FSE

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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 latest chapter!

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*

Peter made a face as he downed another set of pills and washed them down with a big gulp of water.

"Sorry about this," he snorted as he put his green box back into its place inside the drawer and then joined me on the table again.

"I don't mind," I gave him a gentle smile. "That's not even so much compared to your old load, if I remember right."

"Yeah," the cougar snorted. "You're right on that."

Peter wiped his maw with the folded Kleenex and then grabbed his coffee into his paws, squeezing them firmly around the mug. I took a sip from mine and watched the cougar settle down.

"So, you...are you still on the old cocktail?" I asked him as matter-of-factly as I could.

Peter scratched his neck slowly.

"Pretty much, yeah," he replied. "Tacrolimus, MMF and prednisone to keep the kidney happy, and then there's...vitamin D and vitamin C to keep colds away, and there's some diazepam for cramps, and when the head acts up, some anti-cholesterol meds, calcium for osteoporosis and of course there's the Zoloft, to keep myself from going fully wonky."

I simply nodded.

"Was your wall update about the drugs?" I raised my brow. "You had something about serums there, and I remember that serum's important."

"Oh, yeah, that," he nodded. "They have to keep checking my blood often to keep the meds on the right dosage, and so that I'm not busting my liver or my kidney. Everything checked out alright."

"That's good to hear," I smiled.

"It's okay, I haven't had to change them in a while. I'm in good balance."

"Are the...head meds doing okay?" I asked, trying to sound casual about it.

Peter kept scratching his neck while his free paw still stirred his coffee.

"Yeah...you know how they work...keeps things...mellow, I think is the word for it," the cougar mused. "No big highs, no...no great falls."

"Then they must work well," I agreed.

"I suppose so," he snorted. "Silly, in a way."

"How come?" I couldn't see the humor in his statement.

Peter scowled, showing the tips of his teeth, but there was no growling, so I supposed he was just being his own expressive self.

"Well...," he just kept on scratching, "I went through mom and dad's divorce, college, three years walking around with a tube hanging out of my belly, constant malaise, a bout of OCD and major life-altering surgery and I just took it all with a smile, and then the classic happens and BAM! This cat's on desperate housewife pills."

He snuffled hollowly.

I didn't feel like laughing.

"But they work, right?"

Peter's scratch extended over to his shirt-covered chest now, and he just kept going, it seemed.

"I told you that they do," he huffed. "And yeah, they do, I guess they do. Won't stop me thinking about George but...yeah, I can think about George."

I decided that the best thing to do was to take a sip of coffee and just let him talk if he wanted. Peter drank from his coffee and scowled, and scratched some more.

"It's almost six months, you know."

I nodded slowly.

"I was...thinking along those lines, yeah."

My tail looped around the leg of the chair as I sat there and wondered on just how fragile my old friend was despite his brave face.

"Yeah...pretty much yeah."

The cougar finally stopped scratching and put his paw down to the tabletop. The silence felt heavy between us, but it wasn't such an unusual feeling, considering what our latest topic had been. It was understandable, and needed in a way, I think.

"Want a biscuit?" the cougar spoke to me suddenly, rapping the plastic box on the table. "I put them out especially for you."

How could I say no to such a comment?

"Thanks," I reached for the box and pulled it over.

My claws came handy on opening the airtight seal and also in picking out a chocolate chip cookie from the box. I placed it on top of an awaiting Kleenex and then dutifully closed the box. Peter followed my every move with keen eyes as if I was doing something highly unusual. He was a furwatcher, though, I knew that, he had always had very...curious eyes. Always looking at people, trying to figure them out, I had decided early on during our acquaintance. I supposed I was the prime subject now, so I let him ogle.

I drank my coffee instead.

"Things still going well in that...brothers something place?"

"The Albrecht Brothers, yes, yes, it's all fine," I smiled. "Pay's a shit but it's fine. It's almost better than the newspaper."

"Do you still work with that woman who floods your wall with updates about her dates...what's she called again...a cougar..."

"That'd be Marge," I chuckled after putting my mug down to the table. "She's got this new boyfriend...umm...Goggy."

"Goggy?" Peter flicked his ears.

"Apparently he's artistic like that," I shrugged. "Works as a short order cook in some student place."

Peter snuffled.

"I used to love student places... don't really eat out anymore, though. Too many people sneezing into the food."

My ears flicked.

"Is that the OCD talking, or the...tacro-something talking?" I suggested.

The cougar sitting in front of me chuckled.

"It's me talking after I had the strep throat in my knee," he spoke, dead-pan.

"Ouch," my ears flattened.

Peter's just flicked.

"It wasn't so bad, considering that it could have been the flesh-eating bacteria or something like that."

I shuddered naturally. Peter seemed to take it in the stride for he was already drinking his coffee again.

"So...ahhh...you went to see the movie?" I was damn sure that we needed a new subject.

"I did, yeah, "he replied. "I admit that I wore a surgical mask to do it, but I did it."

"That's great!" I smiled.

"The movie wasn't, but it got me out of the house."

"Small mercies," I tried smiling again.

"Really small," Peter flashed his teeth.

"You should come to check the old books section at the shop one day," I proposed. "You'll love it. We've got beautiful old coffee table books and old encyclopedias and all sorts of nice first editions."

Peter snuffled again.

"You know that I'm a little bit paranoid over old books, Row-reeh," he flicked an ear at me.

"Because of so many furs fondling them?" I tried.

"That's...tolerable," Peter smirked, and it almost reached his eyes. "It's the spores I'm more concerned about."

"We could go after hours, and you can wear a surgical mask," I knew I was stretching it a bit already.

"Thanks, Rory," the coffee-sipping cougar replied.

"I wasn't joking," I said quickly.

"I know."

Peter picked up the Kleenex and wiped his paws again. I couldn't help but notice that his right paw seemed to be shaking a little. That I didn't want to talk bout. I took a dainty bite of my biscuit.

"I know you want to ask," Peter spoke suddenly, watching me with his clear eyes.

"Ask what?" I replied, feeling I had been caught staring at his paw.

"Whether I'm still seeing the shrink," Peter rumbled. "Yeah, I do."

"I...uh, I wasn't really thinking about it," I blushed.

I really wasn't. Maybe Peter wanted me to.

"It's helping, though," he scratched his chin now. "Talking, I mean, to a stranger. Strangers are good for talking."

"I suppose so, I guess."

"I don't have so many bad days."

"That's good to hear."

My tail twitched in its looped position.

"Thanks for making this a good day, Row-reeh," Peter smiled.

I smiled back, genuinely.

"I'm glad I can help."

"You're helping pretty good, "Peter snuffled and shook his head quietly.

Coffee was again drunk in silence while we got used to each other's presence again. The mixture of rubbing alcohol and bleach masked Peter's natural musk, so that part of getting to know each other had to be foregone. Otherwise, yes, it was good old familiar Peter, or at least the Peter I had known since he went to see a doctor because of a nosebleed and was diagnosed with some sort of a kidney disease which Latin name I could not remember.

"It's...uhh, good coffee," I lifted my mug as if I was making a toast.

"George tried to make me drink d-caf but he never got his way on that," Peter chuckled.

The mention of the name caused a freezing sensation in my belly, but I decided to be brave, for Peter's sake.

"I guess he was wise saying that," I mused. "Caffeine's not so good for you."

"I was weaned off morphine once, I don't think that a little bit of good old caffeine is much compared to that," Peter chugged down from his mug as if to prove that he could take it.

"I don't think I have any comparable experience to go by, I think."

"Good," Peter declared. "Glad you like the coffee."

"I'm a total junkie to it, "I confessed with a snuffle, "I drink anything that has the name "coffee" in it."

Peter chuckled.

"You haven't changed in that since college," the cougar smirked. "I don't think I ever saw you without a coffee by you."

I snickered and flicked my ears happily.

"I had a Starbucks takeaway mug in my paw when we first talked."

Peter's brow raised.

"You remember the first time we talked?"

I smirked.

"Don't you?" I leaned over the table.

"I can't say I do, to be honest. Maybe I was drunk," he chuckled.

"No you weren't," I shook my head and flicked round ears at him. "You were complimenting Stacy Adderfield's pink skirt and pink backpack combo. Stacy remembered me from earlier and called me over when she saw me and tried to set us up immediately. You thought my beret was ridiculous."

Peter tugged on and edge of his ear.

"Stacy...Stacy...ah, yeah, Stacy, who got pregnant to...ah...whatsthename..."...he waved his paw briefly in the air.

"Rodrigo!" I rumbled. "The jaguar with the killer buns."

Peter's smirk widened.

"And the pants to fit, if I remember right", he winked.

"Geeks shouldn't be allowed to be that hot," I agreed, feeling my tail flick at the happy memory of the unattainable hottie we both once knew.

"You were pretty good without the beret," Peter noted and flicked an ear.

I snuffled.

"Why does it always come down to the beret?" I pouted a little.

"Because it was a stupid beret," Peter purred as he laughed.

"Was my gay chic waistcoat as stupid?" I regretted my fashion extravaganzas from the time when a little bit of labeling felt like a good idea.

"You know I always preferred what was under the waistcoat," Peter shrugged. "So did...Leonard...yeah, that's what the fox was called."

"Yeah, that was him alright. He studied geology," I rubbed my chin. "Really enthusiastic about sediments. He had a rock collection."

Peter chuckled.

"That'd make for the best pickup line ever," he smirked. "Wanna see my rock collection?"

I couldn't help but snuffle.

"Or he could have asked whether I wanted to see his really big pickaxe."

Peter's claws rapped against the tabletop loudly.

"Point for team Row-reeh!" he slapped the table.

"Cheers," I chuckled.

"I went out with a Peter during that time," my coffee companion noted.

I cleared my thought to get a few cookie crumbles out before I spoke.

"Oh, yes!"

"You called him Big Peter and I was the Little Peter for a while."

"Well he was a head taller than you were."

"He was a deer, of course he was, when you count the antlers."

"I remember that Big Peter hung a mistletoe to one of his antlers and walked around the Christmas party and leaning over people with a meaningful look," I grinned.

"Ohh, yes!" Peter beamed. "He had a little bit of too much eggnog I think."

"Rodrigo made the eggnog, I think he put a whole bottle of rum into it."

"Explains the headache and waking up between your Leonard and Big Peter," Peter's ears flicked.

"We weren't together anymore at that point, though," I reminded him.

"Oh, right."

I took a final sip from my mug and licked my lips once I was done. Peter still had half a mug left, I spied. He didn't have a biscuit.

"So, is the movie still on?" I smiled.

"Sure, if you want to," he replied. "I didn't get to start it yet."

"I should've brought some popcorn."

"I've plenty, don't worry about it," Peter spoke quickly. "It's not like I expected you to bring anything but yourself. That's quite enough."

"Okay."

"I'll cook a bag of your own for you, I - "

"You don't do well with sharing food, yeah," I snuffled.

"Yeah."

*

Fifteen minutes and some rubbing alcohol soaks later we sat on Peter's couch in his small living room, eyes fixed on the large television screen where Drew Barrymore was making popcorn and chatting with a strange voice on the phone.

It felt a bit strange to sit there, stiffly on our own sides of couch with my bowl of popcorn between my spread knees and my tail safely tucked around my leg so that I didn't accidentally flick it around and usurp Peter's fragile balance. The remote controllers were on the small coffee table next to a spray bottle of rubbing alcohol and a box of wet sterile wipes.

"It's been ages since I watched this," I spoke through a pawful of popcorn in my maw, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Drew was starting to freak out.

Peter was idly scratching his thigh.

"I got this trilogy pack thingy...three for one, I think," he mused.

"Nice bargain."

I licked my salty lips and kept watching, ears flicking slowly.

"Amazon's great for agoraphobics," Peter snuffled.

My ears flattened as I watched his profile, his gaze concentrated on the television. The light was playing on his white cheeks.

"Must be," I couldn't do anything but agree, and eat some more popcorn.

"I go to the university once a month to do personal reviews with Professor Hartnell," Peter spoke out of the blue after a couple of minutes of silence except for the incessant screaming on the movie.

"Oh?"

"Yeah...do a little wander around, too, usually. Check out all the old places."

"Except the student diner," I suggested wryly.

Peter's laugh was a ringing one as he batted the side of the couch with his heavy tail.

"You're starting to catch on, Row-reeh!" he nudged my shoulder with his elbow, and that was the first touch he had given me throughout my visit that was already entering its second hour.

"Thanks," I smiled and returned the nudge with my own arm.

Peter just snuffled.

"Does it count that sometimes I press my nose against the glass and watch the normal furs go on eating there?" the cougar grumbled.

I felt like scratching my neck for the prickling I felt there.

"You always liked watching furs," I replied.

"I still do," he nodded. "Maybe I should get one of those telescopes and put it over there..."

He waved a paw towards the window that had the curtains drawn over it to keep the sunlight from ruining our movie experience. I chuckled.

"Are you sure that isn't too stalkerish?"

"I already have HEPA filters in my air conditioning, how can I get more over the top than that?" the cougar cocked an ear at me.

I rubbed knuckled over my cheek and nodded.

"Gotcha..." I mused.

On the television screen, Woodsboro kids were trying to get into grips over the brutal slaying of their schoolmate. Peter munched on some popcorn.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, bringing perked ears and a batted tail from Peter.

"Huh?" the cougar rumbled.

"Oxygen tent!"

"Whut?"

I turned to face him and tilted my head off to the side and smirked.

"To go more over the top than the filters," my tailtip tickled my thigh as it flicked. "To do that, you should sleep in an oxygen tent, like Michael Jackson did."

Peter rolled his shoulders and chuckled.

"Well I do have a positive pressure system in the air conditioning...that almost counts, I guess..."

"What's that?" I tempted fate.

"The air conditioning keeps the ambient pressure here higher than outside, to keep the air flowing out when I open the door. It keeps airborne pathogens away."

"I've gotta take your word on that."

"I learned that from reading The Hot Zone and got my equipment from some insane survivalist firm. They tried to sell me a personal nuclear bunker but I decided that was a bit much."

"I think I'll have to google that book," I chuckled empathically.

On screen, Courteney Cox was acting like a total bitch.

"It's about as cheerful read as The Stand," Peter scratched his lowermost belly, just above his hidden sheath.

My tailtip batted heavily against my own leg.

"I remember your Stephen King phase back in college."

"I remember your Thomas Hardy phase," the cougar counter-attacked. "Nobody could quote Tess of the d'Urbervilles like you, Row-reeh, especially when you were drunk."

"I wrote my dissertation on it, of course I did," I flicked proud ears on my feat of being a pro on a book nobody under the age of 70 outside the English department had probably ever read, let alone heard of.

"I nodded off on page three," Peter smirked toothily.

"Ha-ha!" my ears flopped down and I pouted in a rather fantastic manner.

Peter's tail sneaked around my calf in a loose coil and gave my leg a mild squeeze. I turned my eyes from the movie to look at him now, and found not profile, but his face again. He wasn't watching the movie either.

"Peter."

"Row-reeh."

The tail coiled around my leg tightened its hold, though it still remained light. Peter kept scratching his thigh slowly, widely splayed fingers and a little bit of claws in the action.

"You just can't stop scratching, can you?"

Peter's ears flicked erratically.

"It's the pills, it comes and goes during the afternoons," he explained. "Today's been a bit itchier than most."

His paw kept moving slowly up and down his thigh.

I swallowed.

"You want a paw with that?"

"It's okay," he shrugged.

"I want to help," I said, holding his gaze.

Peter sighed.

"If you want to...could you...wipe your paws first?" the cougar husked, ears flattening.

"Sure," I grabbed a wipe from the plastic holder on the coffee table and spread the cold disinfectant all over my paws until I smelled like a doctor's office and my eyes felt like they might start to water.

I tossed the rumpled piece of alcohol-soaked tissue down to the table and then placed my paw over Peter's thigh. He looked at me slowly as he placed his own paw over mine and squeezed it mildly. I knew it had to be a great feat for the male sitting next to me, close to me.

Peter wasn't smiling anymore.

*

Stay tuned for another chapter soon!

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Cheers!