FSE

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The sun was a particularly nice shade of lavender today, wrote K.M. Hirosaki in his journal, and opened the door to stroll out into the soft purple light. It made for a nice change, all things considered. The fur on the foxes who lived next door shone a soft magenta, up on their redwood deck, as they paused in their morning fucking to wave down.

"Good morning...Hirosaki-san," panted Keffy, who was pressed up against the railing with his maroon member dangling through the wood slats, lavender-tinged sac swinging below it.

Polkin had taken his chocolate-brown paw away from Keffy's erection to wave as well, smiling down around the other fox's shoulder. "Enjoy your walk," he said to the otter, and then gathered up his lolling tongue and licked up Keffy's soft black ear, threading his paw through the wood and grasping his lover's member again.

"Thank you!" Hirosaki bowed to the couple. "Please, don't let me interrupt. But do let me get out of range. I did not bring my umbrella, and Keffy looks about ready to explode."

"I'll make sure he waits," Polkin said, just teasing the other fox with strokes up and down, not grasping. Keffy moaned something and tilted his head back, wriggling as Polkin nibbled his ear again.

"Don't torment him too long." Hirosaki chuckled and walked on down the soft grassy street, though he kept his ears cupped back to listen to the vulpine moans that the convenient wind carried to him. It was so nice to see youngsters enjoying themselves. He adjusted the front of his patterned kimono, enjoying the breeze and walking slowly so that he got to hear the faint echoes of Keffy's yelps of pleasure before they died away completely.

They were almost too happy, those two. Hirosaki wondered if he were a bad otter for speculating that Keffy might have been cheating on Polkin down at the Curly Tail the other night. "Am I speculating, or hoping?" he said to the empty air. They just weren't very interesting, being happy together.

Now, Billox the lynx, he was definitely cheating on his boyfriend, and with a girl, no less. Hirosaki saw only one Segway in the driveway as he passed their little cottage, but resisted the temptation to look at the bedroom window when the curtains blew wide. He picked a curly blue flower from their garden out front and tucked it into his headband. There were no cars nearby with reflective windows to show him how it looked. He slid his paw into his pocket and grasped his pen, then let it go. The café would have a mirror.

Across the street and down one house, on the porch of the row of brownstones whose old dignity never failed to charm the otter, a young skunk fingered his sheath while rocking gently back and forth on the wooden swing. Hirosaki turned in his direction, paw raised.

"Hello, Taqui," he said.

The skunk smiled and lifted his growing erection from his lap, trailed his fingers over it, and let it drop again. "Mornin'," he drawled.

A short jaguar pushed the brownstone door open with his naked rear, both paws holding tall glasses. "Cocktail time," he said, presenting one of the glasses to Taqui. He raised the other in Hirosaki's direction, with a wink. "It is okay, compadre," he said. "It is a Bloody Marie."

"Bloody Mary," Taqui corrected, drinking from his. "You make a killer. Try one?"

He also raised his to Hirosaki. The otter bowed. "I will decline, thank you. I would not wish to intrude."

He turned, but not before seeing the smile on Taqui's muzzle as he turned to the standing jaguar beside him and drew his tongue up the dangling sheath in a lick as long and slow as his speech.

At the end of the block of row houses sat Mrs. Miniver's, whose flowers covered her two-story brick house in brilliant rainbow blossoms. Today, the sun turned them a light brown--not the best light for yellow roses, he decided. Also, her chimney had switched sides again. He clucked his tongue and turned left at the crossroads, by Carow and Sons Sex Toy Emporium (demonstrations daily). The Emporium, like most of the businesses, still slept. The only building on First with its doors open was the café.

It always perked up his step to walk through the summery patio into the Café A Poil. He always closed his eyes to inhale the rich coffee smell, and then sorted through the scents to see who else was present. Today he was early: only the owner was around, a sleek arctic fox in his blue summer coat, lounging at one of the tables and sipping from the soymilk green tea latte that Hirosaki could smell from the entrance.

"Morning, Halix," he said.

The fox smiled. "Morning, Hirosaki-san."

The otter walked over to the table. "May I join you?"

Halix inclined his head. "Of course."

The chairs today were rattan, but with some give to them. "I prefer the velvet," he said as he sat. "Jona still sleeping?"

"Wolves need their rest." Halix brushed a paw along the chair. "I rather like this. Spartan without actually being uncomfortable."

"I have never held that deprivation makes an experience more enjoyable." Hirosaki traced a circle on the spotted marble table with his claw, pulling a coffee mug out of it when the circle was complete.

Halix grinned. "Coffee today?"

Hirosaki's cup filled with dark, steaming liquid. He watched the steam coil lazily in the light from the window. "Thank you." He sipped from it. "I can never duplicate your coffee."

"Thank you." Halix sipped his own drink. "Can't see what you see in the stuff."

"Is this Made?"

The fox nodded. "I'm out of the real stuff, for now."

Hirosaki sipped again. Remarkable. He traced spots on the table. "What are you working on this morning?"

Halix's gaze drifted to a point over the otter's shoulder. He took another sip of his chai. "Chet's story, still, and a new one. Pair of rats. They're in the brownstones next to Taqui. Did you see them?"

Hirosaki shook his head. "I saw Taqui. Playing with himself on the porch again. Ah, youth." He glanced at Halix's sleek curves and the furry ridge of his sheath.

Halix followed the otter's gaze, then looked back up. "Your neighbors were fucking too, weren't they?"

Hirosaki allowed himself a small chuckle. "They are foxes, and attractive ones."

"Hm." Halix sipped his drink again, his eyes now bright and alert, searching Hirosaki's.

The otter took off his glasses and polished them on his kimono. He could still see the gleams of reflected light from Halix's brown eyes. "Will Cyril be by later? I thought I would let him know that Mrs. Miniver's chimney has switched sides again."

"He hasn't got your eye for detail," Halix said. Despite his neutral tone, his eyes remained fixed on Hirosaki's.

"Nor your feel for sensuality." The otter raised his cup in a small salute, taking another drink.

"What are you working on?" Halix's voice was even, as if the fox were afraid of upsetting Hirosaki.

"I am not sure." The otter blew gently over his coffee, sending the steam leaping away from him.

Halix put down his cup. "Don't do it."

Hirosaki looked over the rim of his glasses at his friend. "Blow on my coffee to cool it?"

The fox set his own cup down and folded his paws together. "You know what I mean. Marco. Don't call him."

"I can assure you, the thought had not crossed my mind."

"Ha." Halix leaned back in his chair. "Whenever you get yiffy, if Cyril isn't around, you call up Marco."

"You speak as though I have no self-control," Hirosaki tried to make his voice sound wounded. In fact, he realized, the big, soft paws of the snow leopard would feel good on his shoulders, warm as the sunlight that currently rested there.

"Prove me wrong." Halix grinned.

"An eye for detail can prove a curse when it sees only brushstrokes and misses the painting."

Halix leaned forward and pointed at Hirosaki's groin. "Cock-blindness is no better."

The otter let out a strangled laugh. "Did you just invent that word?"

Halix wagged his tail. "Like it?"

"I may have to appropriate it." Hirosaki set his coffee down.

"Be my guest." Halix flicked his ears. "Taking off?"

"I'll return later. I think I would enjoy a walk along the beach."

Halix picked his cup up again. "There's a nice one down behind the Mirage. For the moment."

"Yours?" The fox nodded. Hirosaki rose, straightening his kimono. "Then I will happily accept your suggestion."

"I'll be using it for the rat story later, but feel free to enjoy it." Halix looked up and down the patterned silk. "By the way, you're seeing me naked, aren't you?"

Hirosaki looked down the fox's slight chest, to his sheath again, then quickly away. "You should not have named the café what you did if you did not want people to picture you "a poil."

"Your French accent is terrible." Halix grinned. "And I am naked. I just wanted to know if you would be embarrassed when I pointed out that you were seeing me that way." He pointed at Hirosaki. "Don't call Marco."

Hirosaki rolled his eyes. "If Cyril does make an appearance, please let him know where I am."

He tuned out Halix's smug snort, stepping around the other tables in the café and out into the lavender morning. The dance club was just getting going, pounding techno beat clashing with the 80s pop from the massage parlor across the way. Further down, alt-pop twanged through the lobby of the elegant jungle-themed casino whose doors breathed air-conditioned cool onto Hirosaki's fur.

He had no desire today to watch Halix's impressive collection of pretty young gamblers. Around the side of the casino, a new wooden boardwalk sloped down and around a garden full of yellow and red flowers. Hirosaki paused with one paw on the varnished wooden railing and squinted up at the sun. He took out his journal.

As the boardwalk sloped down to the beach, an ocean breeze kicked up, countering the blazing sun. He slid the small journal back into the pocket of his kimono and stepped down the wooden planks. Rounding the corner, the ocean breeze caught his muzzle, lifting the fur, cooling it where the hot sun had hit it, filling it with the aroma of salt air. For an arctic fox, Halix could always be counted on to like a little too much heat.

Hirosaki let the breeze lift the edge of his kimono, just enough to tease his sheath underneath. He would've sworn he hadn't been thinking of Marco before Halix had mentioned the name, so now, if he thought of the snow leopard's powerful body and soft, firm paws, well, it was Halix's fault. That didn't prevent him from enjoying those thoughts, though.

When he rounded another gentle curve and the expanse of dazzling lavender came into view, he thought at first that he'd taken a wrong turn. Then his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the ocean beyond the bright sand. The sand was like snow to his lithe, supple form as he bounded from dune to dune. He didn't write the phrase, but it caught in his head, the rhythm catchy with each step of the staircase. The sand (step) was like snow (step) to his lithe (step) supple form (step) as he bound (step) ed from dune (step) to dune (step). He got through two and a half repetitions before his paws touched down on the sand.

Knowing Halix, there would have to be a gazebo, at least. More likely there'd be a small hotel with changing rooms on the beach, and a bar where patrons could sit on the patio in relative quiet. He shaded his eyes and spotted the small structure a few hundred yards away. The soothing purrs of the ocean kept him company while he strolled toward it, paws clasped behind his back. Halix had done a good job. Though Hirosaki was a river otter, he loved the smell of the sea and the baking sand, and of course, the fish.

He tossed the fish back and forth between his paws as if it were a shiny, slippery mouse. He didn't write that, either, but it brought back the other phrase. Hirosaki let them bound back and forth as the small cluster of buildings came into sharper focus, and the small of fried fish and sweet dough joined the ocean and sand.

By the time he could read the hand-painted "Funnel Cakes - Fish & Chips" sign on the booth next to the changing tents, his paw was resting on the journal in his pocket and his sheath hung heavy and full beneath the silk of his kimono. The fox behind the counter of the booth--shirtless, and no doubt naked--waved cheerfully as Hirosaki strolled by. His stomach growled for a basket of fried fish, but he kept going to the changing booths, and the pile of beach chairs beyond it.

Sitting there and staring out at the ocean, he fingered his journal. The presence of Marco was so palpable now that he could feel the snow leopard in the changing booths, watching him, waiting for the right moment to spring out. But he'd promised Halix, and of course, last time there had been that little issue.

Of course, that couldn't happen if Hirosaki didn't allow it, could it? What if he wrote Marco as more biddable, more...more sensible, this time? He could do that. It would be a simple matter of the right adjectives. He took out his notebook and wrote the lines.

Footsteps crunched in the sand behind him, accompanied by the metallic slide of a chair. Marco set up his chair next to Hirosaki's and carefully stretched out, muscular arms settling behind his head. His tail brushed across in the sand with a soft swishing sound.

The otter admired the rise of the broad chest, the sunlit slope down to the flat stomach, the rounded sheath just showing pink at the tip, the powerful thighs stretched out to long, wide paws. He let his own kimono fall open, and closed his eyes. Warmth bathed his ivory front and his quickly rising erection, but he kept his paws on the arms of the beach chair. The sun-drenched morning eased onward, marked only by the rhythmic susurration of the waves.

Hirosaki cracked one eye open. Marco was looking out to sea, apparently paying him no attention. He adjusted his chair unnecessarily, simply to create a sound. At that, Marco's gaze flicked his way. "It's a lovely beach," he said.

"It's Halix's." Hirosaki felt pleased by the compliment anyway. It reflected well on his taste.

As if reading his mind, Marco turned toward him. "But you chose it."

Hirosaki nodded. "And we have it all to ourselves, for now."

Marco craned his head back. "The fox at the greasy spoon counter doesn't count?"

"He's too far to see anything." A minor buzz of irritation, like the onset of a sun-caused headache, set in behind Hirosaki's temples.

The snow leopard's soft grey eyes met his. "The privacy is nice. I'm less self-conscious about sunbathing nude. And the new light is flattering." He looked down his ivory front, tinged with lavender, and the deeper purple highlights brought out in his greyish-blue fur.

"You look beautiful," Hirosaki said. He angled his hips toward Marco, raising the far knee slightly.

Marco smiled, without moving. "So do you, Hirosaki-san."

The otter looked around the empty beach again. He sat up in his chair with a soft hiss and stood, looking down at the snow leopard. Marco looked peaceably back up at him, tail switching back and forth and drawing a fan in the sand. He wasn't any more out of his sheath than he'd been when he arrived, despite the fact that Hirosaki was standing over him with a fairly full--well, half-full and shrinking--arousal of his own. He knelt on the beach chair, straddling Marco's hips, and buried his paws in the soft ivory fur of the snow leopard's stomach.

Marco tilted his muzzle. "I'll do whatever you want," he said, "because you're the writer. But I don't think this is a good idea."

Hirosaki stilled his paws. "Of course it's not a good idea," he said, almost snapping.

Marco nodded. "Because you're the writer."

"I know." This time he did snap.

"Just so you know." Marco brought his big, soft paws around to rest on Hirosaki's hips. "So, what do you want me to do?"

Hirosaki stared down into his eyes. "It's not you," he said, and got up.

He walked toward the ocean, taking the journal out of his pocket again. If Marco wasn't going to be Marco, he should just make him go away. The cat lying back there in the beach chair wasn't Marco. He was like a neutered version of Marco. And he, Hirosaki, was the one who'd cut his balls. He could just make him go away. Another line or two would take care of that. Marco got up and padded quickly back to the hotel. Or: Marco dressed and hailed a taxi.

The problem was that then his memory of Marco would be as this soft, pliable character. That wasn't Marco. He flipped his pencil around and erased two words from his journal, two choice adjectives.

He didn't even hear the footsteps behind him. All he knew was that one moment he was looking out at the ocean, and the next he was flat on his stomach, staring at lavender-white sand and the froth of a retreating wave, pinned by two hundred pounds of warm, purring snow leopard. An unmistakable hardness rubbed alongside his tail as similarly hard arms wormed their way around his chest to hold him tightly. Marco's voice, the real Marco, purred in his ear. "How's my favorite writer this morning?"

"Missed you," Hirosaki panted. He ground his hips into the sand, his arousal returning full force. The soft sand against his exposed length didn't scrape; it felt warm and enfolding.

"We'll see about that." With seemingly no effort, Marco slid off Hirosaki and flipped him over, spreading the silk kimono around his naked body. The snow leopard grinned and ran a claw up the inside of Hirosaki's thigh, making no attempt to hide where he was staring. "Mmm, you did."

The otter felt his arousal jump in response. His heart quickened. "And it looks like you missed me," he said, staring at the hard pink length that hung between Marco's knees.

"Of course I did." Marco licked his nose and grinned. He pressed one paw into the otter's stomach, kneading the fur and muscles there.

Hirosaki gasped. Marco's smile widened. He curled one paw around the otter's sheath and lifted it, bringing his lips to the end of the otter's shaft and teasing it with just the tip of his tongue. "How...many...licks," he said, punctuating each word with a small lap of the tongue, "before...you...beg...me...to...stop?"

Each wave of pleasure fed on the last, mounting quickly as he became more and more sensitive. Hirosaki pressed his paws into the sand, his body tightening and shuddering. Marco kept licking, each lick the same, but each one hotter than the last. It became unbearable long before any climax would be reached. "Ahh!" Hirosaki panted. "Please, please!"

"That's a good otter." Marco said only that before pulling Hirosaki's entire length into his muzzle, lips sliding easily around it as his tongue washed along the taut, hot skin. Hirosaki groaned, closed his eyes, and let the smooth up-and-down sensations pull his arousal up and let it slide back, like the waves behind him or Marco's purring in front of him. Broad, soft paws cupped his hips while the snow leopard's muzzle worked, containing his squirming and holding him down despite his growing need to arch his back and thrust his hips up.

It lasted a nice, long time. Marco's paws teased the right spots on Hirosaki's hips and stomach, spreading the sensations out from his shaft so he didn't peak too soon. His muzzle, smooth and slick, worked with an even rhythm. He knows me as well as I know myself, Hirosaki thought fleetingly, though of course, Marco only knew him as well as he was written to know him.

The sun had passed directly overhead by the time rational thought became impossible. Hirosaki dimly heard the ocean and felt and smelled the sand, but all of that was overwhelmed by the pounding need building inside him, pulled forth with maddening, delicious languor by Marco's paws and tongue. At last he cried out, tensed from head to toe as his body gathered itself for the crest of the wave, and then yelped, throwing his head back and convulsing. Marco's tongue lapped up the spurts of his seed eagerly, his lips pulling and sucking, paws holding the otter firmly as his smaller body bucked against the kimono and the sand beneath it.

"Ahhh! Ahhh." Hirosaki eased his body down from its arch, allowing himself to collapse into the soft, welcoming sand. Arms spread to their fullest, he closed his eyes, focusing on the wash of sensations, the warmth both internal and external.

Marco's muzzle slid off his erection, giving his hips a short bounce of pleasure. Reluctantly, Hirosaki opened his eyes, looking into Marco's. "Thank you, Marco," he said. "You are as wonderful as always."

"Of course I am," Marco grinned. "And you should know."

Hirosaki reached for his journal with his right paw. "I will see you again...er..." He was having some trouble locating his pocket. He felt around the fabric of the kimono, tugging at it to locate the journal by weight, but it was all flimsy silk and nothing was dragging on it.

"I'm not quite finished," Marco said. Before Hirosaki could react, the snow leopard had flipped him over onto his stomach.

"No, Marco," he said. He tried to turn back over, but the cat's weight was already on top of him. Where was that cursed journal? Oh, he'd been writing in it, and Marco had tackled him, that's right, and he'd never put it away. It had probably fallen from his paws.

"Yes, Marco," purred Marco in his ear.

"Now, listen, if you behave, you'll get called up more often," Hirosaki said, stalling while his eyes darted across the surface of the sand, looking for a small black leather cover.

"Mmm, yes, I suppose I would." Marco's hips pushed Hirosaki's tail aside. As pleasant as the thought of such a tryst was, Hirosaki was not particularly in the mood right at the moment. He pushed back, but Marco had enough leverage to keep the thick otter tail to one side. Hirosaki felt the warm pressure of the other's shaft, probing under his tail. He pulled his legs together, only to have them gently forced apart.

"Marco," he said. "Marco, next time, perhaps..."

"I rather think this time," Marco said pleasantly. "But if you aren't really in the mood..."

"No, exactly that." Hirosaki tried squirming to one side, finding himself restrained there, too. Part of him was enjoying this game, exactly as Marco knew he would, but he couldn't quite give in to it until he found his journal. Being without it was making him rather nervous. "Next time, I promise."

"Well, perhaps we can do something about that." Marco's weight landed heavily between Hirosaki's shoulders. His hips moved slowly from side to side, pushing his tip firmly against the otter's tail hole, while his long arms stretched out in front of Hirosaki's muzzle, into the sand. His paws came into view, holding a pen and small black book.

"How did...give me that," Hirosaki said, his eyes fixed on the book, the familiar small tear in the cover confirming its identity beyond any doubt.

"Just a moment," Marco rumbled.

"Do not...Marco, do not open...do not write in that book. That is mine." He struggled harder, but even though Marco's paws were occupied with opening the book and positioning the pen, his weight was enough to keep the otter immobile. Hirosaki stretched out his arms, but fell a good half-foot short of the necessary reach. He could only watch as Marco's paws moved the pen across the paper.

The snow leopard wrote about two sentences, and then snapped the book closed. "Now," he murmured into Hirosaki's ear, "how do you feel?"

Apprehension burst into a different sort of tension, his body aflame with the sudden need for Marco to be deep inside him. "The book," he panted, "the book, Marco, oh, God, give it to me, I need it."

"You do, eh?" The paws disappeared from view. A moment later, he felt a warm slickness applied under his tail. "You need it?"

Hirosaki pushed at the sand now, trying to force himself back onto Marco's shaft. "Yes, oh Lord, yes."

"You know I'll always give you whatever you need," Marco purred. He wrapped his arms around the otter's chest and slowly wriggled his shaft forward.

At the first stretching of his tail hole, the wave of satisfaction was so strong that Hirosaki couldn't restrain the groan of pleasure that bubbled up from his chest. He sank his claws into the sand and fixed his eyes on the lavender reflections on the ocean, muscles straining to keep himself still. The snow leopard hissed above him, a slow exhale as he sank onto and into the otter. Hirosaki felt every inch of the long shaft sliding through him, each motion a small jolt that rippled through his skin and fur, spreading the flame through his body rather than quenching it. "Oh, God, Marco," he squeaked.

Jaws clamped down gently but firmly on his ear. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmm," Marco purred. His hips met Hirosaki's rear, and then began the slow, equally tortuously delightful process of sliding his length back out.

Hirosaki's claws scrabbled at the sand. He heard himself making moaning sounds under the crash of waves. Even if he'd wanted to stop, he couldn't find the part of him that was making the sounds; it seemed to exist as a separate entity whose purpose was solely to feed ecstatic charges to the rest of his body. Marco's hips pushed his body down into the sand, let up, pushed down, let up, each push accompanied by the warm slide of the snow leopard's long, hard shaft into him, each pull out like a winding up of anticipation for the next thrust.

Waves rushed up to within a foot of his nose, retreated. In the otter's ear, Marco's purrs grew louder and rougher. He thrust in hard, until his hips pressed snugly against Hirosaki's rear, and pulled out only halfway before sliding in again. Pulled out, thrust in, pulled out, thrust in. The rhythm quickened along with his growling purrs, as his arms tightened around the otter's small chest.

Hirosaki closed his eyes. If he'd thought the previous orgasm was bliss, he was wrong. That had been nice. This feeling, this fire that consumed his whole body, that made him mewl and pant like a kit, this was climax. And he wasn't even finished yet, though with every thrust he thought he would be. He was climbing a mountain, looking down on his previous peak so far below; he was soaring on a hot thermal wind; he was a creature of light and passion straining to escape the bounds of earth before he burst.

And burst he did. Marco lifted him half off the ground, slamming into him and growling out the music of his climax directly into Hirosaki's head. The otter hung suspended by the muscular grip and then, without a paw being laid on him, felt the pulse of orgasm begin in his groin and explode through his shaft, spattering his kimono with seed, as though Marco were coming through him. His hind paws pushed against the sand, bracing his body as wave after wave of ecstasy coursed through him.

He barely realized when Marco let him go, only dazedly understanding a few moments later that he was face down on his kimono, that his stomach was wet and sticky, and that Marco was gone. Slowly, with arms as drained as the rest of him felt, he pushed himself shakily to his knees and looked around.

For the moment, the beach was empty. Even the fox at the fried food counter had disappeared. But the buzz of conversation made its way slowly through the soft rhythm of the surf to Hirosaki's ears. He gave himself another moment before rising, pulling the kimono from his fur and letting it drop. He reached automatically for his journal, remembering a fraction of a second after his paws did that he no longer had it. He brushed at his stomach fur and then dipped his paws in the ocean. It wouldn't hurt him to go naked, seeing as how most everyone else was. He certainly couldn't put the kimono back on, and he had no way to clean it or get another one.

That had been amazing, he thought, but then again, that's how he'd written Marco. What troubled him about it was that Marco had written something that had turned Hirosaki into a panting otter-slut. Granted, that had partly been responsible for how incredible he'd felt (and still felt, though the feeling was slowly fading), but there was something a little off about it, something artificial. Was that, he wondered, how his characters felt? Is that how Marco felt?

No, that was silly. His characters had no idea of how to act when they were not being written. They just...went away. Except for Marco, who was off doing something with Hirosaki's journal.

The otter sighed and looked around the empty beach again. Halix was going to be upset. That couldn't be helped now, though. He took a step, and his legs held up, so he took another one, following the sound of conversation up the sandy beach, leaving his kimono behind.

Rounding the corner of the changing tents as he trudged back up the beach, the voices he was hearing grew louder. He looked up at the small hotel and saw a pair of rats on a balcony, the shorter one dressed in a white t-shirt and cutoff jeans, the other dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt. They stood close enough together that he could see the intimacy of their conversation without hearing any of the actual words.

Halix's rat couple, he remembered. He leaned against the support of the tent and watched the taller one's paw brushing the shoulder of the shorter. They seemed to be happy. Halix's couples often were.

He looked around the beach again. The fox was back behind the fried food counter, eying him. Hirosaki slid around the corner of the tent, out of view, before he could remember his resolution not to be self-conscious. The problem was that there was nothing on the beach to see in that direction. So he looked back up at the hotel, where the rats were nuzzling each other.

They turned, as he was watching, in response to a sound in the room behind them. Hirosaki knew what he would see next, as surely as if he'd written it. Marco, looming over both of them, advanced on them with a smile Hirosaki could see from two stories below. They backed up against the balcony railing, tails flicking. For a moment, they paused in a tableau that Hirosaki couldn't help but note was artfully composed, Marco standing behind and between the two rats, whose paws had sought out each other and were clasped behind the railing.

Then Marco moved like quicksilver, in one movement grasping the shorter rat's cutoffs and yanking them down. He knelt and applied his muzzle to the bare groin, and if that weren't enough to tell Hirosaki what was happening, he heard the rat gasp and saw his head go back. The taller rat took a step toward him, but Marco kept him at arm's length while his muzzle bobbed up and down. His arm was doing more than just holding the rat away, Hirosaki saw after a moment, because the taller rat's jeans slid down his hips and Marco's paw kept moving much as his muzzle was.

He shook his head. Halix was going to be very upset. If only he were an otter, he could let little things like this go, but foxes, and arctic foxes particularly, were, in Hirosaki's experience, more tightly wound. Which made them more fun to release, but in these circumstances, that probably would not be an option.

Hirosaki considered calling up to Marco, but he was certain he'd be ignored. From the tents, he found a small path that led around the side of the hotel. It took him a while to get around the hotel, mostly because he couldn't keep his eyes from the scene on the balcony. One of the rats was on the ground now, nose poking through the railing as Marco slammed into him from behind. Hirosaki's own rear pulsed in sympathetic memory. The other rat's tail flicked through the railing as Marco's muzzle plunged back and forth at his crotch. Marco was, Hirosaki reflected as he finally lost sight of the balcony, a rare individual who could orally service someone without being submissive in the slightest.

Halix had done a nice job with the front of the hotel, an ornate archway with gold metalwork around the name "The Oyster Bed." The large wooden doors stood open, welcoming him into the large wooden-floored lobby.

"Help you, sir?" said the tall wolf behind the desk, whose short-cropped fur and muscular chest were on full display. The name tag around his neck read "Herman."

Hirosaki shook his head, then changed his mind. "Yes," he said. "Can you tell me where the rat couple is staying?"

Herman shook his head. "I'm afraid we can't give out that information, sir. If you have a name, I can ring the room for you."

"No, no." Hirosaki glanced toward the elevators. "I think I remember where they are, thank you."

He walked toward the back of the hotel and through the door marked "Guest Rooms," and found himself back on the beach, skidding down a small slope of scrub grass and sand back to the changing tents. At least he could scold Halix for not paying more attention to the interiors of his buildings.

Moans and squeaks filtered down from the balcony; when he looked up, he saw the trio in the same position as before, only now the rat getting it from Marco had his paws stuck through the railing too, and the same ecstatic expression Kiffy'd had earlier that morning. Unable to resist, he stepped back for a better look, and saw Marco's head back, taking the other rat in his mouth with both paws on the slender rear. The bottom of the snow leopard thrust fluidly into the rat below him, while his tail waved sinuously behind him.

The sight was compelling enough to keep Hirosaki staring long past the time when he should have gone back into the hotel to find a way up. If Marco had found it...but of course, the snow leopard had his journal. Hirosaki balled his paws into fists, staring up as the bottom rat squealed and arched his back. A moment later, Marco growled, and the other rat squeaked and grasped the railing with a paw.

"Hey," said a voice behind him.

He turned to see the fox behind the fried food counter, gesturing him over. Hirosaki obeyed slowly, keeping an eye up on the trio on the balcony. Marco hadn't looked over at him yet.

The fox grinned as he came closer. "Hi," he said. "I'm Marty. If you're feeling a bit, you know...you could always duck back here."

From this vantage point, Hirosaki could see that the fox was indeed naked, and half out of his sheath. He shook his head. "Thank you, but..." Up on the balcony, Marco was leaning over and looking right at him, a satisfied smile on his muzzle.

"Hokay. Looked like you might be a bit, uh, lonely, is all." The fox pointed with one brown paw at Hirosaki's sheath, which the otter only now noticed was showing pink again.

"I'm fine," he said. "Thank you." Marco was brandishing the journal.

As soon as Hirosaki took two steps toward the hotel, Marco opened the journal, licked the tip of his pen, and began to write. Hirosaki broke into a run, but he hadn't even made it halfway before a balloon dropped from the sky, picking up Marco and taking off again.

A balloon! Hirosaki snorted. Just the kind of showy detail typical of an amateur. He watched the bright red and yellow balloon soar over the beach, heading inland toward the main street. On the balcony above him, the rats were arguing.

"You never sounded like that with me," the one was saying.

"You were pretty eager to let him have his way with you," the other replied.

"Let him? Did you see him?"

"Oh, I saw him, and I saw you see him."

Hirosaki walked back toward the fried food stand, quashing the pangs of guilt he felt at the argument. Marty was scraping something on the griddle behind the counter. His ears perked up as Hirosaki returned. "Changed your mind?"

Hirosaki shook his head. "I was just wondering whether you have a bicycle or some other mode of transportation I might borrow," he said.

Marty's ears folded down. "Nah, sorry," he said. He poked around behind the counter, and held up a piece of wax paper folded around a steaming pastry. "Funnel cake?"

The otter started to decline, until he noticed the hopeful look Marty was giving him. "Thank you," he said, taking the hot cake. Marty shook powdered sugar over it as Hirosaki held it. "I would love to stay," he said, "with such an attractive fox. If I did not have a pressing engagement elsewhere."

"Oh," Marty said, putting the sugar back down, "I understand." His ears had come back up. He held out another container. "Strawberries?"

The funnel cake was good, the sugar and strawberries sweet enough to counteract the grease of the dough. Another thing Halix could be counted on, besides steaming hot weather, was good food. The heat didn't bother Hirosaki so much now that he was naked, though it did make the trudge back up the slope to the street more arduous. He was panting when he reached the top, and the sugary dough taste in his muzzle was not helping his thirst. He thought about stopping in the casino, but it wasn't exactly a clothing-optional establishment, unlike the café. And the café was out of the question until he'd resolved the Marco issue. So he walked along Main Street looking for a red and yellow balloon.

He heard the evidence of Marco before he saw him. The balloon must have been disposed of; the snow leopard was on the porch with Taqui, the jaguar lying apparently spent next to them. Marco was plunging into the skunk with the same enthusiasm he'd shown with the rat (but, Hirosaki thought, perhaps not quite as much as with him, earlier), and Taqui, on paws and knees, was responding with the same ecstatic twisting and squealing.

They're supposed to be happy together until Taqui's disease takes hold, Hirosaki thought, striding towards the porch. He would have to redo entire chunks of the storyline now.

Marco didn't spot him until he was ten yards or so away. "Hello...writer..." he panted, teeth gritted. Taqui scrabbled at the porch, eyes rolling, moaning.

The black book was not on the porch, nor on the small table where the glass of iced tea remained, half-drunk and forgotten. There was clearly nowhere Marco could be concealing it on his person. So Hirosaki held out his paw, open. "My journal."

"One...one moment, please." Marco leaned down and took the skunk's ear in his teeth. With a loud groan, Taqui bucked up against the snow leopard, whose paw directed the spray of seed from the skunk's shaft onto the porch. He'd barely finished before Marco slammed his hips against Taqui's rear, growling in what was becoming a very familiar release.

Hirosaki folded his arms and waited patiently. Taqui slid into a black-and-white puddle next to the jaguar. Marco pulled his dripping shaft free and staggered to the edge of the porch, where he sat and began to groom himself. "Now," he said, "what may I do for you? I will warn you that even my impressive stamina appears to be exhausted for the moment. As lovely a sight as you present," he paused in his grooming to slide his damp paw up his retreating erection, cleaning it, "you can see that my body is not prepared to take advantage of it."

"I want my journal back," Hirosaki said, ignoring the fact that his body was actually sending him unmistakable signals that it was ready again.

"Of course you do," Marco said.

Hirosaki waited patiently, but the snow leopard merely continued to lick his paws and brush them over various portions of his anatomy. "Where is it?" he asked, exasperated.

Marco stopped in mid-lick. His eyes traveled upward. "I must have left it in the balloon," he said. "Silly me."

"In the..." Hirosaki had to force himself to close his jaw. "It'll float for days, landing who-knows-where...you had no right to do that."

"And who gives you the right to play with our lives?" Marco went back to his calm grooming.

"Just because you couldn't think of anything to write," Hirosaki began, at which point Marco stopped licking his paw and cut him off.

"I thought of plenty of things to write. I got you, didn't I? And I made that balloon. You just don't know what to do without your precious book."

Hirosaki folded his arms and allowed himself a small smile. "It's all right, Marco. I wrote you to be a lover, not a writer."

"I could be a writer." The snow leopard sat up straighter. "I just chose to stop messing around with people's lives."

"Of course you did," Hirosaki said. "Tired of it so quickly, in only an hour. How noble of you."

"It is noble." He closed his eyes and angled his head, posing like some antique statue.

"Only," Hirosaki said, "not so noble to come here and disrupt other people's lives with your desires, hum? Why did you not just write a partner for yourself?"

Marco glared at him. "I did not want to bring someone into this world purely to satisfy my own desires. I like the thrill of the chase."

"That's how I wrote you," Hirosaki said.

"That's how I am." Marco stood, towering over the otter.

Hirosaki nodded. "That's how you are because that's how you are written."

"I am me!" Marco strode quickly off the porch, so fast that Hirosaki thought the snow leopard meant to grapple with him. But Marco stopped a yard away, paws on his hips. "You just described me, called me up."

"Sometimes it feels that way," Hirosaki allowed. "But I write the words."

"And why do you write your companion?" Marco said. "Why do you not find someone in the world already?"

Hirosaki stepped back. "There are people in the world I spend time with," he said. "But every now and then, I crave...well, you."

"How flattering," Marco said. "Did you ever pause to consider my feelings?"

"I wrote them," Hirosaki said. "If you don't like them, I'll rewrite them." Saying that brought an odd twinge, as he remembered the surge of lust Marco had inspired in him, the unnatural undertone to it.

Marco laughed, pointing up to the sky. "You'll have to find your book first."

Hirosaki scanned the sky, but there was no trace of the balloon. "You're going to come with me to find it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because it's the only way I can be sure you'll stay out of trouble."

Marco extended the claws on his upturned paw, examining each one as though it were a naked male otter. "And why would I care about staying out of trouble?"

Hirosaki showed his small, sharp teeth. "Because if you don't come with me, I'll rewrite you as a eunuch."

Marco's claws snapped back into his paw. He glared. "You wouldn't."

Hirosaki shrugged. "I can always write myself another distraction, can't I?"

They stared at each other, neither one budging until Marco sighed and stood up, rubbing a paw down his sheath to cup his sac. "I've grown rather attached to the boys," he drawled. "Fine, lead on."

Hirosaki felt a small knot of tension unwind. One hurdle overcome. "Why don't you tell me which direction you let the balloon go in?"

Marco waved vaguely behind the brownstones. "But you can't even see it anymore."

"Of course, you weren't watching the balloon for long." Hirosaki looked at the sleeping skunk and jaguar and the mess on the porch. He sighed. "Come on, let's get going."

Behind the brownstones, the ground sloped gently down to a grassy hill (he made a mental note to add small backyards when he got his journal back). Marco followed, kicking at clumps of grass as they walked out into a large, silent meadow spotted with small purple flowers. Fog crept in around the edges, and it had the feel of the emptiness of undeveloped, untouched country.

His fur tingled, as it always did out here, with the call of possibility. He found it only mildly frustrating that he wasn't able to mold that possibility effectively; the serenity of the meadow, the curling wisps of fog, the oddly regular pattern of the purple flowers, and the rhythm of his footsteps put him in a relaxing, creative state of mind. He only missed the silk fabric of his kimono. Rubbing his fingers along his sleek fur, though enjoyable in other ways, wasn't quite the same.

"How far are we going?" Marco asked presently.

Hirosaki turned. The row of brownstones had disappeared. "You're the one who let the balloon go in this direction," he said.

"I don't even see it."

The otter shook his head. "We'll see it eventually. If you wrote about it, it's still around."

"What if someone else wrote it out of the world?"

Hirosaki narrowed his eyes. "Nobody else would know about it. How do you know there are other writers here?"

Marco blinked. "I don't know. I just do."

"Well. Nobody else knows about it, so I don't see that happening." He noticed then what had, consciously or not, prompted Marco to stop them: the light from his lavender sun was fading. He realized as though it had just set in that he was actually rather tired. "We can stop here for the night."

"I'm not that tired," Marco said, but he sat on the grass anyway.

Hirosaki sat cross-legged, feeling the cool earth against his fur. It would never get so cold that he'd need a blanket, not here, anyway. Cyril had a wintry neighborhood somewhere on the other side of town, a sheltered valley with a ski resort, where Hirosaki went on the rare occasions he wanted to be cold. He suppressed a yawn.

"You can go to sleep." Marco was leaning back, looking up at the violet-and-brown-streaked sky. "The sunset's pretty, all purple like that."

When he leaned back like that, his chest and stomach made a graceful curve that led Hirosaki's eyes right to the heavy sheath below them. He let himself look only for a short while, then lay back, straightening his legs and looking for the first star. His own sheath weighed on his belly, a comfortable and familiar weight, just there, not compelling.

He crossed his arms behind his head, listening to the soft rustling of Marco arranging himself on the grass. It was nice, he thought, to be here with someone else, even if there was nothing for them particularly to look at or interact with, and even if Marco was more or less a single-track-mind companion. He had to have depths, didn't he?

A point of light appeared in the sky, then another. Hirosaki pointed to them. "Stars are coming out," he said.

Marco leaned over and brushed Hirosaki's sheath. The touch sent shivers through him.

"Not now," he said.

He felt Marco's withdrawal. The grass rustled again as the long feline body stretched out and turned away from him.

Hirosaki sighed. He wouldn't have minded another romp with Marco, but he didn't need Halix to remind him that that was a bad idea. His body was quiet, the burning compulsion from the beach just a memory. The tingling under his tail brought a smile to his lips. As unnatural as it had been, there'd been something thrilling about the passion and urgency of it, like riding a roller coaster that hurls your body around out of your control.

He watched more stars appear, waiting for fatigue to overtake him. Instead, the memory of sex on the beach with Marco grew stronger, pulsing from his sheath to his tail. He focused on the stars, but found himself angling his hips upward against an imaginary lover as the burning need grew stronger. His claws sank into the grass. Was it his imagination, or did the ground feel softer than it had a moment ago? The grass was getting thicker, or the dirt looser. But no; he was imagining it, because he was pressed so hard against it now that it was giving more.

Hirosaki clamped a paw across his muzzle, stifling a moan. No matter how much he felt the desire, he shouldn't call Marco again. He couldn't. Look how much trouble it had led to before. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, aware that he was fully erect now. Calm, he told himself, relax, but nothing he did eased the knot of desire in his sheath, nor the hunger for fulfillment that was a palpable heat under his tail. Even the cool breeze seemed to stroke his sensitive areas, making his body squirm harder. He made another noise despite himself, a moan that forced its way through his throat and teeth.

Marco rustled beside him. "Something wrong?" he purred softly.

"No," Hirosaki gasped. "Go...to sleep."

"But how will you sleep?" Marco said. "All...pent...up."

Hirosaki felt his presence, then a touch that was so feather-light he thought it might be just the wind. The next touch, a light brush of fur along his shaft, jolted him so much that he drew in a sharp breath, claws digging into the ground again. "I'll be..."

Marco's paw traced a line around his tip, causing his protest to trail off into a tense gasp. He couldn't stop his hips from pressing up against the finger. "You squirm very nicely," Marco said, as calmly as though he were complimenting Hirosaki's earring. "You'll be what? Happy to have me help you? Or thinking about me all night long?"

"Please," Hirosaki forced out. "Please."

"Mmm." Marco sounded pleased. "But 'please' what?"

Every stroke of his fingers along Hirosaki's shaft felt like an electric charge. "Please...stop teasing."

Marco lifted his paw. The relief, as cool as the breeze, was only temporary. Hirosaki's need returned, burning more fiercely than ever. He was aware of Marco's presence hovering over him. The tension of the moment only fed the fire in him. He knew Marco was waiting for him to ask, knew just as surely that he would explode before he would give in again. With every passing moment, that metaphor seemed more and more likely to become literal.

Well, he could at least take matters into his own paws. That wouldn't help with the need under his tail, but maybe getting rid of the one would alleviate the other. It wasn't like Marco couldn't see his condition anyway. He wrapped a paw around himself, suppressing a groan of relief in his throat, and began to stroke in quick, desperate jerks.

"Tch," Marco said. Hirosaki's small paw was enfolded in long feline fingers and lifted away from his body. "You should let me take care of that."

Before Hirosaki could muster an objection, Marco's paw had cupped the base of his sheath, and the warmth of the snow leopard's tongue washed over him. He shuddered and reached up to bury his paw in the soft fur of Marco's shoulder, all objections fled from his mind. Each stroke of the tongue felt as though it were washing up his entire body. Finally, he opened his eyes again and stared up at the sky full of stars, which pulsed in time with his arousal.

The pulsing lights gave him the feeling that the world was part of him, with every breath he held and exhaled. The rhythm matched the licking on his straining shaft until Marco paused, suspending the world. Hirosaki held his breath and then made an incoherent squeak as Marco squeezed his tip between two warm lips and curled that soft tongue around it.

The stars rotated lazily over his head as Marco tightened his lips and sucked, sending sparks of delight through all of Hirosaki's extremities. His paw gripped Marco's shoulder, as steady as his hips were trembling, passion building up in him with every soft lick. A single shooting star crossed the sky. Hirosaki dug his other paw into the ground and arched his back, feeling himself so close, so close that the next lick would send him over the edge, or the next, or the next, or surely this one...

Marco stopped again. He slid a paw around Hirosaki's aching erection and purred, nuzzling lower around the tight white sac. "Don't stop," Hirosaki gasped out.

"Mmmm." Marco breathed under the otter's tail. He barely had time to register the warm, damp breath before it was followed by a soft tongue pressing gently into him. His need there, almost lost in the licking, reawakened with a fierceness that made Hirosaki whine, as much at the bliss of the licks themselves as at the certain knowledge of what was coming after.

Indeed, Marco waited only until Hirosaki's tailhole was good and slick before lifting the sleek hips. He straddled Hirosaki's thick tail and positioned himself to slide underneath it. "Are you sure--"

"Do it!" Hirosaki snapped, his voice high with the tension of his arousal. He thrust his hips back as much as he was able.

Marco's paws slid up his sides and his shaft slid smoothly into Hirosaki, stretching him as nicely as before. The long hard warmth sliding into him sent Hirosaki's body into the air, the stars circling his head. Marco thrust in and pulled back out, obviously eager himself, though Hirosaki could barely process that knowledge. All he knew was that the world was turning around them both, that the stars had descended to encircle them as Marco mounted him, that the closer they pressed, the greater the tension in his body, and when two bright stars came close, looking directly into his eyes, Marco buried his shaft all the way inside and Hirosaki's poor tormented body finally sang with release.

The stars glowed as bright as daylight. The two nearest him spiked vertically and sank into blackness compared to the sky behind them. His own moans reached his ears, his paws grasped Marco and pulled the other's body tightly against his as he twisted and shuddered and emptied himself onto his stomach in bursts of seed that reflected the light of the stars and lay shimmering wetly on his fur.

He lifted his head from the grass weakly. Marco was just slowing his thrusts, his tongue lolling out. Hirosaki lay back and spread his arms on the grass, looking up into Marco's eyes and the field of stars behind them.

Marco slowed and then stopped, pressing all the way in and crouching over the otter. His smile looked odd, tense somehow. "Liked that? Good, huh?"

"You're always good," Hirosaki murmured.

"Then why don't you like me?"

Marco's voice was as low and rough as a growl, without the menace. Hirosaki lifted his head again. Marco's tail swept back and forth over his. "What do you mean?" Hirosaki said.

"You're always trying to get rid of me. You threatened me."

"Get rid of you? I called you here."

"For a quick fuck." Hirosaki's ears flattened, but of course it was just the kind of language Marco used. "Then that was it."

Hirosaki tried to look down meaningfully at where Marco's erection was still buried inside him. "You haven't really shown that you wanted much else."

"This is the only time you want to be with me," Marco said.

"That's not true." He said it automatically, until the thought filtered through his slowly processing brain that actually, possibly, it was.

Marco read his expression. "You see?" He pressed down harder.

"That's what I wrote you to do," Hirosaki said, squirming. The pressure under his tail reminded him of something else. "Speaking of which, I'll have my book back now."

Marco's eyes narrowed. "It's in the balloon," he said, but his paw moved to his side before falling back to the ground. He pulled his shaft partly out, backing off of the smaller otter.

"It isn't," Hirosaki said. "You just wrote in it to make me want you, the same way you did back at the beach."

"You wouldn't have wanted me at all, otherwise." His paw flicked again, to something at his side that Hirosaki couldn't see. He tried to reach for it, but Marco leaned forward, pinning him again.

"Please, Marco. Give it back." He tried to sound reasonable.

The snow leopard's muzzle stopped inches from his nose. "Why did you write a character you hated?"

Hirosaki went very still. Marco's eyes, wide and guileless, held his. "Hated?" he said slowly.

"I saw how you looked at that skunk and jaguar. So scared I would ruin them, or corrupt them somehow. And the rats--"

"The rats aren't mine."

"They're your friend's. You didn't want me to go near them. Like I have a disease or something."

"It's not--"

"If I have a disease, you gave it to me!" Marco was almost shouting in his face.

Hirosaki folded his ears back. "You don't have a disease," he said.

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted you all to myself." It spilled out of him without any thought.

Marco drew back and held his breath. "Liar," he said weakly.

Hirosaki shook his head. "Halix told me not to call you. It's not good for us to be together."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Hirosaki sighed. Marco felt so real: the paws on his shoulders, the weight on his hips, and of course, the magically still-hard shaft warm inside him. "Because we're from different worlds. We don't...we can't..."

"We can," Marco insisted, underscoring his point with a wriggle of his hips.

Hirosaki arched his back. "There's more to life than just sex."

"You don't know what I'm like when I'm not having sex."

Hirosaki patted Marco's arm. "When you're not having sex, you're thinking about having sex. And when you're not thinking about having sex, you're asleep."

"Not necessarily." Marco growled.

"Yes, necessarily. It's all right. It's who you are."

The snow leopard sat up, pulling out of Hirosaki abruptly. "So that's it."

Hirosaki raised himself to his elbows, meeting Marco's eyes. "Listen to me. Just because it isn't good for me doesn't mean I didn't want it. That I don't want it."

Marco snorted. "But if you had the book, you'd send me back this minute."

"Not for good," Hirosaki said quietly. "I'll always want you back."

"You'll get all caught up with those other characters. The ones you really care about."

Hirosaki put a paw on Marco's knee. "Really care about? I love all my characters."

Marco's muzzle still had a stubborn set to it. "Even me?" he said, almost sarcastically.

Hirosaki smiled. "I wouldn't let anyone else touch me like that."

Slowly, Marco's expression softened. He reached to his side and drew a small black book out of an invisible pouch. He weighed it and then held it out.

Hirosaki took it gently. "Thank you, Marco," he said. Invisible pouch. Quite clever, even for one of his characters.

"I guess..." Marco looked up at the stars. "I guess I'll see ya next time you get horny."

"Or just lonely." Hirosaki rubbed his fingers along the soft leather binding. The rush of relief he felt at holding it again surprised him. He took out the pen and flipped the book open to a blank page.

"No," Marco said, "you better be horny. Because you know I will be."

Hirosaki looked up, surprised to see Marco smiling. He got to his feet, putting him at Marco's eye level, and leaned close. "Good-bye," he whispered.

Marco put an arm around him. Hirosaki leaned into the hug, closing his eyes. He listened to Marco's breathing in the still night. Then Marco's paw cupped his sheath, and his eyes shot open to the snow leopard's smile.

"If you want me to stick around, I'm about ready to go again," Marco said.

Hirosaki laughed and kissed him on the nose. "I'll let you know when I am," he said. He slipped out of the hug and turned away.

...leaving the otter alone again on the doorstep of his house.

The street around him was silent and dark. He pushed open his door and walked inside.

"I am sorry about your rats," he told Halix at the café the next day.

The naked arctic fox, curled up in a plush velour armchair with a similarly naked tall black wolf, shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said. "As it happens, that was pretty much what was going to happen to them anyway. So it all worked out." He stretched out across the wolf's lap, basking in the yellow sunbeam. "Not that Cyril noticed anything."

A plump raccoon in a t-shirt that read, "Heisenberg either was or was not wrong," flipped through his red velvet notebook and scrawled a couple lines in it. "I got a lot done yesterday," he said absently. "Sorry I missed all the excitement."

"There was not very much excitement," Hirosaki said. "We have all had characters get out of control before."

"But never steal a book," Halix said, his eyes gleaming above his smile.

Cyril grinned. "No, that would be really freaky," he said. "Hey, can I have a double hazelnut extra-foam non-fat mocha latte?"

Halix rolled his eyes. "I should never have made an steamer," he said. "Hon, can you make it?"

"Sure." Jona, the wolf, nuzzled Halix's ears and slid out from under him, letting the arctic fox collapse into the chair. Cyril followed him over to the counter, where the noise of the steamer soon drowned out conversation.

"I fucked one of my characters once," Halix said, softly.

Hirosaki leaned forward. "Really?"

"A few times," Halix admitted. "Big, muscular bear."

"What was his name?"

Halix grinned. "I don't remember." Hirosaki raised an eyebrow. Halix ignored him. "I stopped before Jona came along. It was too much, and not enough."

"I see what you mean." Hirosaki tapped his journal thoughtfully. "Marco knew an awful lot about our world."

"Is that so?"

The otter glanced toward the espresso machine, where Jona was still mixing liquids into a cup. "Indeed."

"How interesting." Halix nibbled on his claws.

"I suppose," Hirosaki said slowly, "that it is not out of the question that you had left something in the rats' room that would have given him a hint."

Halix nodded. "I can be sloppy that way."

"It is curious, though." He rubbed his whiskers.

Halix cupped his ears forward. "What's that?"

"Oh, during our last lovemaking, the stars were behaving very oddly."

"They often do when we are very passionate."

"Of course." Hirosaki straightened his kimono and put both elbows on the table. "Toward the end, two of them appeared to be eyes." Halix yawned. "I thought they were Marco's eyes."

"Makes sense."

"Marco," Hirosaki said quietly, "does not have vertically-slit pupils."

Halix's grin had very little guilt in it. "Well, you ruined my rat story," he said. "I had to have some fun."

Hirosaki rolled his eyes. "You said that story was not ruined."

"What can I say? You're an awesome writer. Marco's really hot."

Hirosaki snorted. The noise of the steamer stopped. Jona was tipping foam into a large cup. "Then you know," he said quickly, "that I have learned whatever lesson I was supposed to be taught."

"It wasn't to teach a lesson," Halix said lazily. "It was to get you back for the bridge."

Hirosaki burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Cyril asked, sipping the foam from his latte. Jona nudged Halix to his feet, sat down, then pulled the arctic fox into his lap.

"Oh," Hirosaki said, "Halix just reminded me of a truly artistic joke I played on him a month ago. I thought he'd forgotten."

"We're even now," Halix said. "Until the next one."

"Nobody ever plays jokes on me," Cyril said.

"We wouldn't dare," Halix said. "Besides, you're always off on your space station or your medieval palace or your underground maze somewhere."

"I finished the maze book," Cyril said. "Ages ago."

Hirosaki put his paw over the raccoon's. "I liked it quite a bit," he said.

Cyril beamed at him, while Halix snorted and Jona grinned a wolfish grin.

Taqui was deep in conversation with the jaguar when Hirosaki returned home in the twilight. They were just building their relationship to the point where the revelation of Taqui's tuberculosis would bring out the raw edges of their characters. Hirosaki fingered his journal, but he was tired, and they would still be there tomorrow.

Further down, he heard soft grunts and squeaks from the second story deck. It was Polkin's turn to be on bottom, with Keffy pounding enthusiastically away on top. Hirosaki smiled to himself, strolling by.

"Good evening...Hirosaki-san," Keffy panted.

Hirosaki raised a paw as Polkin, on his back, craned his neck and waved. "Good evening, you two."

"We were going to grill some steaks tomorrow. Would you like to come for dinner?"

Hirosaki smiled. Keffy hadn't stopped thrusting the whole time, his paw working at Polkin's erection. They must have just started. "As long as I won't be interrupting anything."

"You won't," they chorused. Keffy said, "We'll take care of things beforehand."

"And after," Polkin added.

"And maybe one quick one while you're using the bathroom," Keffy said.

Hirosaki laughed, and Polkin did too. He leaned up and kissed Keffy on the nose. "You're silly," he said, and then Keffy kissed him back, and they appeared to have forgotten about Hirosaki.

"See you tomorrow," he said softly, walking on.

Their noises of pleasure followed him to his doorstep. As he was stepping into his house, he paused, watching their silhouettes in the fading light and listening to their noises.

In the light from his foyer, he wrote a quick line in his journal. Polkin and Keffy lived happily together to the end of their days.

He closed his book and went inside to go to bed, a blossom of warmth in his heart.