FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Creeping down the stairs, he kept one ear swiveled back toward the den, but he could only hear the TV blasting. His mouth dry, he rushed across the foyer, unlocked the front door, and jerked it open. Dashing outside in a T-shirt and no shoes, he cursed under his breath, which plumed out white in the air around his muzzle, and did a one-eighty as the cold cement slab of the porch made the bare pads on his footpaws burn. Back inside, he closed the front door with a bit more force than normal. In the den, the TV went silent.

This is it. Harry locked the door and slowly turned around, his heart racing as Ethan sauntered through the kitchen and stopped near the foot of the stairs. He was tall and muscular, with long legs and a narrow waist, his button-down shirt tight across his powerful chest and broad shoulders. He was a handsome buck, with gray-brown ticked fur, his throat sparkling white where it showed through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, unusually blue eyes, and an elegant pair of antlers, each side with three sharp points. This year, he had tribal designs burned into the tines, like some kind of Polynesian warrior. Last year it had been Celtic knots.

Harry suddenly realized he was staring.

"Oh, hey, Ethan," he said.So lame.

"She didn't want pancakes, I take it?" Ethan said.

Harry swallowed hard. "She, um...She had to go, late for work. Sorry."

Ethan shrugged, muscles rippling. No wonder he held the university's home run record.

"No fur off my hide," he said. "More pancakes for me." He headed into the kitchen and Harry could hear drawers and cupboards being opened. "Hey, where did Micah hide that griddle?"

"I think it's in the oven," Harry said, taking a bracing breath before joining Ethan in the kitchen.

"Since when do we keep pots and pans in the oven?" Ethan asked, pulling the long, non-stick griddle off the bottom rack, a stack of frying and saucepans on the top.

"Since Micah decided the oven used too much electricity," Harry said with a shrug. "That's why he bought that air fryer-thing."

Ethan glanced at the black and chrome contraption on the end of the counter. "Huh. And I thought that was a cappuccino machine." Harry couldn't help but laugh, although the buck's joke probably didn't warrant quite as loud or as long as Harry gave it. He blamed his nerves for that. "So," Ethan said after an awkward silence fell in the kitchen. "You really didn't have to cut your date short and chase her out."

"I-I didn't," Harry said. "She had to work."

"Where'd you two meet?"

"Um..."Don't say class, it's too obvious. "She works at a coffee shop near campus. She's a barista."

"What's her name?"

Harry drew a blank. "Agnes," he said, inwardly cringing. Of course_that_ had to be the first female name to pop into his head.

"Isn't that your mother's name?" Ethan said, pouring pancake mix into a big bowl.

"How do you know that?"

Ethan shrugged. "I heard you talking to Carlton a few weeks ago." He added milk and an egg to the bowl, then began to stir. "So what were you doing at a coffee shop? You don't drink coffee."

"What's it to you?" Harry asked, the fur at the back of his neck bristling. "And why do you know so damn much about me?" He stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. He wasn't really mad at Ethan, he just had to get out of there. Although, it was a bit unnerving to realize how much the buck knew about him. Why? They were roommates, not friends. Sure, they were friendly enough, but they didn't hang out or know any of the same people.

God, this was so much worse than getting caught in his outfit. He hated confrontations, awkward questions, cold silences. All he could do was hide in his room and pray that the weather cleared in New England.

It wasn't more than ten minutes before the sound of hooves in the hall alerted him to Ethan's approach. Ethan's room was at the other end of the house, so there was only one reason for the buck to be walking toward Harry's room. He tensed at the soft knock at the door.

"Harry?" Ethan said. "Look, I'm sorry for getting too personal. It's none of my business."

"It's fine," Harry said after a moment. "No worries."

"Great. You want to come help me eat this mountain of pancakes? I think I made enough for the whole house."

"Be right there," Harry said, waiting until he heard Ethan walk away before following him downstairs. Ethan was already seated at the bar, tucking in to a heaping plate of fluffy golden pancakes smothered in butter and thick strawberry syrup. A second plate sat at the other end of the bar, with a shaker of cinnamon and a can of whipped cream next to it. Ethan glanced at him as he sat down, but quickly looked away.

"No, I'm not stalking you," the buck said. "I just happen to have one of those memories that collects weird little facts about people."

"Like how they like to eat their pancakes," Harry said, giving the whipped cream can a shake before drawing a thick ring all the way around the edge of the top pancake. He sprinkled it with cinnamon and picked up his fork. "Listen, I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. You didn't do anything. I was just flustered, I guess."

"Thanks, but I didn't need to make an inquisition out of it," Ethan said. "If you want to keep your girl all to yourself, I don't blame you." He gave Harry a crooked grin. "If I were you, I wouldn't let a pretty vixen like that near a handsome stud like me, either."

Harry felt the heat rush into his face, up into his huge ears, turning them bright pink. "Did you really think she was pretty?"

"Seriously? I only caught a glimpse, but she was freaking gorgeous," Ethan said.

Harry busied himself with cutting his pancakes into bites, his head bowed to hide the grin on his pointed muzzle. Ethan thought he was gorgeous! True, he also thought Harry was a girl, but the compliment was still there, and it tickled him to no end.

"Hey, are you okay?" Ethan asked. "Your ears are awfully red."

"Yeah, fine," Harry said. "Just a bit hot in here."

"I'll say. Did you turn up the thermostat?"

"Oh, yeah. Micah always keeps it too cold for me."

"Same," Ethan said with a laugh. "He's such a bossy little prick, isn't he?Turn off those lights. Don't leave the shower running. Put on a sweater, eh." Harry giggled at the passable impression of Micah's Canadian accent, earning a warm smile from the buck. He was so handsome, and charming, and friendly. Harry suddenly had to look away, stuffing pancake into his mouth to keep from saying something he'd regret.

He had never told anyone about his secret hobby. There was a good reason for that. Most people would think he was a weirdo, a pervert, or worse. If he told Ethan, and Ethan told his friends, and they told their friends, and then the whole university would know, and everyone would laugh at him--He tried to swallow the bite in his mouth and nearly choked, the pancake turning gummy and dry. He got up from the bar, his paws shaking as he pulled the orange juice out of the fridge.

"Me too, please," Ethan said.

Harry took two glasses down from the cupboard and manage to fill them without spilling juice all over the counter. He placed Ethan's on the bar next to his plate and returned to his seat, stealing glances at the buck as they both drank.

The scariest thing was how much he_still_ wanted to tell him. He knew it was the dumbest thing he could ever do, and yet, the words sprang unbidden and fully formed into his mind, burned through his thoughts, and fought their way past his lips.

"I have something to tell you."

He didn't mean to say it. Honestly, for a moment, he wasn't sure if he had, or if he'd just imagined speaking. Then Ethan looked up from his plate.

"Okay, what's up?"

"Oh, um...It's a secret, so I need you to promise you won't tell anyone."

Ethan regarded him for a moment, chewing slowly, then he swallowed.

"What kind of a secret?" Ethan asked. "I mean, are we talking something like, you like to masturbate in Micah's bed when he's gone kind of secret, or like, you enjoy killing people and eating their livers kind of secret?"

The bark of laughter that exploded from Harry sounded near hysterical and caused Ethan's ears to stand up in alarm. Harry slapped his paw over his muzzle, his ears burning red as he looked sheepishly across the bar at Ethan.

"Sorry, don't know why that struck me as funny," he said. "No, I've never killed anyone and I hate liver. So, I guess it's more like the first kind of secret."

"Oh, well, that's good," Ethan said, relaxing as he picked up his juice and took a drink. "In that case, sure, I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Really? Okay. Well. Um..."

Ethan laughed. "Relax, Harry. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fine. Just spit it out."

Harry took a deep breath. "There isn't any girl," he said. "Her name isn't Agnes, and she isn't a barista, I just panicked and you were asking all these questions and I didn't know what to say, and--"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ethan said, setting down his fork and pushing his nearly empty plate aside. "What do you mean, there isn't a girl? I saw her in the window."

"No, you didn't," Harry said, feeling like was going to throw up. This was such a bad idea. "You saw me."

"You," Ethan repeated. "No, that's--No, she was wearing a skimpy blue teddy, or something..." He stared at Harry, the insides of his ears turning a deep, dark red. His nostrils flared and his breathing grew fast and heavy. He stood up, the legs of his stool squealing across the kitchen tile. "Sorry, I just--I'm gonna--I gotta--" He rushed out of the room and upstairs, his hooves loud on the wooden steps, but not before Harry saw the impressive bulge in the front of Ethan's jeans.

Was that a hard on? Harry had never noticed it before, so it stood to reason that he didn't normally look like that. If so, what could have gotten him all worked up? Thinking about Harry's 'girl'? Was that why he got upset and ran off, because the sexy girl who'd got him all hot and bothered turned out to be a guy? Harry found that very disappointing. Sure, Ethan was jock, but he didn't come across as one of those homophobic meat-head types. But then, appearances could be quite deceiving.

Harry's stomach churned, the smell of his pancakes suddenly nauseating. He scraped both plates into the trash, rinsed them, and placed them in the dishwasher. Making his way up to his room, he glanced down the hall at Ethan's closed bedroom door. Should he say something? What was there to say? If he was lucky, Ethan would just forget this ever happened.

But Harry never got lucky.