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Standard disclaimer:

This is a furry adult story containing gay males in sexual situations as well as explicit language and descriptions. No kids are allowed so this story is only for those who are 18/21 or whatever the age is at your legislation. If you are not of the legal age, you shouldn't view this story because you might lose your innocence. Also, by browsing this story you have done so by your own consent and wish to view such material. if you do not wish to view such material you should leave this site immediately.

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Hello, and welcome to the second part of my miniseries "Love Letters".

I hope you will enjoy this story.

If you like it or hate it, why not take a couple of seconds to comment, fav, vote, etc. or send hate mail, if you prefer. It will help me to become a better writer.

Cheerio!

This chapter is dedicated to Tank Jaeger, who gave a most heartfelt review of the first chapter, which made me to haul my striped butt over to the computer and finish this chapter off for publication.

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As before, a fair warning: This story contains frank medical descriptions in non-sexual situations, so if you're easily squicked, be careful out there.

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After our bloody movie night together, I found myself thinking about you more often than before, Dan. I would do the classic things...stare at the cell phone with your number already dialled, wondering how you'd react to a call or a text... whether you had enjoyed our night out...

...whether you liked fellahs...

I know, I know, I must've been such a starry-eyed puppy during my weeks of confusion. I would say hi to you whenever I happened to see you at the ER, and I do confess that my eyes lingered after you as I'd watch you and your partner push your gurney back towards your ambulance after another successful delivery. You were handsome, and professional, and beautiful, and never even seemed to flinch when you'd bring in the really bad cases as well.

Sometimes we'd text and go to have coffee on a suitable halfway point between our two jobs if we happened to get out of a shift at a same time. We'd sit down and eat an unhealthy meal that wasn't always a breakfast but it did most often contain a lot of greasy things, and then we'd talk and unwind a little. We had to get it out of the system, somehow, and us both being professionals and sometimes even involved in the same cases, it worked for us fine.

I have a recollection of you speaking to the doctor at a breakneck pace while still doing chest compressions on a car crash victim, your entire body taunt as you worked to keep whatever there was left of that poor fur's life still going. We worked on that fur for almost an hour before the ultrasound showed that he had suffered a torn aortic arch as a result of the huge impact forces of the car crash, and he had bled to death on the way to the hospital.

I saw you watching me through the window on the swinging door as I removed the heart monitor cables from the deceased fur's chest and clamped the chest tubes that had been pouring out blood from the young man's broken sternum. I saw you standing there with your gloved paws pressed tightly together.

I remember asking nurse Linda to take over and I left the trauma room, mechanically removing my gown, gloves and goggles into the trash bin before slowly coming over to you and tentatively reaching for your arm.

"He was practically dead on arrival, Dan," I told you, putting up my best compassionate face I had had to give for too many furs while giving out the bad news about their relatives and friends.

"It still could've been just a damaged spleen...," you muttered under your breath, still clenching your blood-stained paws closely together. "They might've managed to patch him up."

"It doesn't always work out like that," I signed daring to squeeze your shoulder lightly.

You snorted and growled, fiddling with your stained paws.

"There's coffee in the staff room," I told you. "You look like you need it."

Grudgingly you followed me into the small, dingy room where we had first shared coffee on that dark night months previously. I led you to sit down on the small couch and fetched us the traditional mismatched coffee mugs from the cabinet, pouring us stiff servings of "WORLD'S GREATEST DAD!" and "TOP 10 SIGNS YOU'RE MIDDLE-AGED". I crashed next to you on that couch and pulled my knees up to my chest for warmth. I felt chilly after breaking a sweat from giving chest compression for forty-five minutes, and I really was in the need of a shower and a change of scrubs.

"You want sugar in that?" I asked of you as I watched you simply hold your mug

"It's fine," you spoke absentmindedly, stirring the coffee with a plastic spoon before taking a deep sip.

You sighed and shook your head.

"You remembered the milk," you spoke, smiling.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Thanks, Speckle."

"Never mind," I told you, watching you over my closely held knees.

We sat in silence, swigging on our coffees. I wanted to put my arms around you and comfort you the best way I could, with a right big man hug, but I wasn't sure how you'd take such an approach, especially coming from a gay Dalmatian emergency room nurse. Even with my disinfectant-numbed nose I could smell your scent, and it was masculine and strong and sweaty, mixed with scrubbing alcohol, Latex, gasoline and talcum powder. All the smells of your trade were mixed with your musk and it won over the smell of the slightly stale coffee, and the stuffiness of the room. I felt my cheeks heat up and I had to avert my eyes from you.

Then you batted my footpaws with your thick bushy-tipped tail to get my attention.

"Dispatch to nurse Augustine, do you copy?" you spoke, and even made the "kssssshhhhrrrr" sounds of the radio going on and off by hissing between your grinning lips.

I kssssshhrrrred back at you and tipped my head so that my ears flopped from side to side.

"Yeah, I'm here, Dan."

"You didn't look like it...weren't you supposed to be cheering me up or something?" you spoke with a lopsided smile spreading your handsome muzzle.

"Sorry, drifted out for a while," I replied. "Fourth night shift in a row, eh? Cut me some slack!"

I complained playfully, throwing my head back before going for my mug again. It was a bitter brew, but had enough caffeine to send my blood running and perhaps clear my head a little bit. There was too much death and smell of vomit and gore in there at the moment. Too many reasons for confusion. Like...you...

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I have to read these words through again and I consider scrubbing them. What would you benefit of hearing my feeling strange and confused around you? I wasn't even sure if I was really attracted to you. I had done the straight crush thing enough times when I was teen to really be completely fed up with that bane of being a homosexual fur, and I truly didn't want to risk my heart being broken just a little bit more once again. Not especially after the disaster that became out of the double act of Ken & Speckle. Call me the cowardly doggie, maybe.

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Yeah, sorry, I better scribble over some of that crap up there. I was talking about how we ended up having a tail batting war on the staff room couch. Then we laughed so hard that we woke up Dr. Smithson who had been sleeping collapsed under a folded newspaper. The wolverine gave us a massive scowl and disappeared again under his paper cocoon. We couldn't stop smiling at each other. Well, at least I couldn't...you were smiling beautifully again.

How much is there to a smile? I think I could name all the muscles you needed for a smile back when I was in medical school to get my nursing degree, so I knew it was just the tugging of your lips back for whatever purpose the evolution had created it. It's just an expression, nothing different from baring one's teeth in a snarl or a snort.

I couldn't get enough of your smiles and your scent, even mixed with bad coffee.

I think the spell of the moment broke at that moment, too, because you put your mug away, stretched and told me that you had to get going.

"Maybe we could meet up somewhere later in the week?" I remembered saying almost meekly, and I remember how you scratched the side of your muzzle and considered my completely innocent-sounding suggestion.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," I remember you saying.

They were some of the most beautiful words I ever heard coming from you, baby.

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I'm sure you remember that we never got up to that hooking up business that week. I was already brushing up my head furs and trying to choose the nicest and least gay shirt to wear for another boy's night out when my mobile phone rang. I must've dropped my hairdryer from the shock, thinking it might be you calling. It was Nurse Carol telling me to get back to ER immediately since there'd been a pile-up on the highway after a truck jack-knifed during busy evening traffic.

I quickly sent out a hopeless text into your phone telling that I had to be at the hospital and rushed to get some work clothes on.

Once I arrived to the hospital it was all in a state of total chaos. As soon as I got my gown on, I was assisting with an endless stream of chest tubes, c-spine X-rays, peritoneal lavages and massive amounts of morphine being injected into the wailing patients. During those five, six mad hours I must've seen more open compound fractures, torn ears, broken noses and severed spines than during the entire past year of working at the ER. My colleagues and I worked relentlessly, not caring that our clothing became stained with their lifeblood and that the floors of the trauma rooms were filled with dirty rags and abandoned medical instruments.

I saw you across the hall, dragging a gurney down the crowded corridor while one of your paws operated the ambu bag on the patient you and your partner had brought in. I couldn't even wave at you because I

held four units of O neg in my paws. You disappeared around the corner on your way to the trauma rooms.

Your broad-shouldered form hovered in my sights for as long as I could keep you there.

It was a hellish night that seemed to go on and on. After the initial dash to get all of the worst injured to theatre or the ICU, there was the mass of the less badly affected who still needed our care. Our heroic measures changed into the less flashy acts of suturing wounds, setting smaller fractures, applying ice packs to bruises and serving warm soup and sandwiches for the great number of walk-in casualties who simply sat at the waiting lounge or lay on gurneys waiting to be seen by the staff. I remember glancing at the clock and seeing that it was already nine in the morning, and still it seemed that there was a large number of casualties still needing us.

We fuelled ourselves with coffee, doughnuts and sheer adrenaline, cutting away our personal feelings and simply setting onto the task. It was not glamorous. I wasn't George Clooney nor Anthony Edwards - I know you know which one I prefer anyway, baby, so you take the pick for my role model - I wasn't even a Dalmatian at that time, covered in stained surgical scrubs and wearing old lady-model orthopaedic shoes I had snuck from my locker during five minutes stolen for a breather at the staff locker room.

I am sure you can imagine the commotion that was brought on by the arrival of the next batch of relief nurses. We cheered, seriously, and even I threw my stethoscope in the air as a sign of jubilation at the fact that my surprise 14-hour-long extra shift had finally come to an end.

Our tired bunch made our way into the staff locker room, some simply collapsing on the couches to grab a couple of winks while many others jumped the cramped showers to get the grime of the night away from their furs. I simply grabbed my winter coat and took the L-train. I must've fallen asleep on my seat since I remember jumping up like a madman when the train stopped on the stop just before my own. I couldn't believe my luck for that and must have hobbled back home in a haze. I only just managed to get in and close my door before I collapsed on my couch, fully dressed in my winter clothes and simply laid there, crashed and spent.

I did manage to get myself to shower and drink a bit of milk to calm my churning belly and then got myself to bed and slept until I was woken somewhere near midday by my phone. It was you, sending a text to me. You asked if I was okay and I quickly typed:

_ Surviving. _

To which you, I think, answered:

Can I come over?

I remember staring at the simple words over and over again before I finally got my fumbling paws to answer the commands of my central nervous system. I quickly typed down my address and flipped the phone closed and then simply lay there until the beeps of the phone wracked my ears again.

See you soon :)

I still have that message stored on my phone, you know. That smiley almost made me cry with cuteness, as I imagined your big firelion's paws typing it out, just for me, Speckle.

In fact I must've stared at the phone and the silly smiley for so long that I almost forgot you were coming!

My spotted butt was hauled out of bed and into a bathrobe as fast as I could, and I hurried all around my apartment trying to do some last minute clearing up before you'd arrive.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you might think if you'd read this, the Dalmatian was trying to hide discriminating evidence from a visitor. You know how my apartment looked like, there wasn't anything gay in there, except for maybe one section of the DVD shelf, and the contents of one drawer on my bedside table, but hey, you wouldn't been looking in there, would you? Unless you are so used to rummaging through people's apartments while searching for cubs who have crawled under the bed to hide from a danger...well, maybe not.

Anyway, I had barely gotten the coffee maker going and dug out some chocolate chip cookies from the cabinets before the doorbell rang and I had to go and open the front door for you. I waited expectantly and as soon as there was a soft knock on the door my heart jumped into a bout of tachycardia while I took off out the safety chain and the triple locks before you finally stood there.

I remember that you wore something green, but I can't remember if it was your knit winter hat or your gloves. Your winter coat was grey, that much was sure, and it made your golden furs stand out even better than your usual paramedics' uniform or the firefur's thick asbestos jacket.

I..I think I mumbled you a hello and asked you to come in. You had never been around so you did snoop around with your eyes while you came over, checking out the premises, so to speak, and I must've been talking something silly about coffee and cookies and just getting out of bed and all sorts of inane things. You were all tired smiles, though, and told me that my apartment was nice and that I looked like crap. I wasn't about to contest that claim either, so I seated you on the table and served mumbled coffee and cookies.

Even before we were halfway down to our mugs I could see that you were as tired as I was, and we had gone past the limits of the help coffee could render to us. After I practically fell asleep sitting up and woke only to the splash of my cookie dropping into the coffee mug from my slack paw, you told me that I ought to get to bed and that he ought to come and visit later. You even said that you wanted to make up for the night that we had lost because of the accident. I remember smiling to you very tiredly and telling that I'd like it very much, and I thanked you for coming over even if you practically were in the need of a stretcher yourself.

I can't remember which one took the first step...it seriously is a haze, but I remember how good your arms finally felt around me. I was closed into a manhug coming from you, the great firelion who now had me, the lithe nurse, so close. It felt so natural...so beautiful...to have my head rest against your chest and hear your heart beat firmly.

If we were a sappy romance novel form Harlequin Publishing, I'm sure that by now we would have been exchanging soul-shattering kisses and declaring love for each other and feeling the Earth move as we'd make passionate purple prose love together in silk sheets under a canopy bed while fireworks went off and...

Well, in real life, as you surely remember, we just held that hug for a while and I had my paws around on your back and you gave me a squeeze and ruffled my ears and wished me a good rest. I looked into your eyes and in the aforementioned novel I would have been swooning into your strong firefur arms while you would have carried me, the blushing boy, out of danger and into the sunset while my old life would burn into ashes behind out backs. On planet Never Even In Your Dreams, I felt my maw moving and suddenly my ears head my voice asking you to stay over on the couch since you looked like you might collapse into the snow and freeze to death and come haunting me.

Maybe it was your exhaustion or my horrible humour accentuated by zero blood sugar, zero REM sleep and too much caffeine, but in a moment I was fetching - NO, not silk sheets and rose petals and KY lube - but a spare blanket and a pillow from my bedroom. You took them from me with another beautiful smile that made my face feel an awfully lot hotter than usual, and I spoke a very blushingly good night for you and then spied you for just a moment as you set down the pillow and blanket and laid down on my couch. You were so tall that your hindpaws were against one of the armrests, and it looked adorable.

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Do I come sounding off like some sort of a stalker here, beautiful? Or a paw fetishist? Anyway, I realize I have written again a heap of very disjointed things here, and I do wonder how you would take all this. I still feel that it needs to be spoken, to put everything that ever happened to us into a perspective. I think we deserve that, baby.

I think I will have to write more.

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Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoyed it, why not to take just a moment to comment, vote or fav?

Cheers!