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Chapter 1

The White Hart

I'm drowning in January.

I tap my cocktail glass and stare at the ice diluting the drink. The bar's empty music pulls at the tips of my ears like a forgotten tongue, dissolving underneath the happy clink of glasses.

January is the coldest month; grey days grieving the memory of colour, conversations full of empty words. And so many resolutions to be broken: diet plans, gym memberships, sobriety...

My antlers always shed early but this year they abandoned me after the last 'Happy New Year' was uttered. Along with a hangover, I woke up with two unflattering, bloodied stumps, and a profound sense of vulnerability. Days after we kissed on the stroke of the new decade, I learned wolves can bite harder with their tongue than with their teeth.

"New Year, New You," he said.

We became another broken promise. At least he justified breaking my own. Giving up drink for January was a dumb idea anyway - that's when you need it most. I've finished my third, so I start sucking the ice cubes, savouring how they also made me numb.

Kingsby catches my eye from behind the bar, pulling me out of my thoughts. He's a handsome fox with guarded, golden eyes sharp enough to strip you to the soul. But he doesn't stop mixing drinks to sally out from behind the bar, pull up a stool and watch over me. He's working - I'm certain he's seen this all before. He's a professional, not a friend, after all.

I don't remember paying for my next drink, but I don't question the fox as he slides it my way. At least he understood no one needs that arsehole saying stupid things like 'things will get better,' or 'there are plenty of other fish in the sea.'

I don't know what to do. Do I go home to an empty bed, or stay here and keep up a show?

I tune back into the rest of the world. It's Saturday night and laughter's in the air, the sound drawing attention to the scent of a newfound couple as they brush past me on the way back home. Perhaps if I stay, and start bobbing my little nub tail, someone will mix their scent with mine and make me smell like love. Perhaps then, when I saunter back to collect my things, he'll realise what he's lost.

I snort. He doesn't lie awake trying to conquer the cold, empty side of the bed. And yet there's this pang of guilt inside me that dares to say, what if he was the one?

I shake my head, gritting my teeth as the scabs on my scalp throb again. Despite the lack of my dashing handlebars, I've got every chance of action. My silky fur smells slightly of strawberries, and dotted between its glossy copper tones, I've got these cute fallow spots on my forearms, thighs, and yes, right over other parts too. Underneath my fur, my body has curves in all the right places - and I complete the 'thin and slender' look with my little nub tail perked up through the tail-loop of my skinny jeans. I'm the perfect prey for a Saturday night.

The White Hart is a rich hunting ground; now brimming at capacity there's barely standing room - meaning the guys press up nice and close as they try to order at the bar. I snagged this prime seat early in the afternoon, and my lack of company was a dead giveaway to anyone making an order. Give me what I need, get what you want.

I need to forget him, to have one night to myself. No worries, no questions, no nagging doubts. One night where I don't think about fucking him. I'm not asking for much.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by a claw tapping me on the shoulder. Another set ruffles my hip fur. My heart gives a heavy beat, sluggishly getting back into the game. I flick my tail and turn, trying to play surprised. They always love the deer in headlights look, even if we both know it's all an act.

Amber eyes meet mine. I blink, breathing in sharply. I can tell from her scent she's excited - it goes up a notch, sweeter, fresher. Her black snout flares perceptively, the moist skin shining as it catches in the dim light. Breathing in his scent lingering on my chest, she leans closer, eyes narrowing - ready for the kill.

Her paws sweep up my thigh, moving in deliberate circles that make me shiver. I don't stop her; I will her on. She giggles, resting her muzzle under my neck as she reaches down to my crotch, flicking those yellow eyes up at mine. But all I see are his eyes staring back.

She apologises and slips away with her drink - a tundra phantom - her only trace the soft white strand of fur upon my jeans. I'm reminded how I am still picking his shed fur off my clothes.

"Excuse me," Kingsby sighs behind me, reaching out over me to close a tall canine's tab, jabbing the card reader at them. I turn back to the bar. I stare at the stained, grainy wood, counting the blemishes.

There will be others. The night's still young.

I snap my eyes shut, trying to focus as the world sways around me. I want to replace him, work another guy's scent into my fur, my sheets, the carpet.

But... I need help.

I wave Kingsby over, breathing in his scent, savouring him. He didn't hide that he was gay, but then again he didn't need to. People came here to get drunk and high, they didn't care who liked to stick whom with what.

The fox taps me on the shoulder, the expression on that orange mask an easy read.

"The same then?"

I roll my eyes.

"You want something else?" He sighs, flicking his ears. I'd have thought he meant a drink if I didn't catch his brow rise ever so slightly.

I mutter, "Just help me get laid."

The fox shakes his head.

"You'll have to tell me what's going on at some point." He leans across the bar, swishing his silky tail back and forth behind him. "As much as I'm your friend, there comes a point where legally, I have to tell you to stop drinking."

"Watch me," I hiss, spinning round on my stool. I'll just find someone else to buy me drinks if Kingsby was going to take the moral high ground.

I peer through the crowd, casting an eye over the tables filled with bright eyes eager to make a memorable night. I remember when that was me - a wide-eyed undergraduate, snout twitching for some tail and a good craft beer. It all seemed so natural then. Wolf and I went down on each other in the booth underneath the portrait of the white hart, giggling at the brass buttoned, haughty stag's expression as his tongue slipped inside my muzzle.

My lips tingle at the memory, so I bite them. In seven years I'd be able to say he'd not touched a single cell of mine.

Kingsby steps out from behind the bar, grabbing the spot that'd just freed up next to me. He wraps his tail about his waist as he leans towards me. He grins a toothy, mischievous grin, pushing a new drink across to me with his nose. A typical, gratuitous display he did for Twin Cities' nightlife.

I realise when I take a gulp it's only water.

"Stop trying to sober me up," I snap, pushing the drink away.

"I can help you, if only you would talk."

I shrug and push him off, tracking a pack of canines as they wander into the bar. I sniff quietly, trying to catch a whiff of their intentions. Deer aren't cut out for that sort of thing, especially in a crowded bar. I'll find out if one of them is gay the old-fashioned way.

I grumble, turning back to the fox.

"What good does talking do?" Even the simple mention of him made my tongue feel rotten, like chewy strands between my teeth. How could I even begin to describe it?

The black tips of Kingsby's ears flick towards me. He reaches out, touching my hand, delicate as a feather. A crash of glass at the other end of the bar cuts through the moment.

"I'll have to go clean that up."

Before the fox disappeared into the chorus of jeers and clapping, he tapped me on the paw. "Please, just stay right here," he pleaded, grabbing a cloth from the sink behind him as the fists started to fly. But the snarl that ripped from his muzzle was something else - in a second they were stumbling over themselves as the fox flung them out of the bar. The fact that Kingsby managed this feat didn't strike me as odd then.

In the commotion someone clutches me, and I quickly lead them on to caress my tail softly. They finish our exchange with a playful tug that spins my chair round.

I find myself face in the neck-ruff of a brown-furred canine. I sniff, seeking to dive past the sweet scent of his deodorant to the deep, primal need.

"I saw you eyeing me up as I walked in." He smirks and licks his lips. I nodded. Carnality doesn't need introduction.

Without a word, he heads upstairs, green eyes goading me to follow. I keep the black tip of his tail within sight, watching as it slipped behind the bathroom door. I hesitate, a lump forming in my throat.

Am I really this desperate? I swallow, pushing past the threshold with wobbly legs. The stalls are empty. He stands to the side fumbling about with his hair in the mirror, pushing up a tuft of headfur that kept flopping down onto his forehead. It's cute and slightly disarming. His eyes flicker across to me, but I wait for him to take the lead.

My playmate gets the idea, grabbing my tail as I turn to walk out on him for his lack of action. He thrusts me against the wall with his hips, a smug grin stretching across his muzzle as he pins me.

I lean back into him and press my muzzle against his chest, breathing in his scent. It felt wonderful to be so close to another guy again. Carnal desires danced crude designs behind my eyelids. I work my hands across his waist, up, underneath his shirt and across his back. He replies in turn, roughly, scratching me with his claws, nipping and nibbling my neck.

"Let's go right now," I whisper. He gives me a dirty grin, the kind that shows teeth. He runs that raw, pink tongue over the points, wrapping his arms around me. My tail twitches. He grinds against my hips, his claws digging into my skin as we back into an empty stall.

I hear the zipper as he pops open my jeans. I wrap my muzzle against his but our tongues refuse to grapple. He's not interested in kissing. Well, neither am I really. Canids are never great kissers. Grunting, he pulls me towards his hips, goading me to deal with that bulge of his. I feel my cock swelling already, squeezing my sheath.

Finally.

I take my hand and with deliberate slowness let it rest on the crux of his jeans. I coax the fabric - zipper now open. My nimble fingers creep in. He flinches ever so slightly as I give his sheath a playful tug, pulling the skin back for his knot to pop free - slick, warm, wet. I give him a firm squeeze and begin to shiver. I could already taste him from the air.

Colours dance behind my eyes, this is everything I remembered it to be. I turn and present my tail, letting my jeans fall to the floor. The sound of his growl as he gazes upon my hole makes me wild. I go to my base instincts, tail twitching, ready.

He takes his foot away, trying to close our open stall, but it's missing a lock. I tell him don't care though. I tell him to fuck me now. I tell him to fuck his thick knot into me. I want to believe desire is the only truth, and expel any lingering belief of love from me.

The stall door slams open, the sound a shock other than our frantic breathing.

"I told you to wait for me," Kingsby sighs, throwing a beer-soaked towel across the husky's face. Instead of fighting, he throws me into the fox's arms and bursts out of the stall, slamming the bathroom door behind him as I was left alone with the smirking fox.

"Charming guy!" He smiles, gathering me in his arms, pulling my jeans back over my hips. "Nice butt by the way." My fur bristles in embarrassment, but I say nothing.

"It's been decided. You're going home," he winks, swishing his tail. "Don't want you doing something you'll regret."

I bite my lip, trying to form a reply, but the world just spins around me. The fox guides me back downstairs, but all the while I'm fantasising, reminiscing, craving. Kingsby be damned. That guy's knot was about the size of a tennis ball.

"Who's going to cover your shift?" I ask, hoping he'd let me be. It didn't seem like I was in trouble at all anyway.

"Sheri's got it covered," he replies, waving towards the lemur at the bar as we stepped out into the cold night air.

"Kingsby, Kingby, King..." I rambled. There was something about the cold that made it all quickly rush to my head.

"You are drunk," the fox laughed, sniffing me. I know he can smell cock on my breath, but he keeps silent about that, carrying me to his car. Next thing I remember I'm slouched in the front seat, the fox trying to get my address out of me, but I'm far more interested in singing along to some song on the radio I think I recognise. Then I give in to the darkness.