FSE

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It's been another quiet night behind the desk; I've been working this show now for just over a month and tonight it comes to an end. Usually by now I'm bored by the performance, I know it off by heart. Each cue, each nuance, each fluffed line. Not this time, I'm captivated; the same way I have been since the first rehearsal, because of her.

She moves like nothing I've ever seen and I've been doing this job a long time, I've seen some of the world's best performers, actresses and dancers; none of them could hold a candle to her. She doesn't act, she becomes the role. The audience hangs on her every word, she dances and the audience is silent, rapt, captivated... As am I. My heart is in my throat, knowing that after tonight I'll never see her again.

She's a gazelle, her Equity name is Autumn; the posters advertising the last night show her at her finest; poised and refined, radiant and ineffable. The pictures aren't airbrushed, they don't need to be. She's as close to perfect as any single person could ever be.

I love her and I'm terrified by it. She walks past me in the corridors backstage and my mouth goes dry. I just smile. She smiles back and my heart races, hammering against my ribs like a caged bird, just wanting to be free. Her scent; jasmine, pear and something wholly her; it fills my senses and my head reels. I pray she doesn't speak, I think my words would betray me. I'm saved by the announcement that there's 5 minutes until the second act. I realise it's an hour until she walks out of my life for good.

The curtain falls, the catcalls die away. My heart is in my throat, tears burning my eyes. Last nights are always emotional but tonight hurt on a deep, primal level. Tomorrow will be a new show, a new cast. Life, like the show goes on; but I don't want it to. I want to capture this moment in amber, the colour of her eyes and keep it forever. I can't. Sands of time are running through my fingers, in moments it'll be quiet backstage and my heart will break.

I kill the lights; the stage goes dark, the auditorium empty. I carry out my work by rote, barely noticing the people around me, sets are broken and loaded, a flurry of activity howling around me that I'm completely detached from.

"Fox?" A voice cuts through the confusion; soft, clear and familiar. I don't register it as being directed at me.

"Fox?" A touch to my shoulder this time; I turn, and it's her. Professionalism kicks in before I can embarrass myself. She's asking if we can talk. She's going it alone with a new show and needs a lighting director, could I do it? I almost drop to my knees, thanking the very heavens for the providence, the merest chance to keep her in my life. I nod affirmative "Of course, I freelance here." I lie; at this point I'd give it all up. It doesn't matter. She asks me to meet her in a quiet bar for a drink, to discuss her plans. I nod, the date and time seared on my mind, a number stored in my phone. I could dance on air, but I make do with slamming the back of the articulated truck with the flat of my hand "You're clear to leave, it's all good!"

The night arrives. I'm prepared. I have my shit together; my portfolio is polished, I can show her what I can do, there's no way I'm going to mess this up. I'm there early, nursing a beer. Heads turn, I don't need to look up to know she's entered the room; she doesn't have to act to mesmerise. Every man in the room is spellbound, the breeze carries her sweet jasmine scent; I stand, I feel eyes boring into my back, daggers of pure envy as she takes a seat opposite me. She laughs, amused by my old-fashioned attempt at chivalry. I blush despite myself, but I think I see her pupils dilate just a little. It must be the light.

We get down to work, she talks runtimes and shows me a storyboard on a thin, expensive laptop; her face lit up ghostly pale by the screen, her eyes sparkling with humour and anticipation, she's proud of her concept and she's justified in doing so. I'm no impresario, and even I know this has award nomination printed over it, if not better. She needs little from me, she outlines a stripped, intimate stage, lights to accentuate shadow. I assure her it's not a problem, I show her examples of similar designs I'd executed in the past. She nods, asks pertinent questions. She knows her stuff, but she's looking distracted. I falter, stop. I take a quiet drink and just watch her, a flash of discomfort darkening her features. I open my mouth, but she beats me to the punch.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Not what I was expecting. I'd worked with so many actresses, but there's no way I'd forget her. I'm as captivated as that first night I saw her. I've thought about little else since. She's asking me to look closer. I don't need to, I see her every time I close my eyes, her flawless, beautiful form coalescing from the darkness behind my eyelids. No, scratch that. My imagination doesn't, couldn't do her justice.

She's pushing a photo across the table, two children bathed in golden sun, russet fur and sandy pelt cuddled up close on a park bench; angelic, grubby faces eating ice cream. In a heartbeat, I'm there. The day she told me she was going away, her family moving across the globe. I whisper no. It couldn't be.

"I promised I'd come back. Fox... I loved you then."

I was dumbstruck. I could only stare. She held my gaze, imploring me to say something, anything. Too late, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I never thought I'd see you again... There's never been anybody... Fox. I never stopped loving you. I still love you."

I take her hands and before I know it we're leaning over the table, her muzzle pressed furiously to mine, I taste her sweetness. Her agile, muscular tongue flits at my lips, over my teeth and curls around my velvet strap, I kiss her like my life depended on it, she's biting my lip. Everything becomes a blur. Work is hastily packed away, forgotten; bags slung on shoulders, drinks forgotten. A taxi journey to an affluent area of town, through the entire ride she stays pressed close. I feel her warmth through the gauzy layers of clothing and I pull her closer, I know this time I will never let her go. The hounds of hell couldn't pull me away. The taxi stops, she peels herself away from me, those amber chips of her eyes blazing, she's pulling my hand. Money is thrown to the taxi driver, how much I don't know. It doesn't matter.

A gate, a pathway, seclusion. She pushes me up against the door, she's biting my neck and I'm submitting, pulling her tight to me, I'm aroused to the point of exquisite agony and she knows it, she's whispering she needs me and I know it, I couldn't deny her even if I tried. Hands move under clothes, garments shed in the summer evening warmth. We're not going to make it over the threshold and it doesn't matter.

She pulls away, giggling, casting clothes off as she sprints, upturned tail bobbing through an archway and out of sight, a trail of clothes marking her route. My nostrils flare, her scent stronger with each dropped garment and I'm on the chase, shedding my own clothes with each bound. My thick, russet tail flags out behind me as I disappear through the archway too.

I'm in a meadow, the moon is full. I can't see her. The air is filled with the scent of honeysuckle and her. I hunt, tracking her scent; ears perked, I hear her giggle. I follow. I can't be more than a heartbeat behind her, but it feels like an eternity.

A clearing, bathed in ivory white moonlight; she's lying supine, her chest lightly heaving from the exertion of the sprint, her sandy brown pelt bleached white. She's naked save for the pair of feathers tied around her graceful, slender neck. She moves, stretching in an almost feline way, her back arching fluidly as she beckons me over. I take the invitation and the hint, a split second later I'm in her arms, muzzles and tongues entangled; hungrily embracing, nipping & biting. Our breathing synchronises, I take her very life essence deep inside me & she's moving, wordlessly signalling her need, insinuating her hips against mine, insistently grinding, rocking. My body cries out for her, wanting nothing but to give in. I growl soft and low, playfully. I tear myself away from her sweet lips and flit my tongue across her muzzle and down, trailing through neck fur and lower. My tongue brushes reverently across her nipples, nipping against the dusky, firm flesh. She squeals & grips my shoulders trying to pull me back up, her hips bucking harder, she's whispering, begging me but I won't be deterred from my prize. My muzzle is brushing the flat plane of her stomach, the scent of her arousal is almost overwhelming, I kiss her hips, delaying & teasing; she's lithe under me, squirming and thrashing like a live wire. I relent, my muzzle pressing, nuzzling into her mound; the sweet, earthy scent making me giddy, my tongue plunges, flits & curls, opening her up without a touch, she's wet, her honey running over my nose as I bump a little lower, then drag my tongue tantalisingly slowly back up, her begging given way to guttural, deep moaning. Her fingers are curled in my hair and she's holding me in place, her bucking erratic. She screams my name, "FOX!" and then the gush, her walls clamping over my tongue as I push her over the brink, her nectar flooding my tongue and I swallow like a parched man offered a sip of water.

She growls, thrashes, all of a sudden she's on top, her muzzle bearing down into my neck fur; I'm paralysed, arching up against her as she bites down and her hips are there to meet mine, my foxhood enveloped in sodden, velvet heat. She shudders, tensing. There's resistance & she slams down against it, she wasn't lying. She'd waited. I feel heat, wetness running down my shaft & smell the bright copper tang of blood. I was her first and she was mine. Her muzzle forcing itself against mine, she's kissing me; tasting herself on my soaked muzzle. Whispering the sweetest, filthiest nothings as she begs me to fuck her, my paws on her hips as I piston against her; matching her rhythm stroke for stroke, grind for grind; my knot is already forming & she's whispering she loves me as she pushes herself down against it, taking my all, squeezing me as hard as a fist as she rides out another violent orgasm, Her muzzle is back at my neck, she's begging me to cum with her, I'm trembling, so close.... So close. I feel her teeth against my neck and she's biting me possessively, my vision clouds and I feel my control slip, the fire in my loins too much to bear....

...A gentle shake, a soft voice and a kiss to the lips. My pulse is racing and I'm sweating, hotter than I've ever been. A soft, familiar voice is whispering, I struggle to make out the words. "Fox, wake up. You're dreaming... " A paw cupping my pre-sodden arousal.. "A good one too, by the feel of it..."

I open my eyes slowly, staring into a pair of playful amber eyes. My Autumn, my wife. She smiles as she pulls me atop her, my dream fading as I guide myself into her sex. She calls my name softly as we roll, moving as one, undulating & rocking. I can take it no longer, hands circling her waist as I pull her down over my knot; locking her against me as I cum for real, her walls milking me for all I'm worth. I'm trembling, taut and vibrating like a violin string. She's kissing me, soothing me, riding it out with me...

I love her eternally.