small, young, and inexperienced. Like my first time competing with other kids my age. I was scared, and threw up in the bathroom, but I wasn't alone with my fear then. I was a sensitive kid, I guess, compared to the others, but I always had mom, and even dad. When images of her crop up in my mind, I can't hold onto my mask any more.

"Where were you," I manage to squeak out under my breath. "Where were you back w-when I needed you?"

"I'm right here, sweetie," he says, and then he's hugging me, or rather, holding my head in his arms, as I shed some tears for my mom, for my mistakes, and for all the missed opportunities I had to make things right. I want to believe that it'll all be alright in the end, but he doesn't know how scary it is, how difficult it is to convince myself that coming out is even an option. My head is full of contracts, wolves, racing cars and thoughts of money and success. But only one question makes its way past my muzzle.

"What about us?" I mumble.

"What about us, sweetie?" he echoes.

What about us indeed. Can you help me? Can I live at your place when I lose my job and my money? Do I have to do your laundry together with mine, or do we separate it? What if I only have t-shirts one day, and you-

"What about if I get a drive in another country?" the words tumble out of me without me knowing why I asked them.

"Do you think you will?"

"I don't know, I'm just asking. What will you do if I get a drive in a different country?"

It's not my intention to worry him, but I can't just throw myself into something if I have to leave him behind for any reason. I almost wish he'd come up with a reason for me to stay here. At least I'd have some respite. Reece shrugs his shoulders.

"I could maybe transfer universities?" he tries, meekly,

"You really ought to focus on your studies before anything, I don't want to mess up anything there."

"You won't, sweetie. Whatever happens, and whatever you figure out you want to do, we'll deal with it together, okay?" Reece says. He plants a kiss on my lips. His paws brush my cheeks. I can't really find more complaints when he does that. I wonder if it's intentional. His paws simply brush worries away from my head, and I can't think about anything other than him.

We spend that night together, but for once we don't have sex. The cuddling feels much nicer, and I think there's too many repressed emotions buried in the way I fuck him. I can't maintain that level of confidence after a talk like that.

*April 3rd *

Paul.

I come out of the room that morning in my boxers and find him looking at highlights from the race yesterday on the TV. He must have gotten up much earlier, I guess, but he could've woken me up. I guess I don't mind. I have him here still, and that's a nice sensation. As I'm making coffee, he sneaks up behind me and rubs against my half naked body.

"I thought a lot about what we talked about last night," I say, mostly for my own benefit. He runs his paws through my chest fur and scratches my belly, which makes my spine tingle.

"So did I," he mumbles from behind my back, his muzzle buried in my back fur.

"Oh. You first?"

"I thought about it a lot," Reece murmurs, "about all the things you told me. I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I don't want that uncertainty. I'm going to do what I can to change that. I've made a decision."

He's still holding me as I get my coffee, and we waddle over to the sofa linked together like that.

"What are you saying, really?" I ask him, hoping, praying, that he doesn't mean what I fear. I didn't dare falling asleep last night, in case mom showed up in my dreams, and I spent all night worrying about how I'd raised my voice or spoken harshly to him.

"I think I'm ready to come out to my parents," he announces, and buries his face in the crook of my arm.

I exhale, relieved.

He lays down in my lap while I take my coffee. "You remember what I was saying about how they pay for my tuition, and my apartment? I feel really bad about keeping them in the dark this time around. Because it's been too long, and... and, well... this feels real, somehow. They should know."

"Oh wow," I say, it's all I can say really. "I'm proud of you, pup." If he says it's real, then it has to be. He knows what he's talking about. The affirmation leaves me speechless, and I can't wrap my head around what he actually said before I notice his expression. He smiles, but it's a distant smile.

"Hey, it'll be fine," I try to reassure him. I want him to keep saying what we have is real, I want him to believe that with his whole heart. Because I want to believe it too, but what do I know, really?

"How about making it one at a time?" I suggest. "Like tell your father first when we're visiting the track? I'll be there with you."

He keeps his ears folded back and his tail dormant and flat against the white pillows of the sofa.

"It's not exactly ideal, but I agree, it's my best chance," he says, after a very long pause. "And what about you? You said you thought about it too?"

There it is again, even though I explained to him my reasons.

"I've thought about it, yeah," I say, noncommittally. I didn't think about when I'd do it, as much as I worried about what'd happen once I did it. If I did it. "I've not planned this out. I'm going to wait for an opportune time and take it from there. I don't want to commit to it before the time is right." God, I'm blanding it down for him, and I feel bad. After our deep talk last night, it feels even more dishonest. I'm thinking about the upcoming radio program Hammond has put me on. Roughly fifty thousand listeners, maybe twice that on any big sporting event. It's going to be a few hours after the race, so I'll have a bit of time to prepare. Prepare something big, perhaps. Something that actually means something, rather than my weaker and weaker excuses. I can feel my nerves jitter, merely at the thought. But he was so excited about his own plans.

"What do you think about the radio?" I ask.

His eyes suddenly focus and meet mine. "The radio? Are you honestly going to do it on the radio?"

"It'd definitely turn some heads. Give me some publicity, especially if I win the race, and especially if I make a bit of a show of it." I know what he's going to say before he says it. But he says it anyways.

"God damn racing drivers, I swear. You're going to show off, just so that you can... what exactly? beat me? get more publicity? honestly?"

"It's not like that," I protest, "I thought it'd make the world take notice of me. Maybe there will be contracts coming through and-"

"You're enjoying this!" Reece yells accusingly and playfully rubs my chest fur, before sliding a paw down between my legs. "Are you always getting boners over publicity? Oh my god-"

I smile my most innocent smile when he finds the answer to his questions down along my right thigh. I was already halfway out just from having him near me, and he's not making it any less hard. The tension in the room is already lightening. The radio scares me, sure. But seeing his smile just then helped.

"I'm just saying, it could help me find another contract-"

"Sure, sure." Reece chokes out between fits of laughing. It's good that he's more relaxed, at least. He doesn't take his paw away from my pants, and I don't stop him.