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The idea for this piece came to me while I was writing One Winter's Night - you may recognise one of the main characters in this story who was mentioned minorly in that story. As always, this story contains adult M/M behaviour so please don't read it if that isn't your thing - otherwise enjoy the story.

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Expectations

By Colin Leighton

I willed my ears and tail to remain high. No good would it do me to appear nervous here. Marge only summoned me to her office when she was either very displeased or very happy, and it was almost always the former. I walked slowly to the polished wooden door of her office, eyes flowing over the big letters spelling "Barlow" and peered into the window. Marge was in her usual swivel chair, glaring at nothing in particular. As I'd suspected.

"Oh, there you are" the bear spat, as I stepped carefully through her door. She glared at me disdainfully from behind her desk, blowing big smoke rings from a long cigarette in what I was certain was a clear violation of the building's health safety policy. One big brown paw held a notepad filled with scribbling; the other clutched a rainbow-coloured coffee mug which had "I survived Woodstock" printed in large black letters, odd because Marge had a profound dislike for hippies, or for all minority groups for that matter.

"Good morning, boss" I said carefully, sinking into the chair in front of the desk. "You look wonderful today." I adjusted my tail against the back of the chair.

Marge scowled. "Flattery will get you nowhere, jackal" she hissed. "I've got enough on my plate as it is, and then what do I find? An employee of mine has been calling George Lucas's agent, asking for an in-person Star Wars VII interview? Oh, but no, no employee of mine would dare_try to set up interviews, much less _very important interviews, without discussing it with me first! This must have been a mistake."

I fixed her with my best jackal grin. "You caught me." The triumphant look on her broad brown face was short lived as I rushed on. "Yeah, I know I tried setting up an article without running it by you first, but wouldn't that be a nice surprise? A private interview about the new Star Wars movie, better than-"

"No, it wouldn't be a surprise, you idiot" Marge bellowed, her face filled with unconcealed disgust. "You want me to do another article on Star Wars VII, of all things?" She snorted. "Last month it was The Hunger Games. Enough of this crap, Orlando! My magazine will never succeed if we continue to publish the same shit every other paper in LA is doing!"

I frowned. "The films to which you refer are among the most talked about productions today, Marge. It's what readers want to see."

"No, idiot" Marge shot back. "It's what you want to write. As if George fuckin' Lucas would do an interview with you, of all people, anyway."

"It was worth a try" I said sullenly. "It's not like you have had any good ideas of your own recently. And besides I would like to write about some of the big hit movies."

"Oh, you'd like to write about 'big hit movies.' And I'd like to lose 50 pounds. Like that's going to happen! You write for a fuckin' rag, Orlando" she spat, clearly not above insulting her own magazine. "What do you expect? Do you want to take over running this magazine? Be my guest." She stood up, her massive frame blocking out the light from her office's small window. "Here, take my chair. The job's yours."

I didn't move, so she sat down again. "Ha, I thought so." She blew another smoke ring, ignoring my sensitive canine nose. "Now, I took a chance starting a new entertainment magazine, and what do we have to show for it? Lagging subscription statics and an unenthused readership. And that's not all." She pointed a claw at me accusingly. "I took another chance by hiring an inexperienced primary press writer, fresh out of grad school, and a foreigner on top of that. A poor choice, obviously, but at least such a writer won't ask for the exorbitantly overpriced royalties that most of these greedy entertainment writers do." That was one thing about Marge - you could always trust her to be honest. "And so far, however" she went on, "that certain foreign press writer has been a thorn in my side day in and day out."

Here it comes, I thought. She's going to fire me. Criticising and intimidating people was one of the few things in life that Marge genuinely enjoyed, but nonetheless, she never subjected anyone to such a lecture unless there was a point at the end of it.

"A thorn in my side, yes" she repeated. "However, I have decided to give you one last chance, jackal. I've managed to be granted a premier interview with a star of that HBO show, The Historian. You know it?"

A gleam of hope winked in the future. "Yes, I do" I assured her. "Pilot came out in 2011, an adventure-drama inspired by the Indiana Jones movies of the 1980s, but set in the modern day and replacing Jones with a female heroine, Carmen Barbosa, played by award-winning actress Desire Loughton, that coyote who won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress for her role as Penelope in 20thCentury Fox's version of Homer's Odyssey. The show hasn't been quite so much a hit as HBO's premier production, Game of Thrones, and it's been criticised for some things - some critics say its speciesist, because all three main characters are canids, and a few wolf critics were mad that the title character is a coyote rather than a wolf - but overall, reaction has been very positive." This was where my encyclopaedic memory for show details came in handy.

Marge just grunted in reply, which was about the most indication I'd get that she approved of my overview. "You seem to know it well enough."

"So I get to interview Desire Loughton?" I inquired. Not a bad person for a profile article - the saucy coyote was controversial as it was because of her flat refusal to share any details of her personal life with the press, but the public adored her for her philanthropy and down to earth personality.

Marge shook her head, sipping her coffee. "No, if the best of LA's writers haven't been able to pry any juicy details out of that bitch, I've no doubt that you would fail as well. I take it you're familiar with the two main supporting actors?"

My heart dared to hope further. "Oh yes. In the show, Carmen Barbosa has two male side-kick assistants, Alistair Rivers, played by Taylor Caldwell and Milton Conway, played by Quentin Marley. Both really popular with fans."

"Yes, that one" Marge nodded. "Taylor Caldwell, the wolf. He's the one you are going to write an article about. If you want to keep your job."

At that point all my carefully controlled composure evaporated. I'd thought I was going to be fired, and instead Marge was offering a chance to interview Taylor Caldwell, the wolf I'd been celebrity-crushing on since The Historian had premiered! My tail began to wag furiously.

I usually prided myself on keeping my emotions hidden, but today they betrayed me. Marge smirked. "Oh, got the hots for him, have you? You and half of Hollywood, I'll wager." She blew a final smoke ring, and dropped the cigarette into an ashtray. "Personally I prefer Adam Ursine."

I raised my eyebrows at that, flicking my ears to indicate exactly what I thought of Adam Ursine in comparison with Taylor Caldwell. "Buzzfeed did an article with 24 reasons why Taylor Caldwell was the world's hottest dude" I smirked, feeling much more confident on the inside than I had earlier.

Marge gave a snort of disgust to show just what she thought of that. "As if you can believe anything on the internet! Didn't your Madre teach you anything?" she shook her head. "I should have known better, hiring a Spaniard. Everyone knows you're good at nothing beyond taking siestas and making tapas."

I choose not to respond to this insult to my heritage, but Marge must have been feeling annoyed with herself though for lingering so long on the subject of celebrity crushes, because she changed the subject. "Now don't be letting your dick do your thinking for you, jackal" she admonished. "I want a profile article that will get What's Hot in Hollywood in the checkout lanes of every Walmart from here to Miami, not some cheap porn story about two fucking fags."

Once again, I ignored this jab. One learned after enough time around Marge that it wasn't worth calling her out on her bias. I had come to suspect that she was able to get away with such behaviour only because she hated everyone equally, rather than being biased against a certain species or minority group.

Instead, I replied with "Don't worry, I'll be up to the task." Best to be prompt. "When do I meet with Caldwell?"

Marge glanced at the clock on her desk. "In 42 minutes, to be exact." She waved a paw. "You've wasted enough of my time for one morning. Out, out." She pointed a claw the door to indicate our meeting was over.

As I returned to my desk to gather my notepads and pens I felt the curious eyes of my coworkers lingering on my backside. Rarely did anyone leave Marge's office with wagging tail and alert ears, much less an aura of confidence and excitement. Let them stare. I was about to get an interview with my greatest celebrity crush, someone I'd never thought I'd so much as meet, much less get a private interview with. I left What's Hot in Hollywood's headquarters on cloud 9.

Half an hour later found me in one of the plush chairs of the main lobby of HBO's LA headquarters, an expansive room of chairs, tables spread with magazines (I felt a short-lived urge to check and see if any of them were What's Hot in Hollywood issues), potted plants and two large saltwater aquariums. The walls of the lobby were decorated with posters advertising the network's shows. Many of these had to do with Game of Thrones, but I spotted a couple The Historian posters as well, and took the chair underneath one of them. The main focus of the poster was on the three main characters, or "the trio," as they were called by fans - Carmen Barbosa in the centre, muzzle set in a steely determined look, a pistol in one paw and an old book in the other. On her right side was Alistair Rivers, looking off into the distance away from the viewer, wearing an Indiana Jones-type hat, and on Carmen's left, Milton Conway, a tall red fox who stared out from the poster with a suspicious look of unease. Above each character was the name of the actor who played them - Taylor Caldwell Desire Loughton Quentin Marley. My eyes slid back to the wolf who I'd soon be interviewing. Even with his gaze away from me, poster-Taylor looked friendly and likeable, unlike Quentin Marley. Many show-business foxes were skinny twinky types, but Marley had the appearance of someone who'd profess loyalty in one breath and then stab you in the back in the next.

"Mr DiCarlo?"

I spun around to face a stocky raccoon, boredom written all over his masked face. "Taylor has finished his gym routine and was just leaving the showers a minute ago, I will take you to his trailer now, if you are ready" he said.

"I am" I said simply, following the raccoon through a series of hallways, courtyards, and buildings that even I, with my memory for details, found confusing. At length we paused in what appeared to be an ancient parking lot, never paved; an overgrown area of gravel and weeds, in which were parked several old airstream trailers. The raccoon indicated one of them. "Taylor's trailer, sir" he told me.

I knocked on the trailer's door, my mind filled with a rhapsody of anticipation. Believe it or not, I was about to meet my idol! My golden-furred paw shook as it rapped on the door, but I forced my ears up alertly, calmed my tail's wagging to a twitch.

The door opened.

Taylor Caldwell wasn't overly tall so far as actors go - about 5' 11", I think, and certainly no taller than I was. His fur was a dark chocolaty brown, with dark grey here and there in patches, and his eyes were a deep blue. His slender form was clad in a button up shirt and jeans, simple enough, and the fur on his head and arms was damp, confirming what the raccoon had said about him just having showered. He smiled warmly as he opened the door, showing very white fangs.

"Hey! You'd be Mr....?" His smile seemed genuinely friendly, ears perked forward.

"DiCarlo" I answered, "Orlando DiCarlo, although you can call me Orlando." My tail dared a nervous wag.

"Pleased to meet you, Orlando" the wolf said, welcoming me into his trailer. "You can call me Taylor." He directed me towards a chair. The trailer was sparsely furnished, containing a bed, table, two chairs, and a kitchen area.

"I'm sorry I had to meet you here" Taylor said, taking the chair across from me. "Normally this is just a hangout place between filming. I would have had you come to my house but Ms Barlow requested we meet earlier."

Unusually direct of Marge to specify such demands, especially considering Taylor was doing her a favour by agreeing to the interview. "She is concerned about deadlines" I said apologetically, more for Taylor's sake than for Marge's.

"It's alright" he waved a paw. "So to establish things, is this going to be an interview article or a profile?"

I took out my notepad and a pen. "An article, actually. I'll talk to you about things and then turn the interview into an article - of course I will have some direct quotes in there. This is an exclusive interview, correct?"

The wolf nodded. "I haven't done a magazine feature in a while. I've been in some that had to do with our show, but none about me specifically."

Splendid. "That's awesome" I said, pleased at how calm I was staying despite that I was talking to Taylor Caldwell, of all people. "Now I'm going to ask a few questions, just to get the conversation flowing. I imagine after that we'll be able to go along quite smoothly."

"Cool" Taylor said. "Fire away."

Here goes, I thought. "Ok. So Taylor, you're kind of a white horse, or you were when The Historian first came out. Everyone knows who Desire Loughton is, and Quentin has been doing shows since he was a teenager, but you were a...new kid on the block, so to speak, and you landed a major blowout role, which has pretty much launched your career. How's that been for you?"

I was betting that this question would lead Taylor to talking about his past and what got him into acting in the first place, and just as I'd hoped, it did.

"Well, I've been doing stuff since I was 15, so it's not like I just started out of the blue in 2011" he said. "Although you are right in saying that was when my career really took off."

"Did you always know you wanted to be an actor?"

"Not really, although people always said I was the type....whatever that meant."

It means you're gorgeous, I thought. My eyes had drifted from his as he talked, taking in the noble muzzle, flawless fur, the muscles that his shirt couldn't hide. He had the body of a porn star, and- his voice jerked me from my dirty thoughts.

"I just always knew I wanted to be something, you know? Not just another John Doe. I started out as a model, first for Staresmore & Lake, and later for Calvin Feliene and Neman Marten, among others. After a few years of that I got a guest role on a cop show as a murder victim."

"So you did have some show experience prior to your current role" I prompted.

"Yeah. After that first role I did several minor roles, and that isn't counting all the ones I auditioned for but didn't get."

"It's easy to think of becoming an actor, living in LA with Hollywood all around you" I said.

Taylor shook his head. "I wasn't born here. I spent most of my childhood in Maine, and all of my initial modelling was in New York City. I never even set foot in California until after I'd finished high school."

Now this was interesting. "Maine? You don't see many celebrities from there."

It was cute the way his ears flicked down at the word "celebrities," almost like he was embarrassed to hear that word used to describe him. "Maybe, I don't know. I was the middle child of five, and we lived in a little fishing-tourism town by the sea. Kind of a rural area, with lots of forests, and we'd get really big storms coming in from the ocean every winter." He smiled. "I miss that, actually. The scent of the Atlantic." He waved a paw at the window. "The Pacific is beautiful, but not the same."

A backwoods boy from coastal Maine becomes one of America's most popular television actors. Readers would just eat this up. It was a perfect example of the American dream, one wolf's climb from-

"What does your family do there?" I asked testily. "Fishermen?" Mention Maine and one's mind immediately goes to lobster, or, at least, that was my impression. I'd never been there.

Taylor laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, the kind one likes to hear. "No, although I knew lots of people who did. My high school buddies would tease me about that; they're off fishing for lobster and haddock and I'm living it up in Hollywood." He sobered, ears alert. "No, Dad is the curator of our town's maritime museum, and Mom manages the museum's gift shop."

"They didn't follow you west?"

"No, I wouldn't have wanted them to anyway. They love life back there. My sisters did, though. Maria is going to be on The Voice next year, and Edith has a great supporting role coming up in my show." His ears flew down. "Oops, I wasn't supposed to mention that." His grin returned. "I have a terrible reputation for giving away spoilers."

My tail thumped the back of the chair. Don't worry, I'm not Marge. "I'll forget that detail" I assure him, holding my pad to show that I've written "Sister Edith also acts" but have not mentioned Edith's presence at HBO.

"Great! For some reason I feel like I can trust you" he told me.

That felt good. "Thanks, and you can. I suppose a lot of writers would jump at the chance to give away spoilers or personal information, but I care about honesty just as much as my job. Besides, you're not the average actor, anyway. I'm getting plenty of material here, all about your having come from Maine and everything, to create a great article."

He beamed. "That's awesome. And you don't seem like an average writer, either. Spain, right?"

I gave a little half-smile in the way that all foreign-born Americans do when someone brings up the unavoidable topic of your not being a true American, betrayed by the accent I'd tried so hard to lose once again. "Yeah, Spain. I came to the States for college and to get a career in something related to Hollywood."

"Cool!" at least he isn't condescending in the way some people are, ("yes, remember that, you foreign jackal, you will never completely be an American.") "I wasn't certain cause your name doesn't seem Spanish."

"DiCarlo? No, my grandfather was Italian. He came to Spain after WWII because our government was sympathetic to Mussolini's fascist government." I groaned inwardly at this slip. Admitting that your family had ties to fascist Italy was almost as bad as admitting to having Nazi relatives. I remembered well the hate-filled glares of some of my classmates, my name betraying my family's dark secret.

Taylor didn't seem bothered by that though, because he just nodded and said something about understanding what it was like coming to someplace very different than where you were raised. I sensed the opportunity to change the subject, and took it.

"So was it easy, landing a part in The Historian?" I queried.

"Not at all, I was one of several thousand who auditioned, and I only got the part because the first guy they picked quit so he could play some doctor on Grey's Anatomy."

I noted that. "How do you get along with your co-cast? In the show you and Desire and Quentin have quite the commentary between yourselves - is it like that in real life?"

This time I can hear his tail wagging behind him. "We're great pals. From the moment we met, the three of us have had this really cool friendship that I don't think all co-cast members get to have. I mean, we like all the same music, movies, stuff, have similar beliefs, laugh at the same jokes. It's really cool."

"It must be great getting to work with your best friends" I said.

"It is. And sometimes they're more than friends. They're both a bit older than I am, and sometimes they're like my goofy big brother and sister. Quentin's married, you know, and Desire is engaged. They both give me relationship advice from time to time. Quentin's always coming to work with funny stories about his kids, and Desire is full of wacky unusual date ideas."

I test the water with a slightly different question. "What do you think about all the fans who think your character, Alistair, and Quentin's character, Milton, should be in a relationship? Aliston, I think they call the 'ship,' or whatever."

He frowned at first. "Well, first let me say that I've never liked that term, 'shipping.' The term means to transport goods by ship, a water-going vessel, not making up non-canon couplings of TV show characters. But as for me and Quentin being a couple in the show...." He grinned - and was that a wink? "I'd say it's possible."

"You came out as bisexual last year" I acknowledge, trying to keep my mind from picturing dirty scenarios, "and your character, Alistair, is also bi in the show....he's had a lot of girlfriends throughout the seasons, and there was also that part last season where he was sort of dating Floyd Sinclair." I had meant to bring up the subject of Taylor's bisexuality in the interview, and this seemed like as good a place as any.

Taylor grinned. "Yeah, I did. My character was just realising he was bi so it seemed like the best time for me to announce the same. Plus, Garrett Dyckert - the coyote who plays Floyd - is a great kisser." His grin went wider. Floyd Sinclair was another of the show's reappearing cast, a sort of anti-hero who sometimes worked with the trio and sometimes against them. "You're right that a lot of fans want Alistair and Milton to get together - and Tony, our director, has considered that - so I won't say it will never happen. That's all I'll say on the subject though."

"It might be a touchy thing since Quentin is straight and married."

"Oh, I don't know about that. He is married, but 100% straight...I'm not sure." He winked at me again, and this time I was certain of it. I cocked my head, waiting for another juicy titbit, but it didn't come. I tried a different tactic.

"How hard is it to film intimate scenes? I've always wondered about how an actor can do scenes where they are passionately kissing, or more, with people they aren't actually in love with." Taylor had gotten up to close the window, so I stood up too.

He turned back to me. "Well, that depends. You'd think it would be awkward, but sometimes it's just....funny, almost. Like, you'll be filming a scene of me and some chick or Garrett kissing, and we'll look at each other and just start laughing, so they have to film the scene over and over to get a good shot."

"That's very interesting" I said, scribbling madly at my notepad, keeping my eyes away from those barely hidden muscles.

"Sometimes though it is more awkward." He goes on. "There are some days when you check for chemistry and it just isn't there, someone just isn't right for doing such a scene on such a day, so everyone's cool with it and you film a different scene. Our directors are very accommodating, and I have yet to meet a fellow cast member I didn't like."

I'd continued to write as we stood facing each other, but as he discussed chemistry and cast members, my mind slipped focus from his words permanently and I shamelessly undressed him with my eyes. I had always been the kind to confidently move forward, and worry about ramifications later. I put down the notepad and put my paws on his shoulders. "And if there is lots of chemistry? Like you seem to have had with Garrett Dyckert?"

"Well, then you do the scene; you kiss, and maybe you enjoy it" he said, and then I kissed him.

I had been very slightly concerned that he would pull away in annoyance, but as I had guessed, he kissed me right back, the big wolf tongue slipping naturally into my narrower jackal muzzle. He put his paws around my waist and flicked his tongue at the back of my throat and I tasted wolf and saliva and suddenly felt very, very horny. We pulled at each other's muzzles and locked tongues and it was amazing - and then he pulled away.

"That's perfect," he exclaimed, licking his chops, "but remember you're in front of a camera. You have to be very subtle about getting your tongue in my mouth, and vice versa. They are going to have cameras at multiple locations around you, all trying to get the best shot, and you have to put on a good show for them, and maybe enjoy it too, if you have the chemistry with the other actor. He pulled me closer, so we were really embracing. "Garrett and I perfected this technique" and this time he kissed me first, pressing his muzzle to mine in a way that his tongue could sneak its way into my muzzle in a way that hid the action from any outside eyes. This kiss was just as splendid as the last, and this time I could feel the bulge in his jeans poking my thigh, and I felt my own erection swell larger. Could this really be happening?

We made out for a few moments before Taylor pulled back and said "That's about all you'll get, if you're lucky. Of course, assuming that you're kissing in front of a camera crew, on set. Totally different if you're alone in your trailer." We made eye contact, and I felt my ears falling back.

Taylor laughed. "Admit it, Orlando. You've been wanting into my pants from the moment you stepped into my trailer." I didn't have a snappy reply to that ready, so he went on. "That's one weird thing about being in show business - everyone wants to sleep with you. It's crazy weird at first, but after a while you start to get used to it - sort of." He smirked. "Of course, it's not every day that the person wanting in your bed is a cute jackal."

"You can't blame me, really" I said slyly. "Look at yourself, Taylor. Buzzfeed wasn't lying when they said you were the world's hottest dude. How am I supposed to resist?"

The smirk didn't leave his face, and his tail was swishing seductively behind him. "Oh, why would you want to resist? If I'm as irresistible as you say..." his fingers were caressing my chest, down towards my navel, lower....

"Who says I'm resisting?" I quipped, and I thrust my paw into his jeans and gripped him through his boxers. Already very hard. I squeezed, to make a point.

"Oh!" he said, but my action seemed to bring him back to realisation of what we were doing. He laughed. "And I said I wouldn't be letting myself get in situations like this anymore after Quentin and Garrett" he shook his head, talking more to himself I thought, but I jerked and tried to meet his eyes.

"You actually have slept with Quentin???" I gasped. "And Garrett Dyckert on top of that??" This was scandalous and interesting indeed - Hollywood really was like a living, breathing soap opera. What Marge would do to get her paws on such a story - not that I was going to tell her - ok, I admit it crossed my mind, but my admiration for Taylor overruled any loyalty to Marge, or to my own writing career.

Taylor looked trapped, like he's said something he deeply regretted.

"I'm not going to tell" I said sullenly, desperate to know these dirty secrets. My mind brought up an image I'd seen on a fan site, a fanart of Taylor topping Quentin. My mind added in Garrett Dyckert somewhere - maybe with his long coyote muzzle licking up under Taylor's bushy tail. My jeans suddenly felt very constricting of my hard-on.

Taylor must have decided he could trust me, because his ears returned to their normal stance and his tail resumed wagging. "Well....yeah, Quentin and I...do stuff sometimes. Usually only after he's had a row with Melody. His wife." He was looking more sheepish now, less worried. "And, Garrett is a cute coyote and we were kinda drawn to each other from the moment he joined the show. He's not always here - not in every episode, you know - but I've thought about asking him out on a date when he gets back."

I took a moment to digest all that. "Don't you feel bad that Quentin is cheating on his wife with you?"

Taylor frowned. "Yes, I do. But I tell myself that at least it's with me, his buddy, not with some random dude, or with some other girl that he could get pregnant. He's never been with anyone else besides myself and Melody, to my knowledge, and like I said, he and I only fuck when he's had a fight at home. I just tell myself that I'm helping preserve his marriage, rather than damage it. Yeah, I know that sounds terrible."

"I'm working on seducing my celebrity crush" I finally said honestly. "I shouldn't be judging who other people fuck with." I put my paw in his jeans again.

Taylor grinned. "Kind of hard to seduce me when we've still got all our clothes on..."

"Not for long!" I yipped, both paws flying to his neck, where I began to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. He responded in turn by helping me shed my jacket and by pulling my polo over my head as best he could. That left us exposed from the waist up. I took this opportunity to acquaint myself with the part of him that this act left exposed. I had been correct that he was in very good shape - hadn't the raccoon mentioned that Taylor had just left the gym prior to meeting with me? The shower afterwards had removed all scent of his workout, but the effects of that workout and certainly many other workouts were clearly evident upon his body. His arms were finely muscled, and on his chest his pectorals and abdominals rose to attractive definition. I licked my chops.

"You're not so bad looking yourself, Orlando" he said, following my gaze, but rather than replying, I bent and licked one of his nipples carefully, then again, feeling it stiffen, and feeling ever so much of a shiver run through the wolf. I grinned to myself and continued my licking. I had learned long ago the affect that tender devotion could bring to this sensitive area, and I remembered again those days of my boyhood, first in the small village where I had grown up, and later at the boarding school in Barcelona where I'd spent the last two years of high school. My classmates there were always talking of which girl they'd kissed, or dating, or more, and often they'd discuss her breasts and whether or not they'd been allowed to touch or kiss them, and everyone would comment on that. I would smile and nod and agree with them, all the while secret wondering what it would feel like to kiss their nipples, which seemed vastly more appealing than doing anything involving even the most attractive of females. That younger version of Orlando DiCarlo would never have imagined this, I though. That I would find myself in the arms of Taylor Caldwell was something even my scheming jackal mind couldn't have predicted.

After a minute or two I switched to his other nipple and gave it just as much licking and attention as the first, and Taylor twisted the fur at the top of my head in his fingers and mumbled something unintelligible. I kissed each of his nipples one last time and stood up again, thinking it was prime time to get out of my pants, and him out of his. My cock felt painfully confined.

Taylor, however, had other ideas. "Time to return the favour!" He grinned, and put his broad wolf muzzle to my own breast, and then he was licking and it was sweet and sensual and I thanked my mother's Catholic God, or whoever, for making me the way I was, a male who liked males. The back of Taylor's head looked wonderful bent to my breast, and I snaked my paw back to his groin and managed to unfasten the button and zipper of his jeans. They were of a tight-fitting variety, and so did not fall down his legs when I unfastened them, but at least I was free to grip his wolfhood without the constraint of the jeans. My strokes through his boxers must have jolted him back from his licking, because the marvellous feeling on my nipples vanished, and he met my eyes again. "Ready to shed your clothes for good?"

"Oh, yes, so very ready" I breathed, shedding my jeans in about two seconds. He was out of his own in about the same time, and as one we reached to yank each other's boxers down our legs and away. Then we were naked, he save for a gold chain around his flawless neck, and I save for the little silver crucifix necklace that my grandmother had given me, a relic of my Catholic upbringing.

His cock was just as I had imagined - long, red, and painfully erect, the knot slightly swollen already. My own was of similar length and hardness, although not quite as broad. I ignored it though in favour of sinking to my knees in front of him and giving a big, long, wet lick from knot to tip, reaching up to clutch his balls as I did so.

Taylor breathed deeply as I licked, wrapping my tongue around and sliding up and down, using the technique I had found to be most helpful with previous playmates. Taylor wasn't so dominating as some of the other guys I'd sucked, as rather than pushing my head down into his crotch the way the way they often did, he settled for stroking my long jackal ears, rubbing his pawpads around the edges in a way that is most sensual for larger eared canines. Probably something he'd learned from that coyote, Garrett - but I dismissed that thought - I didn't want any of Taylor's other lovers in the trailer with us today, he was all mine - although, now that I thought of it, a threesome with Quentin, or Garrett, or both, did seem rather appealing. Hold your horses, Orlando. You can't seduce them all in one day.

Not that I was in the habit of seducing, mind you. I just took advantage of the chance that had presented itself.

Taylor's cock was leaking in the way that one's shaft does when it's owner gets more and more aroused, and I lapped at the tip, tasting the salty sweetness and holding the base of the shaft behind the knot. He was whining lowly, the cry of a wolf who is trying to contain his feelings but struggles with the irresistible urge to release them. "I see now why they say Spanish is the loving tongue" he quipped, voice wavering over the words. I resisted the urge to retort at this pun, finally taking the whole thing in my muzzle, another place where having a long muzzle comes in handy. You still have to be careful - don't let your fangs touch him wrong; don't take him the wrong way, or you'll gag, but with practice, it's a great experience. I still had my tongue wrapped around his shaft and I pulled at it, feeling his balls tighten in my other paw. He whined louder then, and I paused. I wasn't entirely certain I wanted him to finish just yet, but still that was pretty hot-

He pushed me back. "I think I'm going to come too soon if we aren't careful."

"Yeah, I wondered as much." I glanced around the trailer. "Got any lube?"

He nodded, and dug around in one of the drawers until he pulled out a tube. I took it from him and prepared to squirt some on his cock.

"Hey, wait. What do you think you're doing?" His voice was accusing, but there was humour in it too.

"Getting you ready to fuck me" I said innocently. Well, as innocent as a jackal can sound when he's nude with his celebrity crush, preparing to lube up the crush's dick.

He laughed. "Who says I'm fucking you?" There was a twinkle in those blue eyes.

I froze. "What? You don't mean..." I saw that he did. "You want me to top you?"

"Of course. Nothing wrong with a wolf being on the bottom."

It was so different from what I'd pictured, the strong celebrity wolf who'd dominate the lowly writer jackal. "But what about the others?" I insisted. "Quentin, and Garrett."

Taylor grinned slyly. "What about them?"

"You didn't let them top you...did you?"

The grin didn't fade. "Not Garrett...he likes being on the receiving end. But Quentin, yes."

The idea of my idol being topped by the fox was so ludicrous and yet so sexy at the same time. No one would ever predict that, I thought. Not even the most dedicated fangirl.

"I just never imagined that" I said, for lack of anything else.

"I know, nobody would believe that I would let a fox use me" Taylor shrugged. "Its stereotypes like that that drive Quentin crazy. He's certainly closer to the straight end of bisexual than the gay end, wouldn't bottom for his life, and is one of the most masculine actors I've met, yet because of the fox vs wolf stereotype, people see me as the more powerful, masculine one of us."

"I'm sorry" I said apologetically. "I shouldn't be letting myself get caught up in stereotypes."

"It's cool" he said, waving a paw. "But you are ok with topping, right?"

This time it was I who wore the sexy grin. "I'd be mad to turn down a chance at that sexy ass" I growled.

"Right you are" Taylor shot back, shaking his butt and waving that thick brown-grey tail. He grabbed the tube from me, and I felt a tingling coldness being rubbed over my shaft, till, coated thickly with wetness, it was ready for the task I liked best to use it for. Taylor was rubbing some under his tail. He put his paws on the table. "This is usually the time where you will get ready to stick it in" he smirked.

"Ok," I smirked back, putting my paws on his back and aligning my cock. "But remember, you asked for it." I used my paw to line my tip up with the dark skin of his hole. I pressed in.

The first seconds after I hilted him were so wonderful I thought I'd lose it right there. He was stunningly tight, and the way his muscles clamped around my cock as my knot knocked on his entrance left me praying I wouldn't end it all too soon. He'd let out a groan as I drove myself into him the first time, and now he was quiet, as I savoured the feeling of a tight passage around my dick.

"Alright back there?" he inquired finally. "I'm ready for you to start speeding up, if you are."

"Thought you'd never ask" I quipped. I pulled back, feeling the air on my cock again, and wanting to remain inside him. I drove it back quickly, hearing him moan a second time. "Tell me when I get the right angle" I advised him, setting up a steady pace, in and out, in and out. eH

"There!" he yelped, and I realigned and aimed and went back to the amazingness of feeling his walls stroke my cock in the way nothing else could. Then I realised that now that I was hitting him in all the right places, I could spring another surprise on him. I pulled him back from the table, and stretching my back, leaned around and kissed the tip of his leaking cock, then took part of it into my muzzle. I'd come to learn that I was unusual in being able to contort my body into such a position, but it never failed to bring yelping cries of surprise and pleasure from my lovers, and Taylor was no exception. I hadn't stopped pumping him with hard thrusts inward and now my tongue took the same place it had earlier, wrapped around his shafting and sucking at it, my tongue caressing and licking and tasting the increasing amount of liquid.

Taylor was moaning and whining like a porn star, except I knew these cries were real, not rehearsed, and he released them shamelessly. I couldn't vocalise much, not with my muzzle full of Taylor's hardness, but I whined through my nose at the feeling of going deeper and deeper, feeling my knot swelling, and knowing that I would need to tie him soon, if there was to be a tie at all. Sometimes with my past lovers we'd been able to draw our rutting into a lengthy, drawn out lovemaking, but this was not one of those times - Taylor and I were both so worked up that I could see we both were working hard to obtain our finish, but one worthy of such a coupling.

I was really humping him then, hard, long, aching thrusts, harder than I usually liked when I was the one on the bottom, but he didn't seem to mind, not if the pushing back of his butt into my thrusts meant anything, not judging by his deep whines. "I can't go much longer than this" he whined, "not with you on my cock like that, and-" I gave another deep thrust and he went back to whining, words forgotten.

"I'm going to knot you" I said, just in case he wasn't into that, but his lack of reply was as much as a go-ahead as I needed. My knot was getting big enough that pretty soon I wouldn't be able to get a tie without hurting him, and I didn't want that. I was bent around as far as I could stretch, as much of his cock in my muzzle as I could get, and I wanted us to release as one, he in my muzzle, I in his ass.

I broke into the last final round of hard thrusting that is require to get your knot in. Taylor mumbled something. "What?"

"This is why I like to bottom" he moaned, and, having felt the same emotions myself many a time before, I knew what he meant.

"Enjoy it then" I told him, and I drove my knot in in one agonisingly long thrust.

There's a certain look a guy gets when he reaches orgasm. The eyes clench shut, the ears fall back flat against the head, the facial skin drawn taught. Sometimes he'll clench his fangs, but oftentimes the muzzle hangs open, spewing a cry or a howl or a moan, and his tongue will loll from his fangs. It's an expression of extreme pleasure, and also of extreme weakness, and every guy who's ever experienced a really great climax will know exactly what I'm referring to.

I couldn't see Taylor's face, what with my own in his groin, but I could hear the long, low whine, echoing from his muzzle as his cock tightened harder in my muzzle and then seemed to explode with release, my muzzle filling with the unique taste of him. Of course, at the same instant my own cock was spewing my load into his passage, knot holding us together just as nature meant it to. I moaned around his cock, letting some of his gift leak out and run down out of the corners of my muzzle, but it was impossible not to cry, when my body just felt so amazingly good. I swallowed as he continued to come into my muzzle, until the release trickled off into a drip, and I stood up breathing heavily. A few drips fell from his cock onto the open pages of my notepad, staining the words I'd written not so long ago.

Taylor was also panting heavily. "I don't know how you did that," he panted, "reaching around and all, but it was amazing. And that is an understatement."

"A little trick I learned in college" I said, leaning around to kiss him, my breath smelling strongly of his musk. We settled into one of the chairs, he sitting on my lap, ready to enjoy the experience of being knotted together for however long my knot left us tied. I put my arms around him and stroked his dripping cock, which was still hard, or mostly so. "Thanks for this" I said, feeling suddenly awkward.

"I should be thanking you" he said, apparently having similar feelings, and then we both laughed at our awkwardness and this strange afternoon and at our predicament.

"I think I would like to see you again, Orlando" he said.

"I'd like that very much" I answered, feeling very content at the moment. I reached a paw to turn his head.

Our muzzles came together.

And this time we didn't worry about whether we looked good on camera.

Some Days Later

Marge was wearing her usual scowl when I entered her office that morning, but it seemed less fierce. "Sit" she said simply, peering at me over her coffee mug. She waved a paw at her computer. "I don't know how you did it, but somehow you managed to wring enough information out of that tail-raiser to" here she paused "increase subscriptions by 12%, this week." She held up a copy of What's Hot in Hollywood. Taylor's flawless wolf face smiled out of the cover.

The bear cleared her throat, and read "Taylor Caldwell may seem like just another cocky young TV star, but he is far from that. From his humble beginnings in coastal Maine, to modelling for fashion kings in NYC, to his current role as hunky adventurer Alistair Rivers on HBO's The Historian, Taylor is a clear example that the American dream is still obtainable today." She stopped reading. "It's shit, but shit sells."

I wondered if this was a complement of some sort or just more of Marge's usual talk. "What does this mean for me?" A raise, perhaps?"

"It means you're marginally less useless than I thought you were" the grizzly said. "However, since this article went well, I've decided to refocus our features more towards television than movies. I've spoken with Quentin Marley's agent about you meeting with him next week, and maybe if that goes well, I'll even let you try working your charms" here her eyes narrowed "on Desire Loughton."

It wasn't a pay raise, but still, I could barely contain my wagging tail. My article with Taylor had been a success, and not only that, but I get to meet and interview bad-ass fox Quentin Marley as well. Marge's frowns failed to dampen my spirits as I returned to my desk, to write "Meet with Quentin Marley" on the day specified in my personal calendar.

As I finished writing, my eyes fell to a different day on the calendar, with a very different notice written on it.

It said "First Date with Taylor."