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(November 2nd)

Should he call?

One day ago, Elliot attended a funeral. Her name was Dot. He barely knew her, but she meant the world to the tiger who meant the world to him. And today, on this sluggish Saturday afternoon, he lay on his bed in the comfort of his new room, and of his barely familiar new home...

Across town, his tiger, Hunter, would certainly be in HIS new home, as well: the home of Stanley Jones.

But should he call?

Elliot's phone lay in his paw, Hunter's contact page open and bright: the shining orange image of a smiling tiger. But he didn't know if he should call. Would Hunter want to talk? Would it comfort him to hear his boyfriend's voice? Or did he want to be left alone? Did he need this time to himself, away from the pity and the expectations of others? Even of Elliot...?

His finger hovered over the screen. Idle, the image dimmed, and soon turned black. And that finger shifted, as he considered turning it back on...

...but before he could, there was a gentle knock at his door.

And he met it with a happy little bark: "Come in!" He loved how they knocked. His father, his uncle, and Aaron...they all showed him that respect: afforded him the privacy of his new room, "I'm as decent as I'm gonna' be!"

His black clothes hung, still, over the chair he'd tossed them toward the night before, and so far today, he'd only bothered slipping into his boxers and a T. But, here...that was more than good enough...

The door swung open, and Kristoff stepped through. And the smile that had accompanied Elliot's chipper bark immediately faded away. It faded at the sight of his father's face...at the expression contorting its usual welcoming warmth. But it wasn't an expression of anger or of sadness...though it held hints of both. It was an expression of guarded and nervous hesitation.

It was the face of a husky who had something he needed to say...but didn't WANT to say.

And as Elliot imagined the elder dog having stood in the hall, struggling with the decision to even knock, Kris apologetically spoke: "Mind if I sit down?"

The boy just nodded and sat straighter on the bed...watching as his father -- his own phone in paw -- carefully moved aside yesterday's clothes. And as he sat, a silence fell between them...a son's eyes on his father...and a father's eyes on the floor...

Elliot gulped. Could he not even look at him?

"Dad?" The younger husky asked hesitantly, "Is everything alright?"

Slowly, Kristoff's head rose. And his eyes met his son's in silence...as he squared his shoulders, took in a breath, and steadied himself for what was to come. "I just got off the phone with my lawyer," he began plainly. "He called about your mom."

Elliot's stomach dropped...yesterday's funeral, and the morbid thoughts that came with it still fresh on his mind, "Is...is she okay?"

He saw his father's eyebrow arch, clearly surprised by the concern. "She is. Yeah," he answered shortly, before continuing: "WE on the other paw..."

And Elliot sighed...in relief, at first, but in frustration before the breath could even end, "What's she trying to do now?"

"Short version? She's accusing me of molesting you."

"What!?" the boy jumped, paws gripping his blankets in shock. "She...she's what?"

And all his father could offer was a shrug. "That's all I know. She's trying to say that I've...I don't even know what. Touched you, raped you, exposed myself to...?"

Kristoff stopped and Elliot averted his eyes. Exposed himself? Well that, at least, was true. The night of their move, the boy had caught his father with his uncle William, with Will's rabbit Aaron, and with Aaron's brother Stan...every one of them drunk and bare to the world. Since then, he'd even walked in on the elder dog masturbating. And judging from his father's sudden silence, HE was remembering those same nights as well...

But they were accidental. And accidents happen. It was nothing intentional...nothing criminal...and they both knew that.

"O-or something," Kris continued uneasily. "But that's all my lawyers could tell me: just that she says I've molested you."

"But that's ridiculous! You've never laid a finger on me..." Elliot shook his head and waved away the thought, dismissively, "...at least not like that!"

"I think I'd remember if I had."

"Where does she get off...?" the boy clenched his fists to calm himself. "I mean, how can she even say that, without a sliver of proof?"

"I asked the same thing!" his father agreed with an emphatic pointed finger. "But all they could say was that any sort of allegation like this has to be taken seriously...proof or no." He tossed up his paws in another shrug, "That being said, though: because it's still an investigation at the moment, and not a trial...I'm also told that she and her lawyers don't even have to divulge that sort of information, anyway: any proof, evidence, or anything else they might have."

"Because it could, what...compromise the investigation?" Elliot asked, quoting things he barely understood, and only remembered from TV.

"And there WILL be an investigation," Kristoff nodded. "The lawyers are gonna' want to talk to you -- to talk to both of us -- so we'll know what to expect."

"Wh-when?"

"Tomorrow. But, I've got a pretty damn good idea what they're gonna' say, already."

"Like what?"

"Well, we'll have to talk to the detectives, of course. Both of us will...separately. And they'll make sure to talk to Billy and Aaron, too...maybe even your friends..."

"My friends!?" again, Elliot recoiled in fear.

"Don't worry," Kris held up his paws to calm the boy. "I'll do everything I can to keep Hunter's name out of it. He's got enough to deal with, right now."

And his son just nodded, hopeful that his father was right, praying that he could really protect his boyfriend from all of this, and also suddenly counting himself lucky that, at least no one knew about Jeffery or Mic...and couldn't drag THEM into this, as well.

"They'll also probably make you see a psychiatrist," his father continued. "Have them poke around in your head to see if you...I don't know...show any of the signs of being abused or whatever."

Elliot's eyelids drooped at the implications: "...like if they think I'm too young to already be gay and sexually active?"

But Kristoff just laughed. "I think any psychiatrist worth the money they're paid should know that there's nothing wrong with a fourteen-year-old boy being horny." The laughter, though, was short lived. "But if they do find anything amiss...them OR the detectives..." He took a deep breath, turning his eyes on the floor, yet again, and clenching up as he forced himself to admit the real danger: "...you'll be taken away, Elliot. Given back to your mom."

Of course, he knew that before his father had ever said it...but nonetheless, the actual sound of it for Elliot was like a fist to the chest. And he slumped, wide eyed, breathless, and silent...

"And then there'd be a court case," Kris continued, never raising his eyes. "A hearing to determine what's true, what's not, what's best for you...and what criminal charges they might be able to stick to me."

"I can't believe she'd do this..." his son forced out a barely audible whine, paws gripping the sheets again...though now, to hold himself steady.

And Kristoff finally looked up...with sad, helpless eyes. "I'm sorry, Elliot."

"I mean," the boy spoke through trembling breaths, "does she really BELIEVE this shit or...?"

"I don't know, kiddo." The elder husky rolled the computer chair closer, stopping it against the edge of the bed, and reached forward to take his son's paws into his own. "All we can do right now is get prepared, though, okay? We'll talk to the lawyers, and figure out how to handle this." He offered a smile, as his son looked up to meet his eyes, "Our best hope is to just head this off right now, right? That way we don't have to deal with a trial at all!"

Elliot nodded as best he could, "Right."

"If we can convince the detectives and psychiatrists that there's nothing going on, then we can make it go away before it ever starts..." Kristoff leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his son's, "...before it has the chance to get much, MUCH worse."

Elliot shivered and relaxed, the intimacy of the moment calming his shuddered breaths, and soothing his tensed nerves. He was glad to have it: his father's touch to quiet his fears. Like a cub, desperate to be held. And he was glad...that the elder dog hadn't let these accusations stop him from offering it...

"But-"

Elliot's voice stopped short, cut off by the abrupt, piercing sounds of his ringtone: the theme song of a television show, which he no longer recognized for its origins...but now only as the calling card of an orange cat: of the tiger who meant the world to him.

And despite the circumstances of the moment at paw...despite his desire to not move an inch from the comforting feeling of his father's pawpads and fur...and despite his desperate need to be held...

...he pulled away, and answered the phone.

"Hunter?"

A voice met his ear. Sad. Hopeless. As desperate to hear the dog, as Elliot himself was to be held...

"Hey." The dog met it hesitantly, fearfully...but at the moment, in the only way he could: "Uhm...I'm sorry, hun...but could I call you back later?"

The voice agreed. But it was half hearted and weak...and no less desperate. And with that desperation came a restrained begging...came the passive pleas of a tiger who wanted nothing more than to talk.

"I know, and I'm really sorry. This just isn't a good time right now."

But the cat guessed why...and guessed right. So at least he knew...

"Yeah. It's her again."

Simple words followed. Agreeable. Understanding. But barely masking his continued pleas...

"Yeah! Of course, I'll call you back!" the dog yelped. "Just give me thirty minutes...an hour at the most. I promise."

And as Hunter said his goodbyes, Elliot turned his eyes back to his father...to the reality of the moment...and to the threat of the days to come.

"I love you, too, Hunter."

Blood & Water Sweat & Tears

(November 3rd)

Michael Taylor might not have known much.

He couldn't tell you who C. L. Sibirskaia was. He didn't know the first thing about what sine & cosine meant. He had never bothered understanding Victorian plays, or honing his grammar. And there was only one language he knew well enough to write or speak. But at least he understood himself.

He knew what he liked, what he wanted, and what he felt. He'd never questioned himself...never surprised himself...and never suffered a crisis of conscience. He was who he was, through and through. No regrets, no excuses, no second guesses.

He might not have known much. But he knew himself better than anyone he'd ever met.

And that was true for his sexuality, as well. He'd never struggled with who or what he liked, or tried to change what he was. He'd never felt guilty for anything he'd done or wanted to do...or for who he'd done it with. He knew what he was, and there was no reason to pretend he was anything else.

Not that he was gay of course...or even really bi. He was something else. Non-discriminating, perhaps? Or just...crocuta? There really should've been a special word for a male hyena's unique circumstances. In fact, maybe there was. Maybe if he lived in a place with more hyenas, he would have actually learned it by now. Maybe he should just ask his dad...

Or, no. On second thought, maybe not...

But the fact of the matter was: he knew himself in and out. Even if he didn't know what to call his particular orientation, he knew that he was just as interested in males as he was in females.

He also knew that he could make better grades in school if he tried, but that he would never really have the motivation required to do anything more than what little he needed to get by. And he knew that his jokes and nonchalant attitude were a mask for a deeper insecurity.

There was no need for a psychiatrist to point that out. And there was nothing he could really do to face it until he had someone special to open up to, anyway...so, for now, why not just enjoy the mask?

And he knew -- no matter his faults -- that he was a good friend.

Anyone who earned the right to be called his friend -- something which required little more than their willingness to call him theirs -- could call him up at a moment's notice and he would be there. This was a promise he made to himself, and a promise he kept. It was a point of pride. It was a virtue by which he defined himself...

...and it was why he found himself, today, carrying one end of a solid wooden dresser up a long metal ramp.

Two days ago, Mic attended a funeral. Her name was Dot, and he knew her well. She was the kindest woman he'd ever known, and she'd always treated him better than he'd deserved. And today, on this unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon, he was helping her grandson move out of what had recently been her home.

At the opposite end of that wooden dresser, as they lowered it to the metal floor of the moving van, was a raccoon...James Callaway: Mic and Hunter's teacher, and the tiger's unexpected new friend. And somewhere back in that small old house, Hunter and his adopted father -- or legal guardian, or whatever else he might be, exactly -- were packing and sorting all of the tiger's things...along with whatever of his grandmother's he planned to take.

To the sound of a pair of breathless groans in stereo, the dresser came to a rest on the floor, and four arms leaned against it -- two gray, and two brown -- holding up tired bodies in rest. And when Mic's eyes rose to meet James...they found that the raccoon's eyes were already locked on him!

And that look.

Mic knew the look. Was Mr. Callaway gay? He was! Mic was certain of it. But why hadn't Hunter told him? Maybe Hunter didn't know. Maybe Mic should ask. On a better day than today, of course. But that look. Mr. Callaway was staring! Was he really interested? Did Mic really have a chance with a teacher? Or was he just imagining things?

No!

No, he wasn't imagining this at all.

He might not have known much, but he knew when he was being checked out.

Was this really happening? He'd never been with a teacher before...but he'd definitely thought about it. Especially when it came to this guy...and to Mr. Hammond and Coach Martin. What would it really be like, though? What was on the raccoon's mind? Would James dominate him? Treat him like the kid -- the student -- he was? Or would this be Mic's chance to dominate an authority figure...?

Fuck! Focus! Today is not the day for this. Later. Deal with it later...

The hyena flashed a sly smile across at his teacher, as he stood tall in a long, exaggerated stretch. His shirt rose. It lifted up just enough to show off the lowest hint of his stomach fur. And it was not an accident.

He watched James's eyes shift...dropping down in an involuntary glance, only to jerk right back up. And Mic smiled. Today was not the day...but there was nothing wrong with a little test. And, ever smiling, he walked on past, en route for the house...but stopped just long enough to give James one long, lewd, and shameless look up and down -- and to enjoy the raccoon's tentative surprise -- before continuing on.

Another day? Without a doubt.

But today, he was here for his friend. And so he left his fantasy conquest behind -- passing an equally alluring but considerably less attainable rabbit, along the way -- and made his way into, through, and to the back of Dorothy's old house.

Hunter was in the farthest back bedroom. Hers. Mic could hear the tiger from rooms away: the sounds of shuffling paws, shifted boxes, and creaking bed springs. These would be the hardest moments of the day. Gathering his own things and saying goodbye to the home they'd shared...that was hard enough...

...but looking through HER things, and looking for the mementos to bring -- the memories to keep? That would be a different kind of hell, altogether.

The hyena knew that before he stepped into the room...and he could see it all around him once he had. He saw the picture albums and books laid out on the bed; he saw the jewelry she'd left to her yet-unborn-great-granddaughters spread across the dresser; he saw the framed photo gripped in white and orange paws; and he saw the distant stare of his best friend reflected in the mirror.

What he DIDN'T see was the raised edge of the rug just inside the door...or his own foot caught beneath...

"Shit!" And he was falling before he knew why.

His arms flailed, fingers outstretched and groping blindly for anything to catch his balance. And his paws struck cardboard...the tallest box of a head-high stack. Metal and glass clattered inside, and the cardboard tumbled.

"Fuck!" Hunter released the framed photograph.

It clacked, wood on wood, against the dresser, and his own paws struck the cardboard box from the opposite side, stopping its fall and righting it, atop the stack. The tiger steadied the tower; the hyena steadied himself. One breathed in relief...and the other belted out in a roar:

"What the fuck, dude!?" Hunter snapped. "Be careful!"

"Sorry!" Mic bowed his head apologetically. "Sorry, it was just an accident."

"An accident? That doesn't make it okay!" The tiger motioned at the boxes, "This stuff isn't exactly replaceable, Mic!"

"I know. But it's okay, man...nothin's broke."

"Yeah, only because I was here to catch it. What happens when I'm not?"

"Hey!" Mic finally snapped back. "I get it. You've made your point. Back off."

Hunter drew in a breath through his nose, paws and jaw clenching as he glared at his friend. But then he stopped. Mic watched on as the cat blinked, slacked, and backed away. "Y-you're right," he shook his head. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean any of that. I'm just...just forget it."

"It's okay..." the hyena smiled as softly as a hyena can manage. He might not have known much, but he knew lashing out when he saw it. "I get it. You're gonna' be a little touchy today. All of this...the move...the reminders..." he reached out, patting the tiger on the shoulder, "...it can't be fun."

Hunter, though, just gave a dark little laugh as he turned away from the paw. "It's not even that, though. This..." he motioned around the room, "...I was prepared for THIS by the time we had the wake."

Mic looked around the room. For all its clutter...it felt empty. And he turned his eyes back on his friend, "Well...if not this...then...?"

The tiger shot him a sharp, angry stare: "Elliot."

Of course. He should have known. "Oh...come on, Hunter. You know you can't blame him for not being here."

"Can't I??"

"No. You know it's not his fault."

"I don't care!" Hunter tossed up his paws. "I have been there EVERY time he needed me: every time he was crying over his mom, every time he needed a night away, or a paw or muzzle for a happy distraction! I was even there for both of his moves! And the one time I need him -- when I'M the one who's moving -- he can't even be bothered to show up, for me!"

"Yeah," the hyena agreed. "But...you didn't have to miss a court date for any of that stuff."

"And neither would he!" Hunter pointed out the window, as if in the direction of his absent boyfriend, "He's not in court right now, Mic! He's just meeting with his lawyers."

"And...that's not important, too?"

"Of course it is. But it could be rescheduled."

Mic shook his head with a laugh. THAT definitely wasn't Elliot's fault, "I think that's more on his dad than on him, though..."

"But he didn't even try!"

A thought crossed the hyena's mind. He wanted to ask his friend: 'Well did YOU try to reschedule?' He paused, though, before his muzzle even opened to begin. After all...he wasn't so sure that something like that would be very well received.

But in the silence of his indecision, the tiger answered him anyway: "Do you have any idea how many times I've rescheduled for HIM!?" He sat down on the foot of the bed, photo albums shifting from his weight. "Fuck! You know, I would have probably even rescheduled today, if I could! My grandmother just died, my whole life's flipped upside down, and I would have STILL bent to HIS schedule, if this hadn't been the only day Stan's was free to do this." His fingers ran through his headfur and gripped it in frustration, "But he can't even do that for me ONCE!?"

Clearly, Mic wasn't going to get through to his friend. Hunter was too emotional, too raw...and he was in no mood to be reasoned with. "Maybe..." so, instead, the hyena suggested a compromise, "maybe he could still come over after the meeting?"

"I told him to not even fucking bother," his friend grumbled back.

"Hunter, I really don't think you're bein' fair, here."

"It's plenty fair!" Hunter snapped again. But just as quickly, he shook his head and waved his paws...his voice softening as he slowly came back to his feet, "Look, I don't wanna' talk about this anymore. Let's just...let's get on with the move already...

~

Hours passed.

Mic found what laughs he could. He actually drew one or two from the lips of a less than jovial tiger, as well. And he'd certainly enjoyed the flirtatious glances he and Mr. Callaway had shared in their nearly every passing.

He even managed to not feel TOO jealous when he noticed the raccoon glancing at Hunter, too...

And amidst it all, they even packed the moving van!

The final box passed from Hunter's white & orange paws, into Mic's spotted brown. It was a box of memories. Everything in it had been Dot's, and the hyena's steps were as careful and as sure as they ever were, as he left his friend behind and carried it out to the van.

The late afternoon sun hit his eyes, the cool November air tickled his nose, and his teacher's voice lit upon his ear...

...the final words of an argument, directed at Stanley: "...all packed up, isn't it?"

As Mic set the box securely in its place, he watched the rabbit eye the van and rub his neck. "Yeah. I guess that's true."

And Mr. Callaway smiled, "So all that's left to do, today, is to just drive over there and carry all this stuff into your house, right?"

Stan gave a thoughtful shrug, "Round about."

"And I'm pretty sure we can handle that without the boys!" the raccoon concluded triumphantly.

"Yeah, yeah..." Stanley waved him away. "You win."

And, his curiosity thoroughly piqued, Mic took advantage of the lull in their conversation. "Uhm..." he stepped boldly in between the two, "what're you guys talkin' about?"

"You!" James slapped an arm around his student's shoulders, with a grin...

...and Mic smiled back, "Well that's a damn fine subject!"

"Isn't it, though?" the raccoon agreed.

Stanley, though, just rolled his eyes and turned away...but Mic paid him little mind. After all, why bother? He wasn't interested in flirting with the hyena anyway! He COULD hear the rabbit closing up the van behind him, though, while James went on...

"So, it's safe to say that Hunter's having a bad day."

"Nah! Cat's doin' fine. Top of the world!" Mic flashed a big, wide, and intentionally overblown smile, "I think I even heard him whistlin' a song."

"Okay," the raccoon dropped his arm away from his student's shoulders. "So I'm captain obvious."

"No, I think he's a golden retriever," Mic shook his head...

...and James played along, "And he has a cape!"

"A red one!"

"But my point is...I think Hunter needs a little break," his teacher explained. "Something to get his mind off of all this: Elliot, his grandmother, the move. A distraction, you know?"

"Are we talkin' about drugs or sex, here? Cause the first isn't exactly legal. And depending on the partner you have in mind..." the hyena paused to eye the older raccoon accusingly, "...neither is the second."

"Okay. You've got the wrong idea, Michael." James waved a paw with a halfhearted little chuckle, "I have a boyfriend."

Ah-ha! Mic knew it! He WAS gay! But a boyfriend? Really? He was definitely quite the flirt for someone who was taken. "A boyfriend? Well, maybe you should remind those wanderin' eyes, of yours, then..." Mic stepped closer, nearly nose to nose with his teacher, "...before they get you into trouble."

And the raccoon was clearly distracted by the advance. Anxious. Even tempted.

He licked his lips, he leaned just a hair closer, and it took him more than a few moments to get himself back on track and muster a response. But, with a shake of his head, and a step back, he did. "Look, just take him out somewhere nice, okay?" a gray paw thrust forward a folded stack of cash. "I don't care where or what. Movie, food, arcade? Just go put a smile on his face."

"Fine, fine." Mic snatched the money away with a sigh, and then turned on his heel to walk away, "But this isn't over!"

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mr. Taylor."

And the hyena smirked back, over his shoulder, "Not in the habit of it, Mr. Callaway," before disappearing into the house.

Now...there was, of course, more than one way to go about this. Some would consider their options. Some would deliberate and choose the perfect approach. But not Mic. Mic only really had one gear...only knew one approach. So why question it, now?

In the back bedroom, he found the tiger. He could have dwelt on the sight of his friend's distant stare: on those eyes focused on that empty bed. The bed she would never lay in, again. He could have paused and given Hunter his privacy, or drawn close with a silent embrace. Or perhaps even just the gentle, supportive weight of a paw on his shoulder. And, in truth, every such scenario played out in his head.

But his stride never faltered, never stalled...and a spotted paw soon slapped the cat on the back, to punctuate a jubilant greeting:

"Hey! You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Hunter barely flinched at the slap, but at least his eyes finally left the bed. "Yeah, I think I am."

Mic slipped his arm around his friend's shoulders in a tight grasp. "So, where're we goin'?" he chirped, shaking his friend as if trying to wake him.

"Uhm..." the tiger could only look on in confusion...

...but Mic made no effort to explain himself. Where was the fun in that? "I'm thinkin' a movie's no fun, right? A little too gay. And besides, you don't need me there just so you can watch some show."

"What are you-"

"So how about that one place?" the Hyena cut him off. "The one with the arcade and the restaurant all smooshed together? Named after the rabbit and the duck...uhm...Buster and somebody?"

"Dewey & Buster's?"

"Yeah! That's it! We can eat...play some games..." he leaned in as if sharing a secret with his friend, "I hear they even have this game built into a urinal, where-"

"Wait!" this time, the cat cut HIM off. "What are you talking about?"

And Mic simply responded by holding up his pawful of cash: "Me. You. Bro-date." He flashed a mocking smirk, "Try and keep up, kitten. You're embarrassin' yourself."

Hunter just blinked, eyes moving from the money, to his friend, and back again. And Mic waited in silence for him to piece it together. Which, at some length, he finally did. "Stan?"

"No. Mr. Callaway, actually!" The hyena tugged and turned his friend by the shoulder, to lead him from the room, "Speaking of which...did you know he was gay?"

~

Hot wings.

He could smell them on his fingers as he lifted the glass to his lips. Vinegar and spice. He'd washed his paws after they ate, of course. He had to; no amount of napkins could ever really clean that sauce from his paw pads...let alone the fur around. But, despite the most valiant efforts of water and soap...the scent remained.

How the hyena could even smell it over the din of fur around him, though, was a miracle in of itself. Musk -- both natural and non -- assaulted him from every side. Groups gathered around arcade machines or drifted from game to game, bottlenecking here, clustering there...

...and Mic could only hope Hunter was keeping up with him as he spun, bent, pivoted, and slipped his way through...in rout for a game of his own.

But what a crowd! He hadn't expected it to be this busy, so late on a Sunday.

Despite the sea of life, though, he did eventually find himself standing before his goal. It was a rail shooter, and he knew it was one of Hunter's favorites. And even though, when he looked back, he saw no visual signs of gratitude on the approaching orange face...he knew Hunter well enough to know that he would appreciate the gesture.

And so Mic dug into his pocket to fish out the Dewey & Buster's point card -- the only option, here, to pay for the games -- and wondered idly, yet again, if James would mind that he'd sunk every last penny of the raccoon's money, not already spent on food, into the card.

But then it happened.

He didn't see it. But he didn't have to; he felt and smelled the sweet mist sprinkling his face. And he heard it. He heard the grunt, and the half curse...the hollow clack of a plastic cup against the side of a rail shooter...the wet splash of cola...the muffled taping of ice on carpet...

...and the deafening roar of a tiger.

"What the FUCK!? Watch where you're going, asshole!"

But he turned too late to stop it, and only just in time to see Hunter strike: paws against the chest and shoulders of a startled wolf.

And Mic knew that wolf. Before the black furred lupine had even lost his balance -- before his shoulders collided with the horse behind -- Mic had already recognized the face of a friend.

His name was Brandon Sutela.

He had never been the kind of friend Hunter was. They had never shared a moment more intimate than a few underaged beers, or a friendly pat on the back. But he was still a friend, and close enough of one, that, if asked, the hyena would have dropped everything to be there for him...just as he had for Hunter today.

But, there Brandon was...tumbling backward fresh off a shove from Hunter himself.

And the next few moments would not be pleasant.

Hunter's shirt dripped with cola. His glass lay in a puddle at his feet. And his lips were bent in a snarl. Brandon was caught by the paws of a horse, who immediately pushed him back to stable footing. Flanking that horse were two more: a bear, and a husky. Why were there so damn many huskies in this town? And Mic recognized their faces...though he couldn't put them to names. But whoever they were, before Brandon's three friends could even gather round and encircle the scene...the wolf's own snarling face was only an inch from Hunter's.

"What's your problem, dude!?"

"Seriously?" Hunter put on a sarcastic little show: recoiling in mock-disbelief before motioning at his soaked clothes, "Sorry. Maybe you can't see my shirt? But it's not supposed to be covered in all this wet brown stuff."

Brandon just narrowed his eyes, "Very funny, kitty cat."

"No, really! Are you blind?" the tiger asked. "Is that why you slammed into me, just now? Because I just assumed you were a goddamned idiot who couldn't watch where he was going! But I don't wanna' come across insensitive, if you've got a handicap." To punctuate himself, he snapped his fingers in front of the wolf's eyes...

...and Brandon just slapped the paw away, "You need to back the fuck off, dude! It was an accident." He pointed toward the far side of the room, "And you still have the chance to walk away, and keep it from becoming something a lot worse."

Hunter held up his paws as if praying, "Oh please, sir? May I please walk away?" and then dropped them to step into the wolf's face again. "Or how about I don't? How about I make you lick my fucking drink up off the floor?"

Mic might not have known much, but he knew Hunter was looking for a fight.

He didn't know who ran into whom. He didn't know who was really at fault. He didn't know whose side to take. But he DID know that this wasn't like Hunter, at all. He had never seen the tiger lash out like this...never seen him pick a fight, or shove someone, or even talk trash outside of the heated competition of a video game.

He knew Hunter was provoking Brandon. He knew it was intentional. And he knew that a bit of spilled cola was NOT the real reason why...

Brandon lurched forward...and Mic was too far to stop him. But luckily, the wolf's bear friend was not, and he caught Brandon's arm, and pulled him back...delaying, for now, the near-inevitability of this shouting match becoming something much more.

Mic didn't know who was at fault. He didn't know whose side he should take. But he knew he couldn't let this go on for long...

The wolf laughed as he pulled his arm away from the bear, "You've got some balls, kitty cat." He bared his teeth, threateningly, "You wanna' keep 'em?"

"Wait. Wait, am I being hit on?" Hunter blinked and turned to look at Mic...

...but the hyena only shook his head, "Hunter..."

"No, seriously! I'm just trying to piece this together." The tiger looked back at the wolf, "I mean: this guy comes up to me in his skinny jeans and with all this product in his fur, and starts smilin' and askin' me about my balls, so..."

"God you're lucky I don't wanna' get kicked outta' here, kid," Brandon gritted his teeth and shook his head. "You need to calm the fuck down. I get it: you're pissed. And I'm sorry about your pretty little blouse," he pointed at Hunter's shirt. "But accidents happen, okay? Get over it and move on."

"Yeah, you know? Accidents DO tend to happen when a bunch of pricks go stormin' through someplace, shovin' people out of their way!"

And at that, the nameless husky spoke up: "Whoa! What the hell?" He motioned at himself, the horse, and the bear, "We didn't even do anything," before pointing at their wolf friend instead, "This is just between the two of you!"

"It doesn't have to be," Hunter growled and stepped forward again...

...and Brandon met him, nose to nose, "Oh, you think I need their help?"

And now Mic officially couldn't stand by on the sidelines any longer.

"Okay! That's enough!"

The hyena shoved his way, roughly, in between the two...grabbing both by their shirts and pushing them back to hold them away from one another. And those three furs that he didn't know? Well, they just stepped aside and let him.

And first, he turned his eyes to the wolf, "Brandon-"

"You know this douche!?" Hunter cut him off.

"Shut up!" Mic snapped at his feline friend, and then turned his eyes back and forth between the two. "Bran, Hunter? Both of you need to fucking quit this shit!"

Brandon lurched forward again, but this time it was the hyena's paw holding him back, "Both of us!? He-"

"No! I said quit it!" Mic paused long enough to see if they wanted to argue further, before he went on: "If either of you throws a punch, it'd better fuckin' be at me! And you better be ready to deal with what comes next!" He glared at Brandon, "Got it?"

The wolf relaxed in his grasp, and he let him go. Hunter, though, pressed ever forward, straining against his stained shirt and the hyena's now soggy fist...

...so Mic turned his glare on HIM instead, "I said: Got it!?"

And at last -- though he was reluctant and angrily slapped his friend's arm aside -- Hunter submitted, and backed away.

And with a breath -- a cleansing sigh of relief that he'd finally managed to get his friends apart -- Mic looked not to either of them, but to Brandon's entourage. "Okay. This is over. Just forget it ever happened, yeah? You guys move along, and then I'll get him the fuck out of here, too."

"Yeah, Mic," Brandon nodded, but looked across the hyena, at Hunter, instead, "why don't you get your little kitty-cat under control?"

And the tiger lunged again, "His kitty-cat!? I'm nobody's-"

"Hey!" Mic used his whole body to hold and shove Hunter back, pushing him up against the side of arcade machine, "Back up!" And then he turned an angry eye on the wolf, as well, "And Bran! Shut your mouth!"

Still holding Hunter against the machine, Mic made eye contact with the bear. And, slowly, that bear stepped forward and in front of Brandon...herding him backwards, with the husky's assistance. With a slight, respectful nod of appreciation from the horse, the three finally managed to move the wolf along...

And the hyena turned back to his friend. Alone, now -- or as alone as they could be in the middle of such a busy arcade -- and with the altercation deterred, he released him from the side of the machine...

...but all Hunter could do was avert his gaze, and storm off toward the exit.

~

"So, I...uhm..." Hunter spoke up hesitantly, "I was out of line, back there, wasn't I?"

It was the first thing he'd said since they'd left Dewey & Buster's, but it didn't exactly take Mic by surprise. He could tell, for some time, that the tiger had been mustering the will to speak...to say whatever it was, that was on his mind.

They were sitting in a park, now...a park close enough that they hadn't even needed to drive to reach it. Sunday was winding down, and the encroaching darkness and unusually cool November weather had driven almost everyone indoors. And as they sat together at a picnic table -- seated atop, with their feet on the bench below -- they may as well have had the place to themselves.

And that seclusion, along with the silence fallen between them, had made for a serene and peaceful little scene. The kind of scene Mic normally couldn't stand! On any other day, he would have broken it, long ago, with some stupid joke...or with suggestions for anything more interesting to do.

Today, of course, he didn't. He was a good friend, after all. So he sat. He waited. He forced back his antsy jitters. And he let Hunter decide when to break their silence...

...but now that he had: "...out of line? Maybe a little."

"A little?" the tiger repeated sullenly. "The guy accidentally runs into me and I throw a fucking temper tantrum over it?"

But Mic just laughed it off and offered his friend a gentle smile. "Don't worry about it, Hunter. He's a big boy. He can handle gettin' yelled at." He shrugged as he added: "And...he probably does need to learn to watch where he's goin', too."

"Yeah...but I was intending to do a little bit more than just yell," Hunter admitted, as he shook his head and stared down at his feet. And the look that washed over his face in that moment...it was a look of shame that Mic had seldom seen darken the cat's eyes. It only lasted for an instant, though, before he looked back up, "Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for attacking your friend, like that."

"You don't need to apologize." The hyena gave a little nod, "I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course I do!" he assured his friend. "The funeral was only two days ago, and you've spent most of today goin' through Dot's things. Who wouldn't be in a bad mood, today? I know I would."

"That still doesn't justify me flying off the handle at..." Hunter paused to remember the name, "...Brandon, or whoever."

"Sure it does!" Mic held fast. "You were angry, and you needed somewhere to point it...somebody to take it out on. And if Brandon wasn't my friend -- and if there hadn't been three other guys with him -- I woulda' let you do it."

"No," the tiger just shook his head. "No, you were right to stop me, either way. It would have been stupid."

Mic laughed, surprised at the shift in Hunter's character, and at how their opinions on the matter seemed to have reversed completely since the arcade. "No. It really wouldn't." He counted off on his fingers: "You're tense, and wound up, and lashin' out at everybody for no damn reason. You need to find some way to let off some steam before you REALLY explode."

And Hunter's face lit up: "You think?" He looked happy. He looked, for the first time today, like he'd actually been cheered up, even if only a little...

...but it wouldn't be long before Mic realized that the cat's face had actually lit up for a...slightly different reason.

"I do," the hyena answered, and explained: "The best thing for you right now, is an outlet. You need some release." And he laughed aloud, "Hell, if I was a better friend, I'd offer up myself. But I'd really rather not take a beatin' tonight."

"A beating? Oh...no..." Hunter flashed a sharp, predatory grin, "I think there are much better ways for you, of all people, to help me get a little...release."

And THAT took Mic by surprise. Not that it was something he'd never heard from the tiger before, of course. There was a time when he was incorrigible and insatiable. A time when they could barely be in one another's company, at all, without him propositioning Mic for something. But, recent as that was, it was a different time...

...it was before Elliot.

There was, of course, a flash of temptation. There was a moment in which Mic missed those days, and in which he was absolutely elated to hear such a suggestion again. But, he knew better than to allow it. He was a good friend after all.

And he might not have known much. But he knew Hunter didn't really want this.

This wasn't the old Hunter: speaking from his dick at worst, or from a particularly playful boredom at best. This Hunter was speaking from a place of pain. He wasn't looking for fun; he was looking for solace. And Mic couldn't let the tiger make that mistake. He couldn't let him do something he would regret. He couldn't let him hurt Elliot.

But...he could at least turn him down in his own jovial way:

"Like hell!" Mic scoffed. "You think I'm in any mood to put out right now? After your little outburst ruined all my fun at D&B, you're gonna' have to try a lot harder than that!"

Undeterred, though, the tiger shifted closer, leaning against his friend's shoulder, "Oh, I'm sure I could find SOME way to make that up to you."

But his tone betrayed him. His words were playful and flirty, so much like they had always been in the past. But they rolled out so flat, so completely without the hopeful anticipation that they should have had. No levity, no joy...just a cold and distant plea.

It was a grave distinction. And one Mic did not miss...

"The nerve!" the hyena kept up his playful opposition. "I'm not that kinda' girl!"

But Hunter pressed on, his voice muted, sad...almost desperate, "You used to be," as his paw grazed his friend's thigh and trailed north.

"Well, maybe I matured."

Abruptly, Mic hopped to his feet beside the table...halting his friend, before his fingers could make their way somewhere they ought not to be. And as he walked on down the park's sidewalk -- with Hunter hot on his heels -- he realized he needed a new plan.

But the problem was: he never was the kind to be forthright about this sort of thing. He just couldn't bring himself to psychoanalyze the tiger, aloud, and to explain why this was wrong. And besides, he was pretty sure that Hunter wouldn't be very receptive to that, anyway. But he also couldn't continue on as he was, either. It was becoming pretty clear, pretty quickly that Hunter was only regarding his playful rejections as just another case of 'playing hard to get'.

So, he decided on a different tack. Perhaps it was best to simply change the subject. Give Hunter something to be distracted by. And while he was at it, it wouldn't hurt to subtly remind the tiger why this was inappropriate...to remind him that he had a boyfriend...

...to remind him of Elliot.

"So, have you heard from Elliot since his meeting?"

"He's called a couple of times," Hunter just shrugged. "Haven't answered him."

"And why not?" Mic asked as if he didn't know. "If he's tryin' to get a hold of you...I'm sure he just wants to patch things up. Why wouldn't you give him the chance?"

"You know why," the tiger answered gruffly. "And we've already been over this. Why are you still defending him?"

"Because he's my friend. You both are." Mic offered as much honesty -- as much emotional vulnerability -- as he could: "And I'd like to know you two are okay. I care about you guys."

"More than he does, obviously."

"You know that's not true, Hunter."

"Do I?" Hunter snapped. But then he shook his head, "What I know, is that he's not here, yet for some reason we're still talking about him. Don't we have anything better to discuss?"

"Well, we could talk about Brandon more, if you like," the hyena offered sarcastically...

...but to his surprise: "Yeah! You know? Why don't we?" Hunter agreed, waggling his eyebrows and flashing that sharp, predatory smirk yet again. "I mean...when you say he's a friend...?"

"Not like that," Mic laughed and shook his head. "I don't do that sorta' stuff with ALL of my friends, you know. Just the ones who I know're interested."

"And he's not?" the tiger asked. "How do you know? Have you tried?"

"I don't have to. I can just tell." Mic tapped his temple: "Really good gaydar."

"Really?" Hunter rolled his eyes, incredulously.

"Definitely! I knew that I could rope you in, the second I met you."

"Hey!"

"What? It's not an insult," the hyena held up his paws defensively, when his friend snapped. And then he explained, "I mean: you knew the second you met Elliot, too, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Hunter averted his eyes, as he grumbled. "I didn't know with you, though."

"Until I started hittin' on you, you mean?"

"No! Not even then! I thought you were just joking!" He nudged Mic's side, and lowered his voice, "I didn't know you were serious until your paw was in my shorts."

Mic paused, in surprise. "Really? In the pool? I remember that. And I remember the look on your face after I did it, too." He laughed as he pieced it together, "I just thought you were surprised I did it out in the open, like that."

"No. I was surprised you'd done it at all!"

"Didn't take you long to come and corner me in the bathroom afterward, though," the hyena narrowed his eyes playfully at his friend...

...and Hunter shook his head quickly, "Of course not! I was worried you'd change your mind if I didn't strike fast enough."

"Yeah," Mic winked, "quite the initiation you got that night, too."

"You mean how Donald caught me with my..." the tiger clicked his tongue at the awkward memory, "...with my muzzle full?"

And Mic laughed aloud as he patted his friend on the back, "Well, it's not like he was mean to you about it!"

And as the scene played out in the hyena's mind -- Donald catching them, Hunter being terrified, he and the shepherd explaining how Donald was no stranger to that himself, and Donald finally ending up on HIS knees in front of Hunter -- Mic's felt his sheath tingle and swell.

...uh oh.

Beside him, Hunter let out a little growl, as his stride brought him closer to his friend's side, "And you remember all the times we fooled around right here in the park, too, don't you?"

The answer of course, was yes. He remembered that same German Shepherd -- Donald -- and Hunter trading blow jobs in the brush, while he, himself, alternated between watching and KEEPING watch. He remembered Hunter pawing him off under the picnic table, and making it almost impossible for him to stand up. He remembered introducing the tiger to other playful friends, right here on this side walk. And he remembered their late night visits the park's restrooms and secluded trails...

But those memories were the least of his concerns. The real danger was the reality of the present. Because he could see those restrooms in the distance. He could see the entrances to those hidden trails, all around. And knew the brush and picnic tables lay just behind them.

The park was empty. It would be so easy to sneak away...

But when he felt his pants constrict, he shook his head. He couldn't let himself get caught up in this. He had to be strong. He had to stop it. He had to be the good friend he was.

Remind Hunter of Elliot, again! Remind him why he can't do this!

"I don't mean to sound like I'm just lookin' to fuck your boyfriend, or anything..." he prefaced himself, intentionally slipping in the word 'boyfriend', as he did, "...but have you ever thought about, uhm...properly introducin' Elliot to me, Donald, and the other guys?"

"And how am I NOT supposed to take that as you wanting to fuck my boyfriend?" the tiger laughed heartily. But at least he was happier now...right?

"Well...maybe a little," Mic admitted. "But it's not just that; it's for Elliot. I mean: you can't tell me that he wouldn't LOVE the chance to do somethin' like that! Didn't he even tell you that he was a little jealous of all our old...games? Something about how he wished he had friends like us?"

"Yeah..."

"And besides! Me and the guys have been missin' YOU, a lot, too!" and he winced...immediately regretting that admission. The last thing the tiger needed to hear was that Mic DID want to play. But he went on: "And if we wanna' get you back into the fold...well, Elliot's a part of that package, now, too."

"But Elliot's not here, is he?" Hunter chided his absent boyfriend. "If he was, maybe this could be the perfect opportunity for that. I mean, WE'RE here...in the park...with so many places to sneak off to, and do something..." he angled his muzzle, slightly, to the ever approaching restrooms.

And Mic gulped. He was failing in every possible way. He couldn't find the words to make Hunter forgive Elliot. He couldn't steer him away from his lascivious intentions. Hell: he couldn't even control himself! If he couldn't properly govern the stirring in his own pants...

...so how could manage Hunter?

"But, you know..." the tiger continued, drawing closer still, until he was again shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend, "...just because HE's not here, that doesn't mean that me and you can't..."

And Mic jerked away, instinctively. He couldn't let Hunter touch him. He had to stay in control.

But, as they drew upon the restrooms, he spoke up in spite of himself.

"I need to pee..." his voice wavered, and his course shifted left.

He knew he shouldn't go in.

There was no door. At least not with a handle and hinges. Instead, the entrance to the park's restroom was more of a short hallway that doubled back on itself: a full U-turn before one could make their way inside. It left nothing within visible from without, but -- along with the gaps between the ceiling and the walls -- it served as remarkable open air ventilation...

And Mic hadn't even gotten to the turn in that little hallway...wasn't even half way into the restroom...before the fur on the back of his neck was standing on end. Hunter was right behind him. He could feel him: his presence, his breath, his eyes against him. And he trembled at the sensation...

Neither one said a word. Not about where they were walking to...about what had happened here in the past...about what could so easily happen tonight...or about the tents both boys were so noticeably pitching, already.

Hunter's silence, Mic couldn't gauge. Perhaps if he'd looked him in the eye, he would have seen a nervous hopefulness. Perhaps the cat desperately wanted something to happen...but he was afraid that if he spoke he'd lose his chance. But Mic was too scared to look and find out.

But his own silence? That he understood. He was too scared to speak, for the same reason that he was too scared to look into Hunter's eyes. If he spoke, it became real. If he spoke, he would have to admit the risk he was taking. He would have to admit that he knew he shouldn't be here, but that he didn't care. He would have to admit...that he was lying to himself.

But so long as he was silent, it wasn't real. He was just going to pee...and everything would be okay.

And soon enough, that's exactly what he was doing. And his shaft was in his paw at the urinal.

But before he let out even the barest trickle, he heard Hunter let loose beside him. He heard the stream strike the porcelain -- a sharp, glassy treble -- and his cock flexed in his paw at the sound.

It wasn't the act itself that set him to shiver, though. He'd never been interested in watersports...and he still wasn't. No. It was the association. Hearing the tiger peeing forced him to picture it...forced him to imagine the organ from which that stream had come. And without even turning his gaze, he could see the tiger's familiar dick in his mind. Barbed. Glistening. Pulsing...

Damn-it. He knew he shouldn't have gone in.

"You remember this restroom, too, right?" Hunter's voice jarred him from his trance. And he opened his eyes to catch, in his peripherals, the tiger motioning his head to something across the room: "That stall?"

Mic was rigid now. He was throbbing, and standing at attention: a full 45 degree salute. And it made the task at paw more than a little difficult. But he strained, he bent it downward, and he forced himself to do what he'd said he came to do.

Hunter's stream, though, had already tapered off...and the tiger's neck stretched out, his head leaning over the urinals' dividing wall, as he answered his own question on the hyena's behalf:

"It definitely LOOKS like you remember."

"Eyes on the road, kitty," Mic ordered as sternly as he could manage, while he finished his business:

He grunted and forced out what final few drops he had left, before stuffing himself away into his boxers, and stepping back from the urinal. His paws were on his open pants, ready to button and zip them up. It was a simple enough task. But it was one he wouldn't be completing.

In a flash of orange and black, Hunter was on him!

One paw gripped the hyena's rod through the silk of his boxers, and the other ensnared his wrist. And, chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose, Hunter pushed him back more quickly than Mic could react, and in seconds, he had been slammed against the outer wall of one of the restroom's stalls. His already rigid dick was being kneaded through the silk, a labored breath fell heavy on his muzzle...and he could feel a second throbbing pole twitching against his leg.

Hunter had never even put himself away.

"Hunter. No..." the hyena tried to protest. But his revolve had been hanging by a thread already...and the paw gripping him had broken it completely. So despite his protests, he could muster no will to push his attacker away. "What about Elliot?"

"I told you," Hunter growled in return, and his paw delved inside the silk: the flesh of his paw pads against the flesh of Mic's cock. "Elliot's not here."

Mic might not have known much, but he knew he was a good friend. Hunter was his friend. He was making a mistake. He had to stop him. He had to protect him from himself before this went any further. He knew he was a good friend. Elliot was his friend! He couldn't betray him. He couldn't let Hunter betray him. He knew he was a good friend. He was a good friend...

But his fingers were already encircling Hunter's shaft.

He knew more than he was willing to admit. He knew this was wrong. He knew he had willingly let it happen. And he knew he wouldn't be turning back...

Mic imagined himself outside of his own body. He imagined he was a spectator: a voyeur simply watching the scene play out. He imagined...that he had nothing to do with what was happening.

And as he watched the two strangers -- alone there in the dim, artificial light of the drafty restroom -- they pulled one another close. Heavy breaths fell upon twitching ears, tense necks, and tremoring shoulders...pre trickled out, matting the fur and slickening the pads of slowly stroking paws...and an old stall groaned under the weight of two young bodies.

A November breeze whistled through the gap at the top of the walls, and whirred through the bent, doorless entry way...but he could barely hear it, over the sound of a tiger's breath on his ear.

And he was drawn back to reality at the feeling of that tiger's lips against his neck. His lips pressed, spreading with his shaking breath. His tongue rolled out, parting the hyena's fur. And his teeth sunk in, threatening to pierce the flesh.

This was exactly why he always liked Hunter best. No one else compared. No one else was gay...or even bisexual. They were just bored. Hard up. Curious at best. And they were always so shy. A cock in their muzzle was simply them returning a favor. But a kiss? Losing themselves in the moment, and sinking their teeth into the heartbeat of a friend's neck? That was always a step too far...

...not for Hunter, though. Never for Hunter.

And even as Elliot's name pulsed through Mic's mind again, and again. Even as he told himself it was wrong, and begged himself to stop...he lifted the tiger's head and pulled him into a rough and desperate kiss.

What was he doing?

But it wasn't the conflicted Hyena who broke that kiss. It was Hunter.

"Now," the tiger growled as both his paws caught his friend's collar. "Didn't we say something about you helping me to get some..." he licked his lips and showed his fangs, "...release?"

Mic could only gulp and nod. And then he was jerked down to his knees.

Hunter's paws held his face. The cat's barbs scraped the roof of his mouth. And the flesh -- the spongy and slick layer of flesh, atop the steel rod beneath -- slid across his tongue. He could taste the dripping salt, almost hear the pulse of his friend's heart, feel the tiger's claws on his scalp, and smell the scent...

...the scent of hot wings on Hunter's paws.

The scent clung to his fur and his pads just like it had to Mic's. And the hyena was more than a little disappointed. He wanted to smell his friend. He wanted his nose filled with the cat's musk. The sweat of his balls. The heat of his arousal. The pungent sting of his flowing pre. But not vinegar and spice.

He'd always loved that scent. The scent of a male. And Hunter's...was particularly enticing.

It demanded he submit. It made him long to be on his knees. It inspired dreams of the cat's cock invading his throat. It begged him to be right where he was at this very moment: Hunter's paws gripping his skull, as he thrust into the hyena's willing maw.

And as he was muzzle fucked there on the floor of the park restroom, he gripped his own shaft in his paw, and stroked. This was another reason Hunter was always...just so damned much fun. No one else could ever really make him submit.

And come to think of it...maybe that's why he was really so interested in Mr. Callaway, too. The authority. The power.

But as he knelt there, pawing shamelessly at himself, and enjoying the feeling, again and again, of his nose tapping against the tiger's groin...a muffled sound tickled his ear. It was a shuffling and a tapping noise. But it ended as quickly as it had begun...and, besides, it had been so windy every since they stepped through the hallway...

Amidst the whistling and whirring, the rustling leaves beyond the walls, the lights buzzing above of his head, and the hum of his own muffled breaths...he simply let himself ignore yet one more noise joining the gentle cacophony.

And he would have forgotten it, too, if it weren't for the sudden flash that stung his still-closed eyes.

The flash.

And the unmistakable sound of a digital camera's simulated shutter.

Hunter's dick jerked free of Mic muzzle. Spit and pre dripped down his chin. And before his newly-opened eyes could even adjusted to the buzzing restroom light, a second flash stunned him and burned his eyes.

He stumbled to his feet. He heard Hunter's zipper. And he frantically reached for his own, as his eyes finally adjusted to the sight before him: to the paws of a horse and a bear gripping their cell phones, the tail of a husky slipping quickly around the corner as he made his exit...

...and the shocked and disgusted face...of Brandon Sutela.

~

And Sibirskaia continues...

* This particular chapter (and the rest of Sibirskaia) was written entirely by Oloroso Rhone. But it was based on characters and story lines I created jointly with my friend Phil Anthro Pist

If you'd like to go say hi to Phil, he's got an account on here at http://phil-anthro-pist.sofurry.com/ *

Okay...I'm supposed to have things to say here, right? But where should I start?

Elliot's mother is accusing his dad of molesting him. Now they have to talk to lawyers and go to court and try to defend him. Surely she doesn't really have any evidence, right?

Hunter JUST CHEATED ON ELLIOT! And Mic certainly wasn't in control enough to stop it. One wounded tiger plus one horny and weak hyena...doesn't make for good decision making.

And at least I COULD say that maybe Elliot won't find out. But...there were just pictures taken...

I mean: there...really just wasn't one tiny bit of good news here, was there?

So what comes next? Will Elliot find out? How will he react? Who ELSE might see the pictures? What role does Brandon still have to play? And on top of all of THAT...how can we expect Kris and Robyn's legal proceedings to go?

I'm not being very nice right now, am I?

Anyway, thanks for reading!

I welcome any feedback. Comment or PM me here, or email me at theottercoon[at]gmail.com See you around for the next 23 chapters of Sibirskaia!