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"I think this will be good for you." His statement is both odd and slightly encouraging. Or at least, it would be if he didn't shine a smile of scary intent. His suggestive moments can be pretty obvious, but still just as effective. The glimmer in his eye is probably what completes the image.

I swing the basket I'm holding a little more dramatically to emphasize, "Well, you still haven't told me what we're doing here or what's in here." Scar doesn't stop in his dedicated strut to a location basically in the middle of the park.

He smiles another disconcertingly evil smile my way. "I know. Trust me, it really is only picnic stuff in there. But, that said, we're trying to bust some of your shyness today."

Really? Shyness? I start flushing a little, barely visibly. "I did tell you the story about guys in the restr--"

He stops us as he decides his place in the park is suitable, a few people sitting nearby. No one is close enough to really hear what we're discussing, and the closest other couple is still a good stone's throw away. "I know, yes. I'm trying to forget, honestly." The complementary serious look he shoots me makes me go quiet immediately, ears pinning quickly. "I'm kidding. But that isn't the same shyness as being with me in public. You have to be certain that I'm here for you, public shame and hate crimes spited."

Scarlet gets like this sometimes. He'll become idealistically or philosophically driven for absolutely minimal reasons. It's adorable most of the time to watch him rant. Mostly I just like to observe the bobbing of his ears as he gets animated. My eyes stuck to those very things, I hesitantly ask, "So what torture will I be subjected to?"

There's an evil glint in his eye. "Surely you don't think torture is the only way to describe our relationship." He reaches into our basket to withdraw a sandwich. You can be damn sure I made them. I'm proud of it, too. I asked earlier about the basket because it would be a very Scarlet thing to do to lull me into a calm complacency by making me do stuff in the kitchen.

"My name isn't Shirley, and yes, I think torture is the perfect word."

He grins. "Only if we acknowledge that you do plenty of teasing back."

I roll my eyes. The way our relationship works, I might as well only stand a chance directing things if we're in the bedroom. That said, it's still a mutual concept, you know? He tortures me in front of my friends and pokes at my shyness in general all the time. Were it not for the sexual bet I let him off easy for a little while ago, I'd be making a louder case. I poke at all of his weaknesses all the time, after all.

That said, I continue to give him accusatory looks even as we continue to eat our inconspicuous lunch. The sergal had insisted we bring everything from a blanket to a jug of our favorite tea. He's innocent, for now. He knows I constantly stare at his ears like a kitten would at yarn, and he waggles them whenever he can tell I'm looking at him again.

He's in the middle of a second sandwich when I ask, "So...when does the torment begin?"

His grin gets mischievous again. "First, you need to know the rules. This is a high stakes game. We haven't ventured very far with your comfort zone, so we're pushing it today." Oh god no. "Starting with me, we will take turns saying 'penis.' You have to be louder than me when it's your turn, and if you refuse to get louder, you lose. We can do a few rounds if you want." His smile is now wide enough to span the gap between South America and Africa.

I facepaw. "I should've known you and a walk in the park weren't on clean terms. What are the stakes?"

He takes another bite of his sandwich, then a swig of tea. "I'll tell you my condition, then you come up with one."

This isn't halfway fair, but still I say, "Okay, fair enough."

"If you lose, you have to top me for a night."

I facepaw again. "You know, there're easier ways to ask me to do that. You don't have to make it a competition."

He smirks again. "Would you have, had I asked?"

I blush and look away. "...No. Not unless you goaded me into it."

"So here we are. You can name your winning condition, but I won't let you involve your muzzle and my cock." Damnit. He knew. When I blush more, ears askew, he shakes his head and chuckles. "I just knew that was where you'd go with it."

Damn it all. "No fair!" I whine. He's patient, though very full of smiles, while he waits for me to name my condition. "If I win, my topping experience is limited to your muzzle, and then it's over."

He licks his lips, though I'm not sure if it's the conversation topic or his finished lunch. "Now we're talking. Alright, game on. 'Penis.'" It's not confusing or anything, but my eyebrows do scrunch. He didn't say any louder than he was talking before.

I shake my head a little, still pretty surprised the sergal had come to this just so he could have something under his tail. "Bottoming isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know. 'Penis.'" I said it only a little louder, sidling along the minimum volume if possible.

He grins again, his ears flopping playfully. "Says you, queen of blowjobs. 'Penis.'" He, of course, goes just short of shouting that round, immediately reminding me why this is supposed to be a game of chicken.

I blush lightly. He's so rude sometimes. "You're the one who decided that can't be a victory condition. Who does that? 'Penis!'" I'm only getting redder as time passes, and our intermittent dialogue only serves to highlight just how loudly we're shouting a few rounds in.

Eventually I can feel I'm almost there. Not much further I can take this before dying. "You know what's pretty gay? 'Penis!'"

He chuckles. "Gee, can't be the fact that you're shouting 'penis' to everyone here!"

The looks we're getting from around he park are classic, but I also start to get pretty uncomfortable. I'd hoped to play on his wannabe straight card to get him to give up, but as I spot a mother bear covering her cub's ears, I decide I've gotta stop. "Alright, I can't do it. You win."

His eyes light up, but I'd say more out of curiosity than happiness for winning. Maybe that's wishful thinking for you. "What's the matter, wuff?"

My ears are almost as badly folded as the time the sergal clamped my muzzle. "It's kinda vulgar. I don't feel anymore inclined to start a conversation with someone else."

He shakes his head. "No, love. I wanted you to be more open with me. Mostly as far as the public and our relationship go, you know?"

I shrug. "I still don't want to yell my favorite body part of yours out here."

He nods. "So you'll stuff yourself under my tail? Call me a slut? Pull on my hair?"

I cross my arms, a slight blush present in my ears. "As if you do that to me. You should try vanilla bottoming before we get all elaborate and mean."

He insists, moving forward with his suggestive talk. "Oh, I dunno. I think you and I could use the role swap. I'm always pretty dominant to you, so you get to do the same, in effect, to me." He's tender at the worst of times, and passionate even then. I don't think he isn't aware of that, but he's still trying to goad me into some sort of hardcore mode. I didn't exactly agree to all of that, though.

Arms still crossed, I give him a sideways look. "Aren't you controlling me into being dominant to you?" Check-mate!

He presses a finger to my lips, shushing me. And he escapes the check-mate. Damnit. "You think too much and too hard. Or maybe, y'know, not 'hard' enough yet." A chuckle hiding in his eyes translates into a deep cat-like rumble as he removes his finger and kisses me. It's hard to oppose the suggestive talk or his approach, yet I find myself in an ironic position.

I'm never one to deny his advances, because I know I never will be able to. Honestly, I probably couldn't shrug anyone off if they were trying hard enough. That said, I have to (try to) shove him off when he presses himself closer and gropes me. My eyes are wide in bewilderment, his in amusement. "What the hell?"

His ears flop. Damnit stop doing that. "What? Aren't I allowed to bug you?" He's pushing me, and while I feel it working, I just decide to go with it. The sergal's mind could probably argue to attribute anything I do to my own will, anyway.

I see what he's doing in any case. I start up a growl, the sound itself a bit unfamiliar to my ears. Or at least, unfamiliar in that I'm the one growling. Helps to be a wolf, though. I was afraid of sounding like a cub. "Only if it goes somewhere."

I watch him visibly shiver. He was definitely looking to cash in on his bet. With this reaction, I'm amazed he hasn't asked for us to switch before now. Knowing him, he didn't want to scare me off with new things. Regardless, he's now grinning wide again, barely pausing to retort, "And if it doesn't?"

With him already sitting pretty close to me, it isn't hard to pull his light weight into my lap. Despite our similar sizes, he still seems smaller as I take charge. He is on his knees, perched just above me, and not stressing any sort of size difference. I grab one of his paws and place it back on the front of my shorts. "Oh, it will. And it will now."

I can tell he's pretty surprised to hear that one. He's gone from having a boyfriend who's shy about saying penis in public to having a boyfriend that's domineering in public. I don't bother to look at our surroundings. Lord knows that straight couples do worse out in parks. That said, my sergal's expression turns apprehensive in zero time flat. I can tell it's real too. A small swell of pride wells up in my chest.

Turning his glance off sides a few times, ears bashful, he nervously asks, "N-now? I mean, can't we wait? I can't just...do that...here." It's not sadistic to enjoy his discomfort, right? It isn't like he hasn't done this to me a thousand times more often.

I smile (or is it sneer? Yeah, probably a sneer) as I watch him writhe. "You can't cede your bet now. You won fair and square. Now, you're going to lend your paw for a few minutes. If you don't, then you'll have me even more backed up to take out on you later." Oh I'm liking this. I foresee the two of us switching things occasionally, if for no other reason than the thrills I can watch him experience and the assurance I feel flow through me as a consequence.

He nervously bites his lip, but I can see the ideas running through his head. He's enjoying this a lot, and maybe he's concerned for it. His paw squeezes me through my shorts, then his wandering eyes look up to mine for approval. I settle for trying to look stern, and I give him a nod.

In my lap, he looks decently unnerved. I've got my paws resting on his nice butt, and I give an encouraging grope right back to see if I can prompt him to action. Sure enough, he swallows hard and starts working on my zipper. I've managed to only be half hard by the time he actually does have my sheath in the open (yeah I skipped underwear. With my boyfriend, I just assume it's more than likely a good idea), and I give a deep, approving growl that reverberates through the sergal's body. He gasps at something, but even though I have no idea what, he looks ridiculously and painfully hard in his own shorts.

I palm his butt some more, getting pretty decently turned on by this turn of events. The sergal doesn't delay in stroking over my wolfhood to try to get things started. I rise to my decent (I'm no horse) size in little time, and I make sure to keep up my growl that seems to have the creature in my lap hypnotized. He even strokes and looks for places that emit a new sound from me, returning to places he likes. An errant squeeze of the knot here, a rub over the tip there.

I, like most dogs, don't take long to start leaking pre decently. I don't, and this irritated me as a teenager, produce anything more than what'll make things slippery. I always admired species that'd leak and in all their glory produce enough for another orgasm in volume alone. Horses especially...

I groan as between my thoughts and his good execution, I can feel myself progressing down handjob lane. One of my paw floats back up his back to push him into my muzzle, where I quickly make sure to take control of the kiss. It isn't like I don't know how to or even that I never had with Scarlet before. Sometimes, while he's nailing me under the tail but I'm on my back, the only thing I get to control is where his tongue and muzzle are.

Here, though, I want to try to take on as much as possible to make the sergal's apparent daydreams a reality. My paw still on his hindquarters tries harder to subtly poke under his tail or rub around his tail base, making him moan loud enough into the kiss that I'm glad I decided to cover his muzzle up. I'm sure anyone looking hard enough would be able to tell we're doing far more than kissing, but I don't need him moaning and telling half the park just what we're up to.

He's hard enough that I can tell he's pretty uncomfortable so packaged up still, grinding against anything in range that he can get traction on. His paw works on diligently, but I can tell that unlike me, he's not used to the stress of so many areas of arousal while still trying to entertain a partner. Typical top.

I pull off the kiss only for a small while, edging down to nibble at his neck while I whisper, "If you don't want the park to know what's going on here, I'd suggest hushing up your cute little muzzle and hurrying up on this..."

He imperceptibly nods, biting his lip instead of crying out when I get in against the cleft of his butt, my paw clever enough to make dives in and out of his shorts. With that established, I only lean back to admire his reactions for a small time, savoring the after-image for when I close my eyes and kiss him hard again. I can feel my knot starting to form, and if he does nothing but squeeze it, we'll be out of here nice and quickly.

He knows that for sure, yet he stays on this through stroking pattern that only barely teases my knot at the best of times. Admit it out loud or no, this sergal was enjoying the hell out of this. I grunt, a break in my steady rumbles of approval, when he does finally take a hint and give me a hard squeeze at the base every few strokes.

My dick, extraordinarily hard and knotted at this point, isn't an easy sight for us to cover with him simply hovering in my lap. Clearly Scarlet realizes this and also thinks ahead, lowering himself close enough to hide my member under his shirt as he takes the final steps to close out this episode of public affection.

Assured comfortably that I won't make a mess we can't clean up, I hug him close and bite his neck to take the place of the howl welling in my throat. I pulse for a while into his shirt, and the mental image of how messy I'm making him, in front of strangers no less, kicks up the final step of lupine dominance I need in order to pain the sergal's chest and belly with plenty of ropes of cum.

We're both recovering for a little while, not moving primarily because we both realize my knotted dick won't fit into my pants very easily. Besides that, Scarlet is trying just about as hard as I am to control his breathing. When I've caught mine sufficiently, I ask, "What has you panting?"

Though his ears were pinned submissively the entire time I forced him to pleasure me, they start to gain some color, a lot of color, with that question. "I, uh, came too."

I smirk. No way. "You came in your shorts."

He whines. "Yes."

I chuckle, pulling back to get a good look at his bashful muzzle. I subtly start to put my self away, watching as his shirt sticks to his chest effortlessly, a few stains telling of a very beastly hidden orgasm. "You came, and I didn't even have to touch you."

His eyes find mine only in small time increments, the rest of the time they're hidden away in about the most shy expressions I've ever seen from my boyfriend. "Y-you were still hitting a lot of sensitive points... And when I realized how serious you were, and that you really were going to paint me in public..." He's very quiet, and sounds like he's not far out from either sobbing or complete silence. "I-I...I really wanted to rip my clothes off and hop on your cock..." He whines and butts his forehead against my shoulder.

Though we're decent (kinda) now, I still feel the gazes of a few people around us. I wonder to myself about how it might be impacting him even though I'm shrugging the attention off. "Do you still want to talk about this?" Slight nod. "Alright, come on then." I stand up and take him with me, quickly folding up the blanket and stuffing it into the basket.

It isn't a long walk back to the apartment, but it still feels palpably uncomfortable. The saddest part, I guess, is the sexual tension. The unease has little base besides the fact that poor Scar seems to always be on some unfortunate side effect of his own devices.

When we get inside, I barely turn and register how blushy and shy (nervous more like, I suppose) he looks before he forces me against the door and kisses me again, holding my paws at my sides. Surprise kisses aren't ever going to stop being surprises, but from everything I could tell, I thought he was going to make this a huge talking session, and now I'm not even sure he was actually upset.

He gets very passionate, even diving for my throat (and that would get something started that would have to be finished) before I grab his shoulders and hold him back for a moment. "Wait wait wait. What's going on here? I thought you were all bashful and ashamed about this!"

He's still blushing, and I don't think I've ever seen him do so to such an extent. His ears are all floppy and overly-affected by gravity as he explains, scratching the back of his neck, "I know. I am. I...I don't know how to describe it. You remember when you told me about when I clamped on your muzzle? I just sorta felt like I'd only be okay if I submitted to you."

I cock my head off to the side. "What triggered that?"

He buries his muzzle into my shoulder. It's kinda adorable. "I'm sorry. I'll quit it." My heart melts, feeling a lot of regret about making my sergal react like this. It's a horrible feeling to do stuff out of jest or for roleplaying for him and have it instead turn into emotion-fest. In an indirect way, it's good. It means we'll clear him out of this feeling sooner rather than later.

Okay. This will take a long talk session, I suppose. While the sergal is light and loves to swim, I make sure to always be able to lift at least my weight comfortably, so I, in a flashy ninja move, trip Scarlet and carry him wedding-style to our bedroom. He only whimpers as he starts sobbing quietly, still stuck in my shoulder firmly. Unlike usual, he didn't even gasp when his legs were swept out from under him.

More than doing anything else, I decide to simply hold him on my lap in a slightly more romantic gesture, his legs draped perpendicular to mine, my arms hugging him tightly to me. I nuzzle his ears softly, letting him vent the feelings he is obviously more than a little overwhelmed by. His crying never becomes loud or pronounced, but I can tell from his irregular breathing or quiet whimpers what's going on.

I continue to whisper reassuring nothings, caressing him and trying to calm him down so we can start somewhere. "Honey, you gotta calm down a little. I don't even know where we're at here. Was it something I did?" I don't get an immediate answer, but I don't let that affect me. He's a shyer type, and I'm used to calculated silence before an answer occasionally.

Scarlet's quiet, and I can feel another story coming soon. I remember he told me once about the people he's been with in the past. Rewinding my memory, I recall some fox that he helped a little more out of the closet, some otter he liked before that, and some other first-boyfriend-wolf even before those two. The wolf was supposedly his first gay kiss (because he made sure to make the distinction between his childhood one and that one), and anything I ever heard about that other wolf mostly had to do with how much better of one I am, maned or not. Scar doesn't think highly of his first fling, but that alone doesn't seem to be motivation for repressed feelings of any sort. I don't know. I'm constantly surprised to see the things still impacting either of us, and Scar, being the psychology guy, is usually the one to point to significant events that change who we are.

And I get where he comes from with those answers, but it doesn't help me understand the sergal any better. I really wish I could, because he is absolutely the most precious and loving person I've ever had the honor to share a living space with. I kiss the top of his head as his breathing steadies out.

In the meantime, I try to recall what the otter did to the sergal. I seem to remember some sort of problem between the two, and it was either caused or brought to light by the next boyfriend, the fox. I try to get myself into, if nothing else, the mental set that will help me talk him through his problems. I'm certain the sergal has an easier time dealing with me and my problems than with his own, but I know he also has a lot more serious ones. Maybe because he's so good at interpreting emotion, all that which exists in his life is also amplified. I don't doubt how hard he thinks about things, having more than once even caught him still awake in the middle of the night, busy looking into the darkness of the room, mind miles away. He tells me that sometimes he doesn't need rest when he can simply watch me in my sleep and think out the skeletons in his closet.

Eventually, and damn is he so cute even with those tear tracks down his face, he looks up at me with flattened ears and uncertain eyes. I reach up to wipe his tears, and he sort've nuzzles into my paw, pressing his head into the attention. "Scar, hon, I need you to talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Even if you just have to rant, then fine. I'd rather you feel better by saying something than me not know what to do about it. And clearly this has you upset."

He nods, but remains pretty quiet. It still amazes me that we ever became a couple, because left at a party or social outing or just by ourselves, both of us fade into reflective silence. I, of course, went to plenty of parties with an agenda that was carried out (sometimes more than once), but I could see him bringing his phone to a group outing just to read something he came prepared with. Finally, Scarlet takes a deep breath, and I pet over his head again. "I've got a lot of baggage." The hurt in his eyes betrays the wish to say so much more, but the area of interpretation is wide enough to communicate it all.

And he has mentioned this before. I've never managed to get out of the sergal what exactly happened to him during high school. Like I said before, he's constantly talking about big life events and how they drive us to action completely without our awareness. Perhaps he hasn't taken the time to sort out the meaning of those old situations. "Is this about a past boyfriend?"

He smiles, but it's a sad smile. It's probably more out of me immediately knowing where we're headed. Sort of. "Yeah. Uhm," he looks away and sniffles, "you remember the otter?" He brushes his fur back out of his face a little bit, looking downtrodden but not devastated or completely lost in emotion. He leaves my arms only briefly to lie down, gently pulling me with him. When he's at rest he breathes out for a long time, perhaps feeling better just delving into his complex mind.

I cast an arm around his side and hold him closely, but enough distance exists for us to talk and see one another's eyes. "You've brought him up before, yeah. I don't know much about him for the sake of your story, though. Should I beat him up?" I try giving him a bit of a wise smirk to try to cheer him up.

Scar's smile is still weak, but at least I see it reflected in his eyes better at that statement. "No. No...the damage has been done. I don't hold malice over it. Most the cons of that relationship were my fault anyway." He looks away a small time again, perhaps to gather his thoughts. "What's important to remember while I'm saying this is that it's done. I still feel the after-effects, but I don't want you to be upset for me. Just help me, okay?" I highly doubt that even half of the hurt inflicted on him, as we reflect a good six years later,

I nod once, and kiss his nose. His eyes close and he rests his nose to mine for a while. "During my final year of high school, I was at my prime. My prime of school life, I guess. I'd finally reached the point where I stopped caring about the plus's for my A's, and a lot of the extra credit I could have done was just left alone. I had more time to myself.

"That was good and bad. It was good because it meant I did more of what I wanted. Bad because what I wanted was what I'd always wanted. I wanted someone to share my life with." He sighs, scoffing at himself. "Stupid. I wasn't emotionally stable by any stretch of the imagination, and of course, I was looking for anyone who would pay me as little as seconds thought for being a significant other."

I don't have to ask him to be assured that he knows I love him very much. I kiss his head again, and he makes a low appreciative sound. "Yeah, I guess I don't have to tell you that I don't feel that way with you, Jack. I know you love me, and I know I love you. I'm kinda glad we don't say it a lot. I'm glad we don't smother each other."

I nod my approval, kissing his ears and nuzzling them softly. "Me too. I do think your story wasn't over yet though, hon. I promise it will feel better to have it off your chest. That's always your line, right?"

Scar scoffs quietly, but I can hear the smile, however weak it currently is. "Yeah, I guess it is." He sniffles again, probably to fill space. "He knew how to get to my weaknesses. He charmed me real fast. By that time, I knew a lot already. My firsts were mostly covered with the exception of stuff under the tail. After the first few talks he had with me about being a something, he ended up stealing me into a bathroom to paw me off. Said he wanted to see how I'd react." I pull back enough to see his face, eyes closed in shame. His eyes squeeze tighter before he admits, "I was so stupid. I had this lust thing for him that literally didn't extend any further than how curious I was at where it would all end. When would he stop showing me such simple and base affection?"

One last, or at least I hope last, tear slides down his cheek. I immediately catch and swipe it away. "That's...all it was though. He gave me whatever I wanted so we could have sex a lot, but that was it. It was emotionally horrible, and I blame it all on myself for being so vulnerable. People hurt you when you're open. I know you know that, but where we're coming from are two different places. I don't want to discount what you went through, either."

I shake my head. "Not once did I think that. I want you to stop for a second, Scar. Think about where you're at with me. Do you feel like we're in love?"

"Yes. Of course I do."

"Then what separates me from the others?"

He bites his lip. "You've got a much more beautiful personality, for one, Jack. Don't undervalue that."

I nod, kissing his nose. "What else?"

He breathes in softly. Exhales softly. "You always think of me, and most of the time you think of me before you think of you. The bedroom is a crude but ultimate bit of proof of that one."

I smile and nip his nose. "Fair enough. But between those things, do you see enough difference to put me above your abusive boyfriend?"

There's hurt in his eyes, but I know that more than just from my asking, he feels bad that he ever hadn't asserted these things to be true. "Jack! I..." He trembles as he inhales, his eyes closing sadly. "I know that where we're at is where I was with him." His eyes reopen, significantly closer to tears. "But that was years ago! And we hadn't even lasted this long before I started to doubt our compatibility."

I hug the sergal tightly before he can boil over again. "You show me how much you love me. You really do. If you've never questioned us, then we're miles ahead, right? I know we both hit a rough patch a while back about pillow talk, but beyond that, have you thought of anything?" He shakes his head. I clear away a tear from his left cheek. "Then we've done it. That just leaves why the otter messed up today. You know for sure that how much you're invested in us isn't the issue. So where do we move on to?"

He stays tightly hugged to me for a while. I wonder briefly if we've done too much emotional searching for the day and could just call off in favor of sleep. He interrupts that thought process when he does begin to answer, "I have an issue with being on the bottom." He looks me dead in the eyes. "And I know why." I nod. He elaborates, "With that otter, I started to really set up how I valued things in the bedroom. He always made me feel so...useless, so much of a means to an end... And now it sounds horrible to admit to you like this, but I guess that always stuck with, and now I don't feel as valued if I'm the one being loved instead of the one doing the loving." Scar looks significantly afraid of offending me as he continues, stopping short and looking for help.

It wasn't a conscious thing for him to feel the way he said. I don't take any sort of hurt feelings away from the statement. I guess what's hard is to think that because he loathed the idea of subbing so much after being abused that he would instead vouch for setting our relationship for a crushing amount of his dominance. Sure, that night around Christmas when we became a thing was when we started, but he and I had done things before that. Scar always wanted to set the pace even then, and more than me asking when we'd do something together, he'd shot call. It makes sense at this point, but it's still sad to hear why things are they way they are. "So you think, in a different world, that maybe you weren't afraid to let me mandate the pace? That maybe even instead, it was usually me initiating things instead of you?"

He nods calmly, still keeping a cautious eye to see how I react. I wish I could ease him. "It doesn't even have to be another world. There's been plenty of times when you started something instead of me. I guess I...even in those situations, I tried to take control." His ears switch back to ashamed mode. I think we might be nearing done here. "You don't think I'm blaming my past for being a bad boyfriend, do you?"

Without hesitation, I answer, "Of course not. No, I remember how you're always going on about big life events carrying on with you. I can understand that. Right now, I think you need to remember your own logic and just be assured that I'm with you on it." For all of the times when he asked me if I'd definitely stick around or when he'd seem gloomy after a while of not seeing me, it all makes sense. In fact, I'm sure he pushed to move in with me because of his insecurities surrounding who I'm always with. Yet at the same time, when he offered to let us continue as "something more than friends," he told me he didn't mind if I made some freedom around that decision surrounding anyone who I'd actually sleep with, for example. Even then, I guess, I can see how little mind blips have been leading him around with his explicit knowledge.

And being able to step back and look at him that way is fascinating and all, but the more I do so the more I wonder how far I've been taken by my past. Granted, I don't seem to have as much trauma surrounding high school, and I'd never even tried a serious relationship until I was a freshman in college. Sure, that idea didn't work out either, but I'd like to think that the logic was at least slightly sound. I didn't exactly have my pick of guys who'd be comfortable dating me before that, and there were numerous reasons surrounding that; none of which I felt bad for contributing to at the time.

Stuck in my thoughts, I'd hardly noticed when the sergal's muzzle came to rest in my shoulder, nor when his breathing steadied out to lethargic rhythm. Tonight, I suppose, I'll be the one staying up and musing about my life.

And with that nocturnal state of mind, I listened to the sounds of him sleeping. I would listen for when his heart beat picked up or slowed down, and how his breathing would change with it. At the beginning of the night, he would frequently go into some sort of high-alert mode. By the end, he was consistently sleeping soundly.

In a way, I still feel horrible for moreorless provoking his emotional memories. I feel like even if it wasn't my malicious intent to do so, I still instigated the fear and regret that was plaguing Scar. I don't know if it's a good trait for me to have, but I always wake up early to cook him breakfast anytime I feel I've screwed up. I'd like to lie and say it isn't often, but it's much more frequent that I'll do so, he'll guess my intent, and tell me that I didn't actually upset him that bad.

Regardless of whether or not this is one of those mornings, I go at it with the mindset of having something to make up for, and try harder than usual to impress. Thankfully, with me being such an avid kitchen personality, I always keep enough food on hand to pull all the stops when I need. Scar calls it my compulsive need to be able to prepare feasts at will. My usual answer is to stuff something in his muzzle that will make him shut up: more of my food, more often than not. No, if he wants me to shut up, then his methods progress beyond the realm of food for muzzle-stuffing.

Adjusting myself a little before I continue, I try my best to stay relatively simple, as the complexity of my effort is also usually a tell for how bad I feel. Ironically enough, I know all of this, but it doesn't stop me. I guess it's similar to the way I know blushing will only egg on the sergal, yet I can't stop long enough to put a halter on his effort. We know each other pretty well, and it isn't like we irritate one another past the point of no return. There is restraint. Anytime that there wasn't, we were sure to set some standards for the next go around.

When I've got some sunny-side up eggs (ironically enough, I think they're his favorite because of the name), a good couple of strips of sizzling bacon, and french toast to share, I train my way back into the bedroom, where the sergal seems like he only just woke up, his muzzle still to the air slightly. "I can always tell you feel bad, my love." He looks to me. "Even when you try to keep it casual." There's not disapproval in his look, and he's even smiling a little. "None of yesterday was your fault."

I shrug, blushing slightly as I sit between his legs and put the tray down between us. "I guess breakfast in bed won't ever be without meaning for us, eh?" His eyes are soft as he looks at me. Seriously. I mean, there's no way he hasn't learned how to do that on purpose, but I don't know how he does. "Anyways, it's another opportunity for me to force you to eat." Among other things, he has a bad habit of skipping meals in trying not to inconvenience anyone. I'm sure he's had someone in his life call him fat. He's not as good at letting things roll as I am, or maybe I'm just better with certain things.

He nods, conceding the point. "Alright, I'll give you that." He's speaking very softly. I wonder if he has a headache or something. "I don't blame you for anything. I want to move on, okay? The breakfast in bed is very nice, but I know it means you feel bad about this. Don't, please. It's only a coincidence that the public sex triggered this. This won't stop you from trying new things with me, right?"

I shrug, chomping into some bacon. "Honestly, if I do keep going, you're going to be in every possible top position. This was different since it really was just a role swap." I wink at him, the both of us giggling a little. "We should get out somewhere again today. We haven't gone shopping in a while."

He nods once. "That sounds lovely."