FSE

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Fresne slid the spatula quickly under the two eggs, careful to keep the yolks intact while he transferred them to the plate he had set beside the stove top. After another minute, the thick strips of bacon followed, and the rat filled the empty skillet with his own breakfast. Gil wouldn't eat his eggs scrambled. Gil wouldn't eat eggs that weren't cage-free or organic, either. But the husky made enough money to afford the difference, so Fresne never said anything.

Besides, the rat liked cooking for the lithe little husky. And Fresne loved him, and that was reason enough.

Just as Fresne was putting his own brand of bacon on to sizzle (he usually picked up supplies on the way over to the husky's place), he heard Gil padding down the hallway. A moment later he appeared, dressed in a robe that left very little to the rat's naturally libidinous imagination.

"You're welcome," said the rat while Gil opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of coconut water and groggily drank down half of it.

"Hm." This early in the morning, Fresne didn't expect the husky to be anything resembling awake. Watching Gil, it was almost cute the way he stumbled around until he'd had a couple cups of coffee.

Flipping his bacon, the rat continued, "For having the fortitude to drag myself away from your cute ass to make you breakfast." He pointed to Gil's plate in a dramatic gesture of self-sacrifice. "The things I thought about doing to you while cracking open those eggs... "

"Thanks." From the lackluster way the husky said it, Gil could tell something more than somnolence was at work. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it was, but he'd hoped before and been disappointed.

Gil took the plate and plopped down in the tiny breakfast nook of his tiny apartment. Instead of eating, though, he stared at his breakfast, slouched over, his paws at his sides. His tail wasn't even curled. To the rat, this meant the husky was waiting for Fresne to notice something wrong and to ask about it. Usually, when something was wrong, it involved Caber. But then again, almost _everything_with Gil involved Caber.

"What's wrong?" the rat asked dutifully, digging into his scramble while watching Gil's head. When the husky straightened up, tear tracks matted down the red fur to each side of his creamy muzzle.

"You mean you forgot?" Uh-oh. Time for the passive-aggressive Guess What Gil's Upset Aboutgame.

"About Caber?" ventured Fresne. It was as good a guess as any, with Gil.

"You forgot?" Shit. After nine months, Fresne should have known better than to mention the red panda's name in a question like that. Work and life notwithstanding, the rat tried to remember when Gil mentioned Caber and the dates that sometimes accompanied him. Caber's birthday was July 13. Gil's anniversary was March 5. First kiss, March 21. First time, March 23. And the day the the red panda had died--the date Fresne couldn't forget if he wanted to, the husky mentioned it so much--was December 17.

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure you ever told me," said the rat, finishing off his bacon. While not entirely a lie, it was still an admission of sorts. Wouldn't Gil understand? The husky hadn't touched his food. Instead he was looking at the rat with a blank sort of melancholy.

"It's November 2. I've never done a Day of the Dead by myself, and I wanna get it right. I called my mom yesterday and asked her what to get." Gil wring his paws over his plate, rubbing the diamond band on his left ring finger. It wasn't Fresne's.

"I thought you didn't like your family."

"I don't. That doesn't mean I don't celebrate the same holidays." Gil looked slightly hurt, but nowhere near angry, so that was good. "I gotta pick up things for Caber."

Fresne had learned well to mask his occasional annoyance when Caber crept into their conversation, which was a bit too often for the rat's comfort. He folded his paws in his lap and curled his tail around one leg of the chair, listening to Gil. Because he loved Gil, and he tried to make the husky happy, even though it had been getting progressively harder lately. Now he knew why.

"Are you going to eat any of that?" the rat asked.

Sighing, Gil replied, "I'm not hungry yet. I'm sorry."

"It's going in the trash, then. I can't eat your runny-ass eggs," Fresne warned. If Gil didn't have breakfast, he would be more likely to stuff his muzzle on fast food by the middle of the day, after which he would zonk out on the couch for a couple hours while Fresne pretended not to mind. The rat's attempts to inject reasonable eating habits into the husky's life had mostly failed, but that was no reason to stop trying. Not yet.

Gil ran a paw between his ears. "I don't mean to waste food. I probably won't eat much today." Fresne didn't believe that, but he nodded just the same and slid the husky's plate onto his empty one, stood and took them both to the sink. By the time he'd pre-washed the plates and loaded them in the dishwasher, Gil was gone from the table. The rest of the cleanup could wait.

Fresne came into the bedroom just as the husky was testing the water with his paw. Despite its lack of wag, Gil's tail curled itself over his back when he bent over. While it wasn't an invitation, the rat shucked his boxers and tank top anyway and sidled up when the husky stood. He slid his paws around the soft belly and interlaced his fingers. Gil flinched.

"Hey." he whispered into one laid-back ear, "Anything you need me to help with, I'll help." The rat began to rock them both from side to side, something he learned early on that soothed the husky in his moments of crisis. Sometimes it ended in crying, sometimes in sex, but it always calmed Gil down. But when Fresne slid his paw down over the husky's sheath--which was semi-hard on the way to completely hard--Gil pushed himself out of the embrace.

"Not today," he said. "I just can't do it today." He bent again to pull the diverter, giving the rat what would normally be a good opportunity for a grind, but Fresne let go instead. No point in teasing himself with no promise for relief.

"Want company?"

"Nah, it's okay." Gil pulled the door closed, his features distorted into a red-and-white-blob by the rippled glass.

*

Even on his bad days, Gil liked to luxuriate in the shower. Part of that could be attributed to his thicker fur (especially in winter), but mostly he just liked soaking in the hot water. Combined with a longer-than-most grooming time, the husky usually was the one to make them late if they were headed somewhere important. Or anywhere, really. Neither one of them had anywhere to be today, being a Saturday. Still, Fresne managed to shower, dry off, brush and dress before the husky was done combing mats out of his tail. Refusing the rat's help didn't speed things along, either, but Fresne cleaned up the rest of the kitchen while he waited.

Tucson was sunny and clear when they finally stepped out of the apartment. Fresne offered to drive and the husky didn't protest. After a few failed attempts at conversation, the rat turned on the radio and focused on the road.

Though the Tienda Mexicana was only a ten-minute drive north of Gil's place on the east side of the city, Fresne knew better than to take Craycroft directly north. That would take them across Broadway, and while they had to cross Broadway to get to most places in Tucson, they didn't have to do it using Craycroft. Because almost a year ago, a pickup truck driven by a drunk redneck and his drunk buddy had broadsided their car as Gil and Caber left Olive Garden to head home after a nice lunch out. The husky was uninjured, but the red panda's chest had been crushed. His heart stopped three times before the EMTs had given up.

The rednecks would be in jail for the next eleven years. Caber had ended up cremated, interred in the Mesa Reyes Cemetery on the east side of town. Part of those remains Gil had had made into the diamond he wore on his left paw. Even now, on their way to the store he spun it around his finger, absently rubbing his pads over its brilliant surface. Gil didn't drive when Fresne came down from Phoenix to spend time.

Fresne turned north and headed through downtown Tucson before turning east again. Gil looked down as they crossed Broadway, as he always did, but said nothing. Several times the rat contemplated engaging the husky in conversation, but he could smell so much dour apprehension coming from Gil that he decided not to try. Fresne thought the day was too beautiful to be in such a mood, but then again he'd never lost a boyfriend of five years like Gil had.

La Tienda Mexicana was a combination supermarket and department store, with the outside aisles dedicated to Hispanic cuisine while the center was geared towards cultural clothes, holiday supplies and other knickknackery. Fresne followed with the cart as Gil wandered around grabbing the few sundries he needed, though Fresne couldn't figure out what the husky would make with them, nor did he ask.

Gil seemed to have retreated into his own little world again, something he did too often for Fresne's tastes. It was a two-hour drive each way to and from Phoenix, and while the first two months of their relationship had been cute and sexy, they had never been either outright hot nor romantic. A great guy and a sweetheart of a dog when he wanted to be, Gil was still very much in mourning. Over the course of the past couple of months Fresne had come to realize this, and when he looked back on the whole of their relationship it felt like they were still in the first awkward stages of dating-but-fucking instead of going-out-and-making-love. Fresne wondered when that change-over would occur, if ever.

"What do you think?" asked the husky, suddenly holding two candles in front of the rat, both smelling strongly of artificial vanilla. One featured the Virgin Mary, her grey lupine ears laid back as she gazed beatifically downward. On the other, the lion Jesus, his paws upraised to the heavens, wonderment on his muzzle. "I was looking for Saint Lawrence, 'cuz Caber was an awesome cook, but they don't have him here."

"That would have been cool," Fresne replied, considering the candles. "I can't tell between the two. Jesus is fine and all, but I think Mary would take better care of him." Gil took the candles back, turned them to him, and blinked a few times while biting his lip. It was normally cute, like when Fresne was deep inside the husky and rocking them both with his hips. Now it was kind of pitiful.

Laughing from down the aisle caught Fresne's ear. A little ferret girl jumped up and down near the end-cap while her mother motioned for her to settle down, speaking in quick clipped Spanish. But the little girl would not be calmed. Instead, she reached out to the shelf picked up a plastic skull with glowing red eyes. Its mouth stretched out into a rictus of macabre laughter. After a few failed tries to get the girl to be quiet, the mother seemed to relent, letting her daughter clutch the thing tightly to her. More hushed tones, during which Fresne caught the word abuelo.

"I think so too," agreed Gil. Back on the shelf went Jesus, to allay some other person's grief. Before Fresne could ask, the females were already around the corner and the husky was pushing the cart toward the checkout.

*

After a fairly silent car ride back home Gil went about setting himself up in the kitchen while Fresne looked on. While the husky grabbed a mixing bowl from the cupboard, the rat brushed past him to turn on the oven.

"How hot do you need it for the cake?" he asked.

Gil didn't turn around. "That's okay, I got it." He opened the box of cake mix and poured it into the bowl, then padded across the kitchen to the fridge to take the eggs out of their shelf in the door.

"Just tell me what temperature, since I'm already here."

Instead, Gil set the eggs down and reached across Fresne's chest to click the oven over to three-fifty. "I told you, I got it, thanks." Something in his voice hinted at annoyance, and the rat didn't like that one bit.

"D'you just want me to stay out of the way? I can help if you need me." When Fresne lay a paw on the husky's shoulder to turn him around, he met with resistance. Gil did turn though, but he wouldn't meet the rat's gaze. His paws went directly to the diamond, rubbing and twisting.

"No, really... I'm okay. This is something I need to do myself." And even though Fresne didn't understand why, he respected the husky's need to be alone. Like so often in the recent past, the rat left his boyfriend to work while he watched television in the tiny living room on the other side of the wall.

He didn't fume. He didn't cry. He merely let it pass, like most things passed with Gil. And he fell asleep watching boring daytime Saturday television.

The smell of yellow cake woke the rat up some time later as his whiskers twitched at the scent. He dozed for a while longer and the smell gave way to the even more powerful aroma of chocolate icing. If not for such a hearty breakfast, Fresne would be starving by now.

"Shit!" Gil shouted from the kitchen.

"What happened?"

"We gotta go, I'm gonna be late! The cake took longer to cool than I thought, and I still have to stop by the flower shop. Shit." Fresne heard the husky rustling around and the clatter of cookware, followed by a flash of red and white as he hurried down the hall to the bedroom. This time his tail was up in its usual curl, and the rat smiled wanly. He stood and followed.

Gil was hunched over the side of the bed, tying his sneakers. "Where are we going again? Because you never told me."

"Oh." Gil paused. "We have to get flowers, and then we need to go to... the place. The, uh, intersection."

"Oh." This was different. Definitely different from normal Gil behavior. Fresne didn't know, however, whether it was good different or bad different. "I'm ready to go when you are. Want me to grab anything? I'll meet you in the car."

"You can get the cake, I need to get the skull."

"Skull?"

"You'll see."

When he made it into the kitchen, the rat did see: next to the frosted cake in its disposable aluminum pan, sat a skull. About seven inches tall, it was a miniature caricature of a generic bear skull. It would have looked creepy if not for its comical smile and blacked-out eyes. Gil had put cream-colored icing eyebrows above its sockets and written "Caber, Siempre" on its forehead. Fresne didn't know what significance the skull had and he wanted to ask, but the husky was already moving quickly down the hall so he just picked up the cake and headed out to the car.

"How in the hell did you make that thing?" Fresne asked after Gil had slid himself carefully in the passenger seat and they were on the road again.

Shrugging, the husky muttered, "The mold I got at the store?" Gil cradled the skull between his paws like a newborn.

"I must not have seen that in the cart."

"It's a miracle I didn't. You don't see that every day."

"You're not supposed to. Just today."

"True. Which flower shop were we going to?" Fresne held his paw over the turn indicator.

The husky pointed roughly northeast. "The one on Craycroft, a couple blocks north of here."

"Okay then," the rat confirmed, pushing the stalk down and turning left. He drove slowly, partly because he didn't know of the flower shop Gil had referred to, and partly because he didn't know how the husky would react the closer they got to Broadway.

A couple blocks up, Gil pointed out the shop on the right side and Fresne pulled in. It was so innocuous that the rat never would have noticed it otherwise.

"I won't be long." Gil pushed himself out of the car and went inside the store.

Fresne sat back and sighed, turning down the soft rock on the radio and switching the air from Recirc to Panel. The scents of myriad flowers flowed into the car from the displays set outside the shop. Roses and lilies dominated, with daisies and carnations underneath in subtle undertones.

Where, exactly, was the point where giving Gil his emotional space turned into Fresne allowing himself to be put on the back burner? He'd come down for the weekend expecting to hang out like they always did, have fun. Have some sex too, because they always ended up in bed one way or another. Granted, Gil hadn't completely warmed up to the rat--in nine months--but that would happen eventually. Once Gil had come to terms with losing Caber. Which would be...

"Why won't you talk to me?" the rat whispered under his breath. "I don't even know where we're going. I'm a friggin' taxi." indignation bristled his fur and made him itchy. It was followed immediately by a soul-deep panic that he might lose the husky. No, that he might have to break it off; the husky would lose himself. Perhaps Fresne had stuck it out for too long. Perhaps Gil wouldn't even care if he lost the rat.

Gil backed out of the shop with a thick bouquet of marigolds in his arms. They were ugly against his reddish fur, but they weren't meant for him anyway. Just before the rat reached over to pull the door open from the inside, the husky got one arm free and did it instead. The new scent washed over everything else in the car, sweet and pungent. Up close now, Gil looked noticeably disturbed.

"Why marigolds?" asked Fresne. "They're symbolic, aren't they?"

"Yeah. The Aztecs used 'em at funeral ceremonies. Can we go? I have seven minutes."

"Until when?"

"Until the time he died, okay?"

"Uh... yeah, um, we can go," stammered the rat, putting the car into reverse. He noticed Gil wasn't buckled in, but didn't push it.

Broadway was only a few blocks away, and this time Fresne drove the speed limit so they would get there on time. He didn't want to feel the way he did, but the husky's attitude was beginning to bother him. Hell, it had begun that morning. Even that wasn't true; it had been a long time coming, and that realization sickened Fresne to the pit of his stomach.

"Don't go through, just make a U-turn," Gil said, to which Fresne nodded silently. Drop me in front of the FedEx place."

"You want me to come with?"

"I'm okay. Just park in the lot somewhere."

"Okay."

As they waited at the light, Fresne saw how tightly Gil was holding the flowers. He had them clutched to his chest, his chin buried in their blooms. He was shaking.

"Where... did it happen?" he asked softly.

Gil pointed to a spot about twenty feet to the left of where they were. "We were turning." And then Fresne had the green, and he made the U-turn, driving right over the spot where Gil's boyfriend of five years had died. He almost went beyond the FedEx building before remembering to pull over. The husky rotated out of his seat, ducked back in to grab the candle, and shut the door without a word.

Turning into the parking lot (and glancing warily at the ill-fated Olive Garden), the rat parked outside the entrance to the FedEx where he still had a line of sight on the husky. He opened the windows and shut off the engine, letting in the drone of traffic.

Between the brick building and the sidewalk were rows of palm trees planted among hardy desert bushes and red lava rock. Fresne watched the husky pace the sidewalk slowly from the corner to the edge of the building, his ears flat and his tail lifeless. Eventually Gil stepped up into the landscaping below the inner row of trees and kneeled at the base of one. He lay the bouquet up against the trunk, and the candle next to the bouquet. After several vain attempts to light it in the breeze, though, he gave up and sat down on the rocks. For five long minutes, the husky stared out into the intersection, twirling his ring, before abruptly standing and walking back to the car. He hadn't cried.

"On to the cemetery," said Gil as he buckled in. "What?"

Fresne stared for a few measured seconds, trying to figure out what was going on behind the husky's eyes. Then he just started the engine and backed out. "Nothing."

*

Under an increasingly cloudy November sky, Mesa Reyes Cemetery struck a bleak profile against the low peaks of the Saguaro National Park a few miles distant. Here there was no grass and no tombstones, only flat markers set into the sand amid a few scattered Joshua trees. What would normally be a peaceful beauty had dissolved into a palette of greys and pale browns by the time Fresne steered them through the front gate and around to the back of the property. This wasn't the first time he'd taken Gil to Caber's grave, but it was the first time they had been there on any kind of holiday.

The rat wasn't expecting the cemetery to be busy, but he was surprised when he saw no other cars parked along the narrow drive. Once he saw a white marble gazebo between the barren branches of two trees, he pulled to the side of the road. Gil was out as soon as he cut the engine, opening the rear door and taking the foil-covered cake in one paw,the skull in the other. This time the husky didn't object when Fresne followed him out onto the reddish dusty ground. Fresne would have offered his paw to hold, but Gil's were full. He didn't think it would have mattered.

Caber's grave was three-quarters of the way to the back of the lot, where a chain-link fence separated the dusty cemetery from the overgrown desert scrub. Gil kneeled when he got to the stone with the red panda's name on it, and set the cake down before taking the foil off and wadding it up in a ball. The cake went above the marker and the skull just below, laid carefully so it didn't crumble.

By the time the rat got to his side, he was shaking violently. When Fresne tried to hold the husky, Gil shook him off and turned his face away. The rat shrank back.

"Gil--"

"No!" the husky sobbed, throwing his paws over his eyes. "I just... gotta do this!" And then he broke down into a full-on body-wracking cry, seeming to shrink even closer to the ground, too small for his jacket.

Fresne turned and walked away from Gil. Angry at first, now that he could hear the husky, it tore him apart. He'd seen Gil cry over Caber before--many times--but nothing close to this. Once he was about twenty feet away, the rat stopped and turned back.

Gil lay curled up on the dirt, his body heaving. He moaned Caber's name, but dissolved into gibberish a moment later.

Fresne's heart broke for the husky. He tried to imagine losing Gil the same way, and didn't get far before he teared up and had to force the thought away. It terrified him how much he cared for Gil, even after how often he'd been treated as second fiddle to a dead ex-boyfriend. But the husky was still deep in mourning. Maybe today would mark the end of his sadness. Maybe.

Wiping his eyes, the rat went back to the car and leaned against its hood. He took out his phone and began searching.

*

Fresne left the simmering beef on the stove long enough to check on Gil in the bedroom. Thankfully the husky was still asleep, and had been for a few hours. He had cried himself into exhaustion at Caber's grave, and he wouldn't leave until he was almost too weak to stand and the rat had to help him to the car.

Now he slept soundly while Fresne worked hard in the kitchen on a surprise he hoped would cheer the husky up. After the strain he'd put himself through today, anything positive might be welcome.

What the rat had found on his phone was confusing. For all the research he did, he couldn't find a single instance where mourning took precedence over celebration. The Dia de los Muertos was all about fondly remembering loved ones and inviting their spirits back with food, gifts and memoirs. Gil had spent the day crying over Caber, and while he could chalk it up to just more grief, Fresne thought it a waste to go the entire day without something positive.

So he'd decided to put together a memorial dinner for Gil, in honor of the red panda's memory. Gathering what information he could, he'd put the husky to bed and driven back over to the Tienda Mexicana, where he'd bought a plastic skull like the ferret girl had picked, a box of red velvet cake (Gil's favorite, not Caber's) with cream cheese frosting, and various necessities for tostadas. Besides tostadas and other simple fare, there wasn't much Fresne could make that wasn't instant.

An hour and a half later, the rat hummed away while sprinkling seasoning over the skillet, the last thing to finish up before everything was ready. If Gil was anything like him, crying one's eyes out led to pretty serious hunger later on. He hoped.

He poured the meat into a bowl, added a spoon and set it on the table with the rest of the setup. One last look and he went to fetch Gil.

The husky snored softly but opened his eyes with the rat's gentle touch.

"Hey," whispered Fresne. "You feeling any better?"

Gil blinked a few times, letting out a couple stray tears. "A little bit," he answered after some thought.

"I've got a surprise for you in the kitchen." The rat took the husky's paw in his and tugged. At first Gil didn't move, but after a few more playful tugs he swung his legs over the side of the bed and followed, hunched over but more or less conscious. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, he had no trouble keeping pace. That was, until he saw the kitchen table and he started to shake again.

Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, Fresne had set the table up for a romantic dinner for two. A chair at each end, the table was full of decorations and food. With a big bouquet of red roses in an ornate vase as its centerpiece, the spread consisted of tortillas, meat, beans, and an assortment of other toppings and salsas for Fresne's tostadas. Next to the roses sat the cake. Red wine breathed in long-stemmed glasses. And at Gil's place setting was the plastic grinning skull, next to a framed picture of Caber that usually occupied the shelf above the husky's television.

Gil gaped, shaking softly in Fresne's arms. His expression was one of shock, but the rat couldn't tell whether that was good or bad. Leaning down, he whispered in the husky's ear. "I wanted to do something positive after today."

Closing his muzzle, Gil lurched and made a wet sound in his throat. "I'm not hungry," he muttered, and turned back toward the hallway.

Anger bloomed, a fire in the rat's belly preempting any other logical emotion. Or maybe anger was the only logical emotional reaction to this kind of snubbing. There really was no excuse for what Gil had done, even if he'd lost Caber just a month ago or a week ago. He felt the heat flush from his ears down through his tail, and as the husky sulked back to the bedroom he said the only words he could think to say.

" Well, fuck you. Why am I even here?" Fresne stared after the husky, who stopped in his tracks and turned around with the gall to look incredulous.

"I'm tired, what am I supposed to say?"

"Plenty. A thank-you would be nice, for starters. I didn't spend two hours shopping and cooking so you could look at it and not care." Gil straightened up to his full height, but his ears were still back, his gaze narrowed. He was either hiding something, which Fresne suspected, or he had just decided that the rat wasn't worth holding onto. That thought stabbed at Fresne's heart, but this is what it had come to.

"I do care. Can't you see I have a lot of stuff going on?"

"You always have a lot of stuff going on, Gil. I don't know about some of it, since you won't tell me."

"I tell you everything."

Fresne balked. "Like today? This whole business? I had no idea any of this was going on! I drove two hours to spend time with you, and I end up as a fifth-wheel to a holiday I didn't know you were celebrating. Well, not celebrating, there wasn't any of that."

By now Gil was no longer sleepy at all. He stood firm, poofed-out a little in only his boxers, a subtle fury clouding his features. "What is there to celebrate? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

" You should ask the same of yourself!" Fresne shouted, pointing a stiff finger down the hallway. "You didn't tell me shit about the skull or why you put a goddamn _cake_on a grave. I wanted to ask but you were crying and I thought you needed space. So I gave it to you, and looked it up. You wanna know why I feel left out? I didn't know what the hell you were doing."

"You wouldn't understand."

"Bullshit," said the rat, stepping toward the husky. "I understood fine after I had to Google it. You'd think after all this time you'd want to share it with me, you're so open about Caber." That last was a bit too personal, but as long as Fresne was airing grievances...

Still, Gil looked offended. "My therapist said it was good to talk about it. Why do you have a problem with me sharing my feelings?"

"Whoa," the rat said, holding up his paws. "If sharing your feelings means talking about how better than me Caber was at everything, then I do have a problem with it. That's not what your shrink meant."

" You _are_jealous--"

Fresne counted on his fingers. "You never smile when you talk about him. You never remember good things. You only say, 'Oh, Caber loved this' or 'Caber and I used to do this all the time.' Then you would cry, and I would hold you, and then you'd want to be alone."

"Fresne... " The husky's voice was softer, wavering. "He died in front of me. What am I supposed to do, pretend it never happened?" He'd shrunk even further, twirling that goddamned ring again.

The rat was unflappable. Whether or not he kept Gil, he had to know he meant anything at all beyond a taxi service and convenient shoulder on which to cry.

" Of course not, that's crazy. But at some point you've got to quit being sad and remember the good stuff. You have to quit sobbing every time Caber comes up. It's not fair to me, it's not fair to you, and it's really not fair to Caber. Caber's memory. He sounds like he was a nice guy, and we should celebrate that, not mourn it forever." Fresne sounded nonchalant, even to himself, but if he knew anything, it was that logic was the cure to irrational emotions. It cut through the very core of Gil's argument, and the husky didn't look like he was taking it too well.

"Oh, my God... " Gil murmured, staring at the floor. He covered his snout with both paws and sank to his knees. "Oh, my God, I don't know... " Fresne couldn't catch him in time, but he kneeled to hug the husky just the same. And when Gil flailed him away, the rat held firm. Gil struggled weakly, then broke down again.

"I don't want to lose you," said Fresne, "but I'm not going to try to replace Caber either. It's not fair."

" It's not." Gil sniffled, wiping his nose. "You just can't imagine what it's like. Seeing him right there, like he was sleeping. He looked fine! But he wasn't! He wasn't!" A series of panicked gasps took over when the husky stopped talking. "I... can't breathe, oh my God I can't breathe."

"Inhale deep, okay? Ignore it and go in deep, and out real slowly. Just keep doing that." Gil heaved a few times before forcing himself to slow down and think. Now that the attack had peaked, Fresne could just hold the husky and nuzzle into his damp cheek fur until his breathing returned to normal. The rat could hear Gil's racing heart through his temple. Though he felt bad for taking things this far, he was glad to hear the husky saying what was most painful to share.

Minutes passed before Gil was able to talk. He breathed through his mouth and swiped his arm across his snout. "Now I'm really not hungry. Feel like I wanna throw up."

Fresne nodded. "It's fine. It'll all keep."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without him."

"What have you been doing for the past year? I'm in there, somewhere, I hope."

"I'm sorry." Gil dipped his head.

"It's okay," the rat replied, even though it wasn't entirely okay. He didn't see a reason to press anymore. Instead, he curled his tail around behind them and circled one of the husky's ankles. Gil jerked, but relaxed again. There didn't seem to be anything more to say, so Fresne just held on and hoped that was enough. Presently he began to rock the husky, falling into an uneven but hypnotic rhythm. He wasn't aware that Gil's breathing had changed until he sighed and relaxed against Fresne's side.

"What?" the rat asked, receiving a nuzzle in response.

"Nothing. I feel better." Fresne could feel the telltale breeze from the husky's tail, now that he concentrated on it.

"Good. You're supposed to," said Fresne, squeezing his tail a bit. Gil sighed again. "Oh?"

"I... I was going to say Caber used to do that same thing with his tail. Cuz it was so long? Fluffier too, but you do it well."

"Sounds like a good memory."

"I'm not crying about it." Fresne squeezed again, smiling when he got the same reaction. He continued to rock them both, constricting his tail at intervals, first in a pattern then at random. The food was getting cold and the day was getting dark, but as long as Gil held on, the rat saw no reason to move. In fact, he was beginning to enjoy the sounds the husky made, not least because they were sounds of enjoyment instead of the grief he'd seen all day long.

It was when a whiff of musk hit his nose that Fresne finally opened his eyes and looked down. Below Gil's trembling belly, his boxers protruded just enough so that it couldn't be mistaken for a fold in the material. Fresne's tail squeezed the husky's calf again and traced the gentle round of his belly until his fingers alighted on the hard sheath under the cotton.

"Is that why Caber did it?" asked the rat.

"Y-yeah, partly." Gil trembled while his shaft throbbed beneath Fresne's stroking touch. Already it had dampened the cotton, and the rat fixed that problem by unbuttoning the fly and taking the entire package out. "I'm not usually this sensitive."

"You've had a stressful day," Fresne replied. "Even bad stress builds up inside in weird ways." As he explored the soft white bits with his fingertips, he nuzzled up further next to Gil's muzzle to where the lightness gave way to an almost vulpine orange-red. Further up, the fur was matted an stained, but Fresne was headed for the other end.

He licked softly along Gil's jawline, encouraged by the squeaks that turned to moans. The shaft in his paw surged and he barely got the knot out before it swelled too big. Chuckling, the rat took what lubrication was already there and used it to slicken the rest of the length until he was stroking rapidly from the base of the knot to the head. Gil gasped, allowing Fresne's tongue access to his teeth.

"Why hasn't it felt this good before?" Gil asked, his voice barely more than a breathy whisper.

"I'm not doing anything different." That said, Fresne's other paw slid down the husky's spine, around the base of his tail and under, teasing with his claws. Now Gil's tail was as high and curly as it could go.

"Except that. Keep going." Gil dropped his head some, right onto the rat's lips, which was okay because he'd been heading for a kiss anyway. So he did just that, keeping Gil occupied while his paws did their magic and his tail did its own dance over the husky's calf. He couldn't remember seeing Gil so close, so quick, but he obviously needed the relief. When he felt the trembling increase, he sped up his stroking until the husky was whimpering past his lips and into his muzzle.

Suddenly Gil jerked and went rigid. "Catch it. Catch it," he rasped, and Fresne brought his left paw around just in time to keep the shots from spraying all over the hallway carpet. Thick and warm, it was more than the rat had ever seen from the husky. He had to break the kiss to watch what he was doing, but that allowed Gil to moan freely before his knees gave out and he sat on his calves.

"That was beautiful," Fresne admitted.

Gil panted, paws on his thighs, snorted and replied, "It's not special. Felt great though."

"I'll bet it did. I'm gonna wash this off, be right back." But the husky grabbed his arm and held him before he could stand.

"Don't wash it off," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I want it... you know where." Fresne looked at the puddle in his paw and back at the husky, who looked gorgeous when he was smiling, and even more so when he blushed. "Caber used to do that to me. Every time I went first... he saved it and used it on me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Gil's left paw was already fumbling with his fly. Fresne bent down and finished the job easily, freeing the rat's erection and pushing his pants and underwear down to his knees. He gave Fresne a couple licks for good measure.

"I don't know." The husky brushed his hair back between his ears, finally forward. He hesitated. "I kind of thought of it as Caber's thing. Silly to think no one else could do it like he could."

" If you thought that way about everything," Fresne said as he slid half the load on his cock, "you wouldn't let anyone touch you."

"I'm sorry."

"Forget it. Are you ready?" Gil answered by sliding his boxers off and propping himself against the wall, his tail in proper place off to one side. Rubbing his fingers slick, he cupped them and funneled the cum onto the husky's hole, rubbing it around and sliding a claw in, then a fingertip. "You sure?"

"Yeah, you're okay." To prove his point, Gil reached back for Fresne's shaft, guiding the rat closer until his tip pressed against the warm, tight flesh. "Please." With that, Fresne grasped the husky's hips and pushed, sliding in easily with a familiar intimacy.

Fresne bottomed out and paused there, enjoying the clenching right next to his sheath as Gil shuddered and set his forehead against the wall. "What else would Caber do?"

"Well... " Gil sat and clenched, edging the rat along without meaning to. "He would usually go real slow, and do missionary."

"Oh, ok. Turn over, then."

"No, don't. I don't care."

"You like this?"

"Just go." And Fresne went. Finally able to pull free, he withdrew most of the way before sliding slowly back in. The exquisite pleasure, something he hadn't felt in quite a while from Gil, tingled out to his ears and tail before centering again between his legs. He dug his fingers into the soft fleshy buttocks and used them for leverage.

Gil was all panting and squirming and tensing and milking Fresne. Trapped between them, his tail thumped from side to side, tickling across Fresne's taut belly in a most erotic way. Panting as he felt his lower half tightening, he watched his shaft slide in and out of the husky's rear, stretching the flesh on each out-stroke. Just then he realized that it felt so new because he could actually see Gil's responses to his actions instead of just hearing them after the husky turned the lights out.

Now Gil was pinned against the wall, his head off to the side, tongue lolling out as if he were licking the spackle. He neither looked at the floor nor at the rat, but merely into space with a goofy smile that was both easy and natural. Fresne wanted to lean up and lick along the husky's shoulder, but that angle wouldn't work to get him off. He figured Gil was looking forward to it as much as he was, so he stayed put and felt the pleasure build.

Spreading his knees and putting more weight on his paws, Gil was able to bear back onto the rat's shaft and stay there. The whole of his cock encased in warmth, he embraced his impending climax and moved to hold the husky by the belly. His hips went erratic, then jackhammered him through the rush of electricity as he lost himself, breeding the husky. He lost count of the spasms, but he didn't care, thrusting as much as his sensitive tip would allow him before collapsing on Gil's back. Not until he'd gotten control of his breathing back did he realize his tail was once again wrapped around the husky's leg.

Fresne wanted to say something. He felt like it needed to be something smart or sexy or profound. But he didn't want to spoil this moment--this perfect intimate moment, profound in itself--that neither of them had been expecting. So he said nothing, preferring to hold Gil close until he softened up enough to just slip out from between them. Then it was the husky who spoke, not really ruining the moment but breaking whatever tension could be left.

"Fresne?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still call them leftovers if nobody ever ate them in the first place?"

*

The drive from Phoenix to Tucson seemed much more enjoyable now that Fresne looked forward to visiting instead of wondering what kind of drama Gil had in store for him. To be fair, though, a lot of that drama Gil hadn't known he was causing, so he couldn't completely be blamed.

Fresne also felt much more relaxed, under less pressure than he or Gil had been under before they had decided to downgrade their relationship. An honest discussion (and a few cries) had led them to the conclusion that although the husky still had a litany of emotional issues to sort through, doing it while trying to make it work with the rat would have put undue pressure on them both. Not that it hadn't been working out, but the presence of those expectations would do Gil less good than the husky could do alone, or with his therapist.

Benefits were never ruled out of the equation, though.

They had originally planned for Fresne to come down again in a month instead of every weekend, to "test" the healing process. Due to scheduling conflicts, and a busted radiator, it stretched to over six weeks, and the rat had hardly heard from Gil in the past two. He was worried, sure, but not nearly as much as he used to be.

The husky who greeted him at the door wore jeans, a charcoal hoodie and a gigantic smile.

"Fresne." Gil launched himself out the door and into the rat's arms, knocking him backwards and almost off the stoop. "I missed you. But not too much." Fresne returned the hug, noting a softness to Gil's cheek ruffs that hadn't been there before. He smelled nice too... a mixture of canine, cologne and onions.

"You smell like food," said the rat.

"I've been cooking. I was almost going to do tostadas, but I thought that would be hokey, so I didn't."

"You still smell good."

"So do you. Come on, inside." Fresne broke the hug and closed the door behind himself, unable to take his eyes off Gil's perpetually wagging tail. He actually looked like a husky now.

The apartment hadn't been redecorated, but some furniture had been moved around. The couch and television now occupied opposite corners from their previous places, and a small four-person table now sat where Gil's old monster used to be. On the table, the two place settings were close enough to reach over and touch from the other side.

"My therapist said it might be good to change things up a little. Get the old, stale feeling out," Gil said. "It worked. As soon as I did it, I felt better."

Fresne looked around the living room, to the kitchen and back to the husky. "That picture of Caber is gone."

"No, it's not," Gil said, smiling. He patted his rump. "He's in my wallet now. Closer that way, plus I don't need to be looking at him every day. It took me the longest time to figure out it wasn't doing me any good."

That reminded the rat of something he wasn't sure he should bring up. But he was so impressed by Gil's progress--and how gorgeous he looked when he was truly happy--that he took the chance. "Speaking of which, I didn't hear from you a few days ago. I wasn't sure if I should call you, but I assumed you were handling it okay."

After a brief moment of pensiveness, the husky sighed wistfully. "We had a good time. I drove myself to get the flowers, and then over to the cemetery. Through the intersection. Didn't feel anything, it was so nice. And when I got there, we talked for about half an hour."

"I did that when my grandmother died. What did you talk about?"

"Lots of things. Everything. How I wanted to make him proud by not using his memory as a crutch. More therapist talk, but I think Caber understood. We talked about you."

"Yeah?" asked the rat. "What did you say?"

The husky pulled Fresne into another hug, gentler this time, and buried his snout deep into the rat's grey neck fur. He inhaled deeply, taking solace in Fresne's scent. Not desperate, not clingy, just intimate. "Caber did most of the talking. You have to ask him."

"You little bastard," the rat chuckled, and tickled Gil away. "What're you doing for Christmas?"

"Family in Mexico. Gonna spend a week down there, get away. I hope that's okay with you."

"It's not up to me," said Fresne. "I hope you have a lot of fun. You deserve it."

"Thanks." Gil leaned up and planted a peck on the rat's muzzle, initiating a blush.

"Mhm."

"Alright! I hope you like mole, because that's what I made. It's going over some chicken enchiladas with lots of sharp cheddar. Your favorite, I think I remember."

"Smells delicious." Fresne sat himself down as the husky dished them both out heaping plates of food covered in a pungent brown sauce that burned the rat's nose at first but mellowed into a wonderful aroma.

Gil set the plates down, poured them both glasses of wine and took his seat opposite the rat, fairly beaming. "Caber loved my mole. You already look like you do."

"I know I will." Fresne's tail snaked its way under the table and found the husky's calf, just long enough to wrap around it once and squeeze. From the look of things, the rat suspected he would enjoy the weekend just fine.

Sighing at the touch, the husky was able to shake it off and maintain his civility. "Shall we say grace?" Nodding, Fresne took the husky's paws in his own over the table and bowed his head, but not before noticing--not without some surprise and optimism--that the diamond ring was now on Gil's right paw.

So he held even tighter and gave thanks.

8/15/11