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"Callum! Callum, stop!" Bruce barked. Although, since he was in the awkward position of needing to avoid attention, his command lacked most of its intended agency.

My response was to smile my typical fox smile, and slide another inch of his thick fat cock down my gullet. That shut him up. Even got him to close is eyes, and drop his tongue a little. Presumably he was now drifting off to his magical fantasy land where he was enjoying himself, but not on the Uni rugby team and being blown in the storage floor of the library by his secret boyfriend loverfuckbuddy?

Going unnoticed was typically difficult for Bruce, attention commanding and charismatic boxer dog he was. In this case however he was trying very, very HARD. In private Bruce would normally throw out a line or two of dirty talk when I did this too him, but in our current venue he was committed to being silent, save for a few moaning whimpers and muffled grunts.

And here I was, a swift fox a good three feet shorter than him in stature and comparatively miniscule in build, tunning his body the way a musician would tune their instrument.

So. Fucking. Cute. It was especially cute that he was so worried. Nobody came down here this close to the library's closing time, and the various retractable shelves meant we could section ourselves off in a corner and build a maze out of the books. We would hardly be the first students to fool around in here. Granted we would also not be the first to be caught fooling around down here if someone did find us.

It only took a little while for him to get properly into it. He kept his hands clasped on the bench behind him, rather than grabbing the back of my head. He'd been very good at keeping his hands to himself after our little discussion over who really held the power during a blowjob. I didn't really mind him rubbing my ears, but too often he'd forget his place near the end, and ended up fucking my mouth rather than me fucking him with my mouth. The shallow thrusting he soon contributed, however, was more than welcome. It helped me get into the head space of driving and huge hulking meat train with the piston motions of my mouth.

So I was a little into power play. Sue me.

Finally, in supressed and reserved grunts, he came, spraying over my tongue and the back of my throat. Two-and-a-half gulps later and most of the physical evidence was gone.

Two-and-a-half minutes later we walked out from behind the section devoted to finance and walked up the basement stairs to return to the deserted library commons. Him with the most guilt-ridden expression imaginable and me with a sly smile, and the taste of him still fresh on my tongue.

Bruce had taken the lead and, given his near high riding pants, this gave me ample reason to thank my stars once again that I'd found such a willing... well, willing enough, playmate with such a drop-dead gorgeous body.

"My place?" I posed. It wasn't really a question, and we both knew it. Bruce didn't answer right away, opting to first collect his bag from the desk before turning to give me the answer I knew he would give. His eyes pleaded, begged even.

I can't. Not tonight. No thankyou. These were the things those eyes wished the mouth would say, wish it could say. But instead, the lips of that ugly jock mug parted to utter the word, "Sure."

Poor Bruce. From looking at him, you'd think he'd just agreed to be hung drawn and quartered rather than being taken around the world.

"Why the hell did you bring me here Lachlan?"

"What? There's talent here." The coyote replied from behind his half-finished beer.

"Yes." I surveyed the room once more to confirm what I was about to say. "And all of it is currently occupied with other talent." I returned my gaze to the bar to check on a figure I had notice earlier. Sure enough they were still nurturing that one Shirley Temple, which by now had to be more ice than liqueur. "Or creepy."

And really what more could you say about him. The bar sitter was hunched over his ridiculously overly gay drink, which his hands perpetually in his pockets and his face hidden beneath his hoodie. He was probably ugly too. But even his posture did little to hide the fact that, although he clearly didn't want to be noticed, he was fucking huge. At least six foot, but also built at least partially like a brick-shit house, and a solid one at that. Probably a bear.

"So?" Lachlan inquired, breaking my train of thought. "That just means you need to bring your A game."

"Pfft. I may be a fox but I'm no homewrecker."

"So does that mean you couldn't?"

I fixed him with a glare. "It means I don't want to."

"Chicken." He grinned as he downed the last of his alcohol.

"No. It's called having standards and moral fibre."

"Sure it is. But you know the rules. I've picked up here before, and either you do now or admit that I've won."

Jackass.

"And just who, pray tell, did you pick up?"

Lachlan grinned. "Some cute ringtail called Paul."

"Really? And where is he now?"

His grin widened. "Back in Melbourne."

Typical.

"Alright." I downed the last of my water, and immediately wished I had actually gotten alcohol. Given the turn the night had taken, I really didn't end up with any reasons to be going home sober. "I'm going. You win."

"You're just going to curl up with that trashy book of yours aren't you?"

"It's not trashy. It happens to be a very good romantic novel, with some scenes of eroticism."

"Whatever. You're probably only reading it because the writer is a fox."

"And just how would you know that if you didn't read it yourself?"

"Skimmed it."

"Sure ya did. See ya, Lach."

Leaving Lachlan to continue gallivanting did have sting of defeat, but the thought of staying here all night was much worse. I was all of half way to the door when I noticed the hooded up bar-sitter...looking right at me. I might have kept walking there were it not for the fact that he looked away the moment I noticed him.

Okay. One of two options: A) He's going to follow me out of the bar and kill me in the parking lot.

B) He's checking me out.

A sudden flash of the official rules of Lachlan's and my little contest played across my eyes: Defeat is only admitted when the able bodied patron has actually left the bar.

Well then... may as well go hard.

As I made my way over to the bar my thought process essentially consisted of weighing up two possibilities. He was either ugly or shy. But given his stature I somehow doubted the latter without the former. May be this was his first time in a gay bar? Maybe he was self-conscious about being fat?

I pulled up a stool next to him and gave a casual "Hey" while peaking round to catch a glimpse of his face. It took a half-second for recognition to set in, then another half for me to realise the implications of said face.

Okay. Ugly and shy then.

I strained my memory for a half heard conversation in the gym locker room that didn't include me. "Bruce wasn't it?"

"Huh?" The boxer dog's voice was every bit as deep and thuggish as you would imagine. His expression was also just as expectedly stupid.

"I've seen you in the gym. Don't you play for one of the campus teams?"

Judging by the way his face contorted with fear, his brain had finally caught up with mine. It wasn't his fault really. How could a boxer's brain compare with a fox?

"How did you- you weren't supposed to-"

"Recognise you?"

"I...I have to go." He rose from his seat-

"You leave now, and I will tell everyone." Half a second to process, regretful resignation, then he snapped back down.

I won't really tell, but you don't know that do you, you big dumb bruiser?

"Please...I don't-"

"Oh calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." Now that I was up close, now that I knew who he was, I could see that that wasn't fat he was hiding under that hoodie and bad posture. Every last inch of that stocky body was in fact wonderfully toned muscle. Bruce and I had only previously had contact passing each other to and from the gym locker room, but that time had been enough for me to steal little glances from time to time.

"P-please don't tell anyone." He whimpered. He actually whimpered.

Poor little thing. You're what, 100 kilos of pure muscle? But your still so insecure about being outed you're actually begging me to kept it a secret that you went to a gay bar.

A thought occurred. A twisted thought granted, but still a thought. This fortuitous circumstance happened to be eerily similar to a particular scenario in my current reading material. So I can be forgiven for taking inspiration from how that particular story played out in deciding how to proceed.

Of course this wasn't a novel, this was real life. Doing what I was about to do obviously had moral and ethical ramifications. And because I was warped inside it took me precisely five seconds to stop caring.

"Look how about this, you come over to my room latter tonight and I won't tell anyone you were here tonight."

Bruce blinked twice before answering. "Wh-what are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing." I held my paws up defensively. "We can just talk. I may just be able to help you with what you're going through. You'll be free to leave at any time and I'll promise to keep your secret."

Now the boxer's eyes showed something other than fear or confusion. Hope.

"Really?"

I gave him my most modest fox smile, "Of course."

Doubt flickered across those thuggish features. "I can't. If someone sees me going into a guy's place."

Really Bruce? That's what's going to stop you? I had to take a deep breath just not to baulk, which promptly afforded me a good lung-full of Bruce's scent.

Picture this. Picture the image of a chiselled stone god. The kind that only appear on magazines. Picture perfectly carved pecs and biceps and an all-round toned meaty body. Abs you could grind meat on, and the musk of a hard days work. Then picture that image distilled into a cologne that retailed for $59.99. That's what Bruce smelled like, and dammit if my sheath wasn't starting to fill out at that scent alone.

I simply could not let this guy go. The smell of him alone was doing things to me.

And to top it all off, I'll just bet you've got a monster cock.

Then another thought occurred. Bruce may just be naïve and ignorant enough to believe a particular lie or two, particularly if it pandered to certain stereotypes.

"Tell you what. I'll answer the door in drag. That way, anyone watching will just assume you're hooking up with some vixen." I saw his ears perk slightly under his hoodie.

Oh yes, I am going to rock your world.

Buzz!

5 minutes early. Someone's eager.

I opened the door and was greeted by much the same expression as I'd walked away from at the bar. Anxious, nervous, but a little night-before-Christmasy, which quickly morphed into surprise and then horror.

"I thought you'd be dressed as a woman!"

I smiled slyly as a fox is want to do. "I don't do drag."

"But-but, I thought-"

"You thought all gay guys also dressed in woman's clothing?"

He didn't have an answer to that, so I let the implication of how ready he was to believe it hang in the air for a while. But I didn't close the door. "In or out?"

He seemed to consider saying 'out', but only for a moment, before steeping through the point of no return, allowing me to steal a quick taste of his scent, and allowing the door to click shut behind him.

"Upstairs." I commanded, and to my delight he obeyed.

Now that I'd gotten him inside, I was also able to fully appreciate just how much he reeked of that sweaty musk of his. Probably anxiety pangs over this meeting of ours. I also decided, that as a gracious host I'd have to find some way to help him...relax.

From behind, watching him climb the stairs of the dorm was almost like watching funeral procession. No that wasn't it. It was the procession of one condemned, but had yet to die. "Second door to the left." Came my instruction and then we were both in my little hole in the wall.

Once that final door was firmly locked I offered to take his jacket. Which was a mistake. If there had been any hope of me retraining myself before, there certainly wasn't now that I could see the body outlined by that too-thin shirt. He'd obviously just come from the gym, so perhaps less anxiety sweat and more, 'I work out when I'm stressed' sweat.

"Wh-what are you looking at?" Bruce said.

I blinked.

Was I starring that much? Oh well. In for a penny.

I grinned and licked my jaws, savouring the opportunity to use a line, which till now had been delegated to bad TV. "The pants. Lose 'em."

Bruce back up half a step. "I thought we were just going to talk!"

"Ha!" I closed the distance between us in two confident strides and slid my paw in the space between his shorts and his fur, importantly, with no resistance whatsoever from him. "Come on now. Do you really think you came all this way to not get laid?"'

"Callum? Am I doing this right?"

He slowed down. The idiot actually slowed down! The fullness under my tail actually vanished for a moment while he paused outside of me. Two week of these little hook-ups, which happened every other night, and he still hadn't seemed to figure out my tells.

"For god's sake Bruce, yes! Just- don't stop. Believe me, if you were doing it wrong I'd tell you. Now just- move."

"Sorry." He whimpered, before pushing forward in compliance. As I felt him filling me again I allowed him a contented sign from me, to make it clear he was doing it right this time. Once everything was where I should be, I let my let my tongue hang out in a slight pant. And then we were moving together again, him against me and me against him. I don't see why my lack of moaning was a problem, given Bruce seemed to do that more than enough for the both of us.

It wasn't Bruce's fault he'd mistaken my quite demeanour for disinterest, really. I was probably much quieter than the airheaded girls that were his usual fair. I'd been made aware by previous partners that my silence was unusual, but to be honest vocalising yourself like an idiot seemed the greater oddity to me. Besides, at our pace sharp intake of breath was more appropriate than exclamations of, 'Oh Bruce! Oh God!' It wasn't the frantic and savage fuck a beast like him would leave you expecting. It was slow, deliberate, powerful...purposeful that was the world. He went about sex, specifically causing his partner pleasure during sex, the same way a self-employed mum might devote themselves to the labour of love that is handicrafts you intend to sell at the Sunday Market.

This was right. When I was giving oral, I very much preferred by be the driver, and even now I set much of the pace, but in this position I could at least pretend otherwise. This was a fox being dominated by the bigger male. And I had been right, he did have a monster cock.

Two weeks and I'd already spent many hours studying the patterns of that cock. Its veins, its curves and valleys, its scent and its taste. From time to time I'd event held conversations with the body it was attached too. They didn't really go far, given our lack of common interests, but I wasn't here in this moment or this position for his intellect. All he really seemed to want to talk about was Rugby or classes, while I inevitably steered the conversation towards politics or science. We just didn't click in that way.

Besides, I'd be hard pressed to think of a conversation topic that would give a greater sense of intimacy than being tied. That came soon after by the way. He had been slowly building a faster pace, cumulating in a few shallow thrusts followed by a long desperate grind with various changes to angle that finally saw the last few inches of his bulbous knot slip past and in, tying us together.

When Bruce slumped forward in a post orgasm stupor, he forced me down to the bed and rolled me on my side. Then and only then, did I take care of myself. During our sessions I preferred to focus on the feeling of him thrusting into me, and under those circumstances my own dick was a distraction. I preferred to let it bob and flag, getting exquisitely hard from Bruce's ministrations, building up a good head of pressure, and then climax ropes of cum on the bedsheets while Bruce leaked his inside me. God the denial was satisfying.

Bruce was content to nuzzle my neck and ears while we waited for his knot to shrink and I, for my part, was happy to let him. I had the hypnotic flutter of his little button docked tail to entertain me. It was particularly conspicuous in this position because it made a scraping sound on the sheets. It set off like a strobe light whenever we kissed, when we were tied, and I knew for a fact it also happened when I sucked him off or he was fucking him. It was just cute, in ways a boxer dog that built and intimidating had no real right to be.

About ten minutes later I felt confident enough to tease an attempt to pull off of him. There was enough give for me to try it earnest, being careful not move around in such a way that got him excited again. As fun as double-rounders were, he had training early in the morning, while I was knackered from this afternoons Ecology tutorial.

He barely stirred as I hoped from bed to bathroom and into the shower, to quickly soap my back side and rinse myself off. I was lucky enough to have one of the two rooms on this floor with its own body dryer so the whole ordeal took only about fifteen minutes, rather than the thirty or forty five it normally took when using a handheld.

I left the towel on its rack to dry, picked up a washcloth and moistened it in warm water on my way out. Sure enough, Bruce was still lying there stock still, barely even registering me as I approached the bed. I dropped the cloth on his groin and gave his still semi-hard shaft a quick towelling. That seemed to wake him up somewhat, but even the slightly cool and wet sensations were only enough to get him to slightly roll around in a daze, like a child interrupted during nap time. It was rather pathetic really.

Bruce tended to drift right off after sex, so I'd gotten use to taking the showers by myself. It wasn't like we would do much kissing in there, seeing as we didn't do much kissing outside of it, but it did mean I'd had to getting into the habit of cleaning him up at least partially. It wasn't that much of a pain. Not when afterwards I could curl up next to a nice warm body like this, afterwards.

The familiar routine for falling asleep for me was to stare fixedly at the wall and slowly nod off, and I had just started to reach stage two of this ritual when Bruce began to snore. A slow, distant rumble in the chest, not quite loud enough to be obnoxious, but resolute enough to be an unmistakable sign that a large burly man was dreaming. Enough to snap me out of nodding off, but not enough for me to resent him for it. I'd probably find it soothing in a few minutes, and decided to otherwise occupy myself by turning around and tracing circles in his stomach. I made it to the third-out-of-six perfect cutlets of taunt muscle, when his arm came round to rest on my side and pulled me closer to him.

To my eternal surprise, Bruce reminded him that he could sometimes be endearing. The way in which that body, which was not-so-long ago mounting me, could be inherently protective a moment latter. It was a contradiction of sorts. An endearing contradiction

I was happy to stay like this, my ear on his chest listening to his heartbeat, my head rising and falling with his breaths. From here I was able to take deep lung-fulls of Bruce's scent and, as an important bonus, nuzzle his nipple with my nose and even steal a few clandestine licks.

I would have fallen asleep like this, in a happy daze of post-coital tranquillity, but it was at that point that Bruce's arm snake up to the back of my head, steered by muzzle towards the head of the bead and then leaned forward in a lingering kiss.

It wasn't that I was avoiding Lachlan. Not really. It's just, since we started doing it together, looking for hook-ups in bars had quickly become about the only thing we did together. And since I no longer needed to go to bars for hook-ups, I really hadn't found much reason to try and get in contact with him.

But there was too much history between us for me to just cut him off, and it's not like I really wanted to. So eventually I had to respond to his texts, and inevitably that also meant that when I met him I would also have to answer his questions. And seeing as his schedule and mine happened to have us both heading through the Refactory at the same time with ten minutes before our next class on Monday, I really couldn't scrounge up a decent excuse not to meet him for coffee.

"So who is he, Callum?" He may not be a fox, but his could still grin like one.

I lowered by vanilla mocha, slowly. "Who's who?"

Stall him! Stall him!

"You know who. Who's the guy? The guy who is apparently such a good fuck, and source of conversation that you haven't felt the need to go out or talk to me the past few weeks."

I took a long draft from my beverage, trying to choose...diplomatic words. "I still go out, just not with you." I had failed.

"Callum, are you bar cruising without me?" Lachlan's face took on a look of mock horror.

I couldn't sustain this dance. "Alright there's a guy."

"Figured. So who is he? What's he like?" My eyes fluttered to the ceiling in thought.

"Nice." I replied.

"Nice, huh? Does nice guy have a name?"

"Yes." I said simply, washing down my cowardice with another chug of caffeine.

"Wait is it that fat guy with the hoodie from the bar?"

Ice shoot through my veins. "He... is not fat!"

Oh yes Callum. Because you are a shallow little shit that is just the worse thing he could possibly be.

"Hay," he held his paws back defensively, "no fur off my back if you're a chubby chaser."

"He's not! It-it was just the way he was sitting. Underneath he's really...athletic."

Lachlan's lips contorted to a silent O. "So why haven't I met him yet?"

"It's...complicated." Chug.

"Afraid I'll steal?"

"Nooo."

"Is he closeted?"

"...Yes." Lachlan nodded at me, like a parent in the process of _understanding_their child's problems.

"So you know it's probably not wise to sideline you friends for a relationship that has no future."

I blinked. "What?"

"You've got no future together. This can only be something to stave off the inevitable breakdown for him. It's an occasional with perhaps a bit more consistency and desperation than usual."

Occasional hook-up? Of course I knew that!

"Well, maybe that's all I want."

Lachlan returned to stirring his coffee. "Don't kid yourself, Cal. Whenever I leave with someone from the bar, I'm back the next night looking for someone new. You on the other hand, every once-and-a-while you leave for the night and come back with a name and number in the morning. Our game is suspended, you go out a few times, inevitably it falls apart, and then we're back on for the next round. You want more than casual sex, I think."

I tipped my head to the left. "Don't we all?"

Lachlan shrugged. "Maybe, that's what all the books and movies say we want. One day perhaps, but not right now. Right now I'm happy to just shop around for the sake of shopping around." He nodded to a river otter eyeing him by the bar. "You sound like you've found something you want to keep though."

Did I?

"I somehow doubt that," is what I actually said. "I don't think we have enough to talk about for this to be a forever thing."

"So it is just physical." He drained the last of his schooner, and stood up. "Must be hell of a physique then. I've got Tech in five, catch ya' latter." Then he set off for the bar, being careful to maintain eye contact with an otter across the room on his way out.

Damn coyote never missed an opportunity... maybe I was a little afraid he'd steal.

We were lying together on my bed, both on our sides facing each other. Bruce was half embracing me to him and droning on about some such, while I kept myself occupied with the fact that our height different mean I was now level with his chest.

I traced my finger along his left peck, encircling his nipple, and debating whether or not to brush it. I knew full well that would lead to licking, which would lead to getting him panting again, which would lead to another kiss, which would lead to another good fuck. I hadn't showered yet, so there was still plenty of lube from last time, and Bruce was uncharacteristically alert right now.

Decisions, decisions- God he was loud.

"Hmm?" I muttered, tearing my gaze up.

"I said, how were classes?"

I starred. "Fine."

What did he care?

"How's that presentation coming along?"

I turned back down to continue making trails in his fur. "Fine. Teammates and I know what we're going to say, just need to rehearse and get the timing right."

"What was it on again?"

Why did it matter, you wouldn't understand it? But I didn't say that. Instead, I looked up and said, "Connexxins. They're a family of proteins that form gap junctions between cells in vertebrates."

"I remember." Bruce said, as hebrought his arms up from my thigh to cradle my shoulders closer. "I'm thinking of doing anatomy next semester. Seems interesting."

I traced a circle clockwise. "That's nice." Counter-clockwise.

"My logic course is going well. It's actually sort of like maths. We have to break a statement or problem down into algebra then work out if the argument is sound."

God he went on. "Mm."

"Literature is good too. We have to choose a book for our next paper in Lit too. I'm thinking...I'm thinking I might try and do it on Oscar Wilde. I enjoyed one of his books in High School. And when I found out he was gay it was really...supportive at the time. Ya know?"

"That's nice." Is he really going on about this?

"Training's going well. We've got a game here this Sunday if- if you'd like to come? It's not a major game, we're just playing North Side, and at this stage of the season a win or lose is not going to matter much anyway, but it'd be nice if you came."

I blinked. Come watch you play Rugby? Why on Earth would I want to do that?

But I didn't answer because I knew that if I did answer honestly his eyes would droop down in that pathetic puppy dog face, so instead I leaned forward, and planted a strategic lick that I knew would set of a chain of events that would mean I wouldn't have to answer.

Of course midway through, I realised this in itself could be construed as a particular answer, and that conversely, I was probably going to have to go to a Rugby game on Sunday.

"But I don't want to go to the game on Sunday." Lachlan protested. "I want to sleep in, finish my Finance report and, if possible, have sex on Sunday."

"First off," I countered, "finishing your Finance report is, at best, a lie. Secondly the game won't last the whole day, Lachy. You'll have plenty of time to organize your evening debauchery afterwards. Come on, it's just one game."

Lachlan imitated a sneer, "I don't understand why you're going. You've never been interested in watching other people play sport. What was it you said?"

"I don't understand why I would spend three hours sitting watching other people have my fun." I flicked my ears. "But I'm not doing it because I want to, I promised."

"Misery loves company, eh?"

My ears repeated themselves. "Yes."

From Lachlan's body language that seemed to be enough to convince him to attend, but was, apparently, not enough to satiate his curiosity.

"So who did you promise?"

"Just a friend." I answered without pause, and as nonchalant as possible. I know that's how it sounded because I'd rehearsed it beforehand.

"Is he playing?"

What other reason could I give? "Yes."

Lachlan's lips curled into a shit-eating grin. "I see, you want to hit that."

"No!" I answered, just a little too quickly. "It's just- important to him that I be there. For- emotional support."

Lachlan wasn't buying. What's worse is that from his expression, I could see the wheels turning behind that smile, working to put two-and-two together. "Or maybe you're already hitting that. He's the guy isn't he? The one you've been seeing, the closet case?"

I snapped my jaw shut and swallowed. There really wasn't anyway of this now. "Yes." I conceded.

"Ah." Lachlan wore his most insufferable 'Got Ya' face. "That would explain why he doesn't want anyone to know. Can't imagine his teammates would be that accommodating. Is he going to play professionally?"

My ears flicked forward. "No." My mind drifted off to a half remembered conversation in bed, realised I'd only been half listening, then made up something on the spot. "I think he's trying to get into Personal Training...or something to do with literature and philosophy." Was that really all I knew about his aspirations? That's embarrassing.

"Is he out to his family?"

"I...don't...know. I just assumed-"

Lachy turned back to his neglected notes. "Well don't. Ask him sometime."

Our liaison on Thursday didn't proceed as normal. I let him into my room as normal, he went straight to my room, as normal, but I didn't follow to undress him. He sat there now, on the edge, ears curiously piqued. I also wasn't already naked, which for me was shocking.

I didn't care. I knew I didn't care, and by now Bruce should know I didn't care. But something about Lachlan's line of enquiry the other day stayed with me. I hated being asked questions I didn't know the answer to, particularly when I had a nagging feeling I should by all rights know the answer.

"Do your parents know?"

Bruce gave a 'dumb' look from across the room seated on the bed. "Know what?"

I folded my arms. "You know what."

He kept the look. He always had the look, it was just his natural features that gave the 'dumb' look.

"Y-yes. I think so." He didn't make eye contact.

"What do you mean, you 'think so'?"

"Well I think they suspect it, and I haven't tried to hide that I haven't been going out with girls. 'Course, they might think that's just because I'm focused on school, but I've-" He paused, perhaps unsure if what he was about to say would placate me, "I've decided the next time it comes up I'm just going to tell them."

"And how do you suppose that's going to go?"

His eyes showed a twinge of fear. "I'm not sure. We were never a super religious family, but I grew up in a small town west of Sydney. Being gay was just not a thing that happened there. And everyone talked about it like it would be the worst thing, if it did." I nodded along in a way I hoped seemed understanding. "I mean, I know they want grandkids, but they've still got my sister for that." Then he look past the wall, into the distance and sighed. "May have already started on that, actually. They say Jessica's getting outa control back home."

The silence he put there was not pleasant, so I took it upon myself to lift it. "My parents know." I said simply. "Told them late High School. Must've been year eleven...or twelve. I may as well have left it for longer though, considering I didn't act on it for years."

"Really." Bruce's interest was clearly peaked. "How long?"

I grimaced. "Twenty."

"Really? Why?" He was giving me the same look of wonder a two year old gives a snail. Just what the hell was so interesting about that?

"Because I didn't... I didn't have the motivation or the confidence, alright?"

Bruce crossed his legs. "Yeah, I get it. I mean, I tried going out with girls in High School. I'd always been a big guy so confidence wasn't a problem, I knew I could probably beat up anyone who said anything, and the girls seemed to like me."

This was not going where I wanted it to go.

"It just never...clicked, ya know? Always felt like I was forcing it."

Why no Bruce, I don't know. I wasn't someone with enough confidence to talk to girls at any point in High School, regardless of my ultimate disinterest in them.

"It wasn't till just before I started looking at University that I looking into...you know...what guys could do with each other."

Okay, slightly more interesting.

"I mean, once I saw some stuff it was...different. At first I tried to shut it all out, and look at straight porn, but eventually I had to admit that I was picking stuff for the men rather than the women. I didn't know what to do about it."

"Have sex with guys is what most gay people do." That probably came out a lot more acid than I intended.

"I couldn't. I knew everyone within twenty k's of my house. We'd only ever used the word 'fag' and we only ever used it to refer to something bad." He didn't sound proud admitting that. "I decided I'd wait till I got here to University before I did any...experimenting." He turned to me now, cracking a toothy grin. "Of course that really motivated me to actually get into Uni first."

Why was he looking at me? Why was he looking at me like that? Oh God he wants me to tell my story now! Why? Why does he...phfaa...fine!

"I figured it out in High School too."

Was I really doing this?

"Didn't tell anyone, didn't act on it. I attribute that mainly to the fact I wasn't really interested in anyone at my Catholic High School." I looked away. That wasn't quite true. "At least, no one that wanted anything to do with me. I told my parents one night, they were surprised at first then, upon further reflection, told me that looking back on things they could deduce, 'okay that was a concern'. Apparently my mother spoke to some therapist, or something, tried to tell me I might just be feeling experimental, and that I shouldn't label myself as of yet."

The bile probably wasn't obvious to Bruce, but to my ears I could still hear the twinge that reminded me that, although she had told me not to apologise for anything, I hadn't quite forgiven her for that.

"Eventually, halfway through my second year here, I'd realised I'd built up a lot of social inertia, and figured I'd better do something about it before I died alone. So I started creeping to the Sexuality Department's meetings and things just sort of progressed, very slowly, from there."

At that was it. That was my story. That was story I was going to tell and no further. He could bring out the red hot poker for all I cared! I was not going into further detail than that.

Bruce spoke, "I did end up experimenting with a guy before I left home."

What the hell prompted that? I didn't ask! "We were both drunk. Just pawing off, ya know? I don't think he even half remembers, but it did help me be sure of some things latter on."

"That's...nice." I managed. What did he expect me to say? I wasn't going to say the image was hot. Even if it was.

"He wasn't one of my good friends. More a friend-of-a-friend. We'd play rugby and football together, but we weren't supper close. We...we didn't talk after that. Like it never happened."

"So what was it like coming out here, where people are actually civilized after they jack each other off?"

Bruce committed the cardinal sin of not reacting to my humorous quip, and actually turned a pensive gaze to the ceiling. "It was different. It was weird, being around so many people. People I didn't know, and who didn't know me. I fell into Rugby because it was something of home I could take with me. I even thought I meet a few other like me on the team but-" he looked away, "there aren't. The one time I steered the conversation around to gauge their feelings on gay people... some... some of the guys laughed and talked about how, 'only thing queer is good for is beating up.'" I was starting to feel a bit hot under my fur, and not in a good way.

"So I didn't mention it again, only, since I brought it up I think some of them are suspicious of me now. I tried to be nonchalant about it, ya know, but...Kyle, he thinks I need to prove something. He's sort of been joking that I should go out with some of the guys and beat up a few queers."

I set my jaw and went very stone faced. "And, just how did you respond to that?"

"I just brush him off, usually."

"He's done this more than once?"

"Only twice."

"Only twice!"

"Look," Bruce became abashed. "I said no. he asks again I'll keep saying no it's just-"

"Go on,' I pressed, "just what?"

"I- I don't know. It's not fair that I have to do something. I shouldn't have to feel unsafe around my own team." There was a stink in the air now. Hearing something that dark come from Bruce had an eerie tinge to it. I'd figured some of his team must've been the macho douche bag type to give him shit for being gay, otherwise he wouldn't be so nervous about what we do. I did not however, think he was being pressured to prove his heterosexuality by assaulting someone like...well, me.

Exactly like me... Gee, I sure am all alone here, in a room with a man being pressured to commit homophobic hate crime by his peers, who is twice my size and for times my width. What if he- why is he looking at me so expectantly?

"So what about you? What was your first time like, with a guy, I mean?"

Oh no. I was not going to allow this, down that path darkness lies. Change subject now.

"What do you want to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean a job," I waved in the vague direction of the air, "a career. What profession are you seeking a tertiary education for?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know. I've probably already missed the chance to go pro with Rugby, but I'll stay with it as long as it's fun, and I can keep up. I enjoy the lit classes, but I know I can't really build a career on them. Something in fitness, maybe." He gave me a smirk. "I could always be a gigolo."

I blinked. That was a joke. That was a seedy joke. Now I was far from a blushing virgin, but hearing that joke from Bruce floored me for a second because I absolutely did not see it coming. "Huh." I eventually stammered.

"That was a joke." Bruce beamed, then slumped backwards on the bed. He peered down past his chest at me... with those eyes. The puppy dog eyes. On a child they'd be cute and innocent, at least as far as I could stand children to be cute and innocent, but on Bruce...well... he asking for candy was he?

"So you seriously don't know what you're going to do after Uni?" I asked.

His brow furrowed. "Well I'm not sure, but I do have a few ideas kicking around. I still have another year to choice my majors and I've been careful to pick subjects that are prerequisites for anything I could want to do in third year." He propped himself up on his elbows. "Why the concern, all of a sudden? Don't worry about it. I'll be fine."

Worried? I wasn't worried about him. I just... "I thought we should talk more." Which wasn't true. I didn't think we should talk more. If anything I believed we talked too much as it was. I thought we should fuck more- what was that incredibly irritating soun- oh.

I peered to the source of the sound between Bruce's leg, and found his little stubby tail wagging madly. Yep, I just said that. I padded over to the bed, and the source of the noise, largely oblivious to the body to which it was attached for the time. The tail was the flame for the moment, but I did console myself with the knowledge that I had been right about the PT thing.

Kinda sorta.

Saturday, the day before the game. Bruce had talked me into meeting him at some café outside of campus. Actually, a fair deal away from campus, because public transport is a joy to behold. Bruce said he'd make his own way there, so I was literally going to this place and then just sort of... hoping that he turned up. He did, and the café was nice, but that's no excuse.

"What are you getting?" Bruce asked, peering up from his menu.

"Probably the bocconcini pizza, and a hot chocolate." I answered, without my gaze leaving my menu. "What about you?"

"The steak eye." Figures.

Before long we ordered, our menus are collected, and then left sitting to make our way to the make-or-break-part of the romantic aspect of a date, the conversation.

I decided to claim first blood, "So, how is training?"

His ears pick up for a moment, just a moment. Elated at the fact I was talking to him perhaps? Then they dropped down again. Perhaps remembering something he didn't want to be reminded of?

"Trainings... fine." He answered.

Well... that was a lie.

"But?"

"But... Kyle's really starting to push the gay thing. I'm getting half scarred he might actually try to go through with it." There's a doubt in his voice, almost uncertainty. Like he's... like he's actually considering it!

"You know you can't right? You can't beat someone up just to look good for your buddies! What are you thinking!"

"I know alright! I just...it's hard is all. I don't know what to say. How I'll get out of it."

"We'll here's an idea, just stop associating with him. Just quit the team or whatever."

"You don't understand, I don't think Kyle would just let it go if I said no, or quit. I'm going out with him and some of the others from the team tonight. If he does press it I... I may have to do... something to satisfy them."

I twinged. How easy would Bruce find it to hit someone in front of his friends when he was pressed for it? How easy would it be for him to hit me? "I'm not going to let you punch me for a show, Bruce."

The look Bruce gave me was at first confused, then horrified. "No, no, no! I mean... buy them a round of drinks or something, several even. I don't mean... how could you even suggest something like that!" He actually looked hurt, so much so that I began to wonder if I went too far when, mercifully, the food arrives.

My pizza is seasoned with fragrant herbs, and the bocconcini is sweet as always. Bruce ins half way through his steak by the time I've finished my second slice and take a draught of my hot chocolate. I could tell from the aroma it would be rich, and I wasn't disappointed. In fact it was probably too rich. Two gulps and I knew I wouldn't be able to finish both the drink and the pizza. Unsure of whether or not they did take-home boxes here, I made the logical choice, and choose the chocolate.

Bruce attempted conversation again, "How are classes?"

"Fine." I metered carefully.

"What are you learning about in Immunology right now?"

My ears flicked forward. Was he really going to play this game? Alright. "Right now we are focusing on the application of Clonal Expansion Theory in explaining the effect of vaccines. Happy now?" Later on, I would reflect that the way I said that was probably a bit mean spirited. But Bruce did show anything by joy at my answer.

"Vaccines? Cool. It must be really interesting to learn all these things about how the body works." He pauses to take another repulsively sized gulp of cider. "How are things otherwise? Do you ever actually go out with friends?"

What kind of question was that? "Yes, of course I do. Why wouldn't I have friends?"

Bruce shrugs, "Well you never speak about them. You never try to introduce me to them."

"Why would I do that? I thought you didn't want people to know. You've never introduced me to your friends."

Bruce frowned, a good hard frown. The kind you might use when explaining to someone that 'water is wet'. "I don't want people like Kyle to know. I'm presuming your friends are cool with it. Besides, would I have brought you here if I was that desperate not to be associated with you?"

I gaped, then shut up. There's a distinct chill at the centre of my chest, for reasons I was not entirely sure of. Bruce seemed to take my reaction, read it, then decided my now sour face was somehow his fault. Like a child in a new situation they didn't understand, and was desperately afraid they'd done something wrong.

"Look I'm sorry," he said. "It's alright. It's not that important." He reaches his pay across the table to rest it on my. I let him, but my muscles freeze. I'm caught between wanting to shout at him for making it obvious that we're together, and another feeling. One I can't quit place. Contentment? Before I can decide, he pulls away again and returns to his food. "Hey listen, we still on for Sunday?"

I look at him. He's genuinely asking. He's actually afraid this exchange may have ruined his chance of me coming to watch him play. I certainly don't want to go any more than I did before, and this little argument could be the excuse I need. But the way he looks at me, "Sure," is my answer.

We finish our meal in silence I ask if they can give me a box for the leftovers, they do. Then Bruce offers to pay, and I let him.

Hey, you've reached Lachlan. Please leave a message after the tone.

"Lachlan, it's Callum. I just wanted to make sure we were still on for the game today. I'll meet you at the oval at quarter-to-ten, and after much soul searching I've consented to buying you food at the venue to sweeten the deal. Please text me to confirm. Bye."

I added the note about free food after the second message earlier this morning failed to get a response. I was hoping Lachlan wasn't screening me to avoid the game, but if he was I really didn't have the power to track him down and force him to go.

My phone toned. The call log showed 1 missed call from Bruce. By astonishing coincidence he must have called be just as I called Lachlan, so of course he got the message that the phone was engaged. I called up the message just as I entered the refractory.

Callum, it's Bruce. Listen...we...need to talk. I'll talk to you after the game. Bye.

He picked a find time to break up with me, if that's what he was doing. Of course, that implied that our relationship was one with enough depth to break up in the first place. I wasn't sure about that yet, but strangely those few meaningfully conversation I'd had with him the past week had had a disturbing amount of weight behind them.

Bruce's messages were never like this. Usually they consisted of 'I'm running late,' or 'can we meet tonight?' This message deviated from the norm, and liked the norm. Things that deviated from it made me nervous, but caffeine, especially syrupy sweet caffeine, had that usual miracle effect. I inhaled the rich aromas of vanilla, chocolate, milk and roast coffee beans as my mocha was handed to me. The pine martin serving me even made a show of pouring the foam so that patterns appeared on the surface, only to be covered in a brown sheet of chocolate dust. I tipped some silver into the tip jar next to her as she fastened the lid on my cup when I heard, "Hey Cal!"

The voice belonged to this arctic fox I knew from High School, Alexei. I say we knew each other, but in the last few years of High School, continuing into University, we'd actually become quite good friends. He was straight, but was the kind of straight guy who looked and acted extremely gay to the point of dying his tuft of scalp fur preposterous colours every few months. I also say knew from High School because in the past year or so we'd had somewhat of a falling out. In the first two years of our respective degrees, we'd shared almost all the same classes. Now that we were branching out into our majors and specialties those common classes weren't there anymore, and consequently, neither was he.

I could have sought him out I suppose, but at the time my reasoning had been that if he didn't want my company I wasn't going to force it on him. Latter however, I realised that was bullshit, and I'd actually been scared he was deliberately avoiding me, probably after guessing I was gay, and that our falling out would be far more final and confrontational if I approached him about it. Giving his amicable greeting just now however, I could have been wrong.

"Hey, Alexei. What's up?"

"Not much. Caramel mocha please, large." He dropped a five dollar note on the counter before the barista before turning back to me. "How're classes?"

"Good. I'm really enjoying my immunology courses. I'm actually looking at courting one of my lecturers about Honours."

Alexei grinned. "You don't think courting them for it might cheapen it a little?" "Ha, ha. What about you? You were moving into genetics weren't you?"

"Yeah. I'm also considering sitting the GAMSAT this year, and going full-blown doctor. It's good to see you though."

And that probably clinched it. Alexei wasn't avoiding me through any actual aversion to my company, our schedules had simple grown apart, and us with them. We'd enjoyed each other's company and banter when it was freely on offer, but apparently neither of us enjoyed it enough to seek it out when it was gone.

"How's work?" I offered him.

Alexei shrugged. "Oh fine. It puts some money in the bank. Thanks." He collected his drink as it was offered then gestured towards a nearby table.

I began to lead . "But you don't like it?"

"I don't know if you realize this, but working check out in a grocery store isn't exactly stimulating."

"Neither is working as a retailer at a corporate pharmacy store." I countered.

"Well at least were both miserable at our part time jobs."

"Miserable? Speak for yourself, I'm fucking suicidal." That warranted a chuckle at least, and actually triggered a thought. "Hey, you want to go to a Rugby game in an hour?"

Alexei blinked. "What?"

"Rubgy. It's this sport with a ball-"

"I know what it is. What I don't know is why you'd want to go watch it, or why you think I would?"

"I'm going to see a friend play." That would do. My sexuality had never really entered into our friendship before, and if this was a rekindling of that friendship there was no reason for it to enter in now. Of course, a little bribery couldn't hurt either. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch there. What else were you going to do today?

"Starcraft." He answered unapologetically, and then, "Are you going to prove a point or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Last night some guys from the Rugby team beat up a gay student."

I'm going out with Kyle and some of the others tonight.

My ears snapped forward, and a few seconds later the prickling heat sensation started as the blood thumped through them. "When?"

I may need to do... something to satisfy them.

"Last night. Didn't you hear about it?"

Callum, it's Bruce...we...need to talk.

"Who was the student, the victim?"

Alexei looked up, searching his memory. "Well I don't know his name. But I think he was some coyote."

Buzz!

I opened the door. He had a welt just under his left eye, but I reminded myself I didn't care before I blurted out a, 'what happened'.

"Hey, Cal." Bruce's tone was sheepish. Embarrassed, perhaps? Good. If he felt guilty he was less likely to beat up me before it was too late for him to do anything. Then, of course, he had one of his more inconveniently timed rare moments of observance. "Hey? What's wrong?"

Not going to answer that one just yet.

"Come on." The boxer followed me upstairs. I wasn't exactly trying to hide my emotions, but he wasn't cautious enough, or perhaps smart enough, to press the issue. Once in my room, I made doubly sure that the door was locked and bolted before turning to my...guest. "Take off your clothes."

Bruce hesitated. Then turn to stare at the ground almost...apologetically. He looked innumerably sorry for something. "Look Cal, I need to talk to you about something. It's...something happened last night."

My veins turned to ice. He was not doing this now! I stomped up to him and started fumbling with his belt.

"Stop." Bruce's hands closed over mine with an immediately more powerful grip. My eyes meet his. His eyes looked scarred. And that meant I was unlikely to get what I wanted. Bruce was still much bigger than me, and more than strong enough to stop me forcing him out of his clothes if he didn't want me to. Then again, perhaps I was going about this the wrong way. You caught more bees with honey after all.

I gave him my best attempt at an alluring smile. "Come on. I have to apologise for missing the game somehow."

"Please. We need to talk first." Bruce pleaded.

First? First! You think that after you tell me what you did I'll still want to fuck you! I tugged on his belt, "Not latter, now. Come on, this'll be quick. Then we'll talk." I brought my chocolate paw up to scratch just under his chin. I could see it in his eyes...the exact moment I won.

"Alright." He conceded. "But we really do need to talk."

Bruce reached down to lift up his shirt, while I resume working at his belt buckled. Once his pants were on the floor I returned to this midriff to pull down his boxers and then all of him was on display. I felt a stirring in my sheath, acknowledge it, then ignored it. Now was not the time for these kinds of impulses.

"Lie on the bed." I said. Bruce lumbered over to comply, but when he looked back to me and saw I was making no move to take off my own clothes he frowned.

I forced myself into a toothy grin, then announced. "I thought we'd try something different tonight." Padding over to the bedside dresser, I brandished the handcuffs with a flourish and took delight in Bruce's eyes going wide.

"Cal I- I'm not sure I'd be comfortable with that." Bruce started to cross his legs. "Maybe this was a mistake. We should talk first. I need to tell you something." Bruce shifted his weight, then started to crawl to the edge of the bed towards his clothes.

"No!" He was actually going to force me to do it. I'd hope not to have to be reduced to this in order to get everything perfect, but he was actually making things so difficult for me that I- I had to kiss him. Just on the lips. It wasn't a real kiss, and I knew anything less than a real kiss wouldn't be enough, so I put a paw on his sheath and started to grope for good measure. That should be enough, just enough to give him pause. Just enough to make him melt. Just enough to make sure he'd do what I want.

I held the cuffs and dangled them an inch from his nose, and forced my most playful smile. "Come on, don't you trust me." He didn't. At least a part of him saw something slightly off about this situation. But that part wasn't the part that won. The part that won was in my hands, slowly getting firmer.

"Alright." He surrendered. He put his hands together in front of me, letting me clip one of the cuffs on his left wrist. I used the ring of the second cuff to drag his arm behind his head and to the bed post. Bruce obligingly brought his right hand round while I looped the cuff round the bedpost bar and closed it round his right wrist with a click.

One step left. Bruce's tip was just starting to poke out now, not much, but enough. I dived into his crutch and enclosed my lips around his pink tip, while my hands jerked his sheath up and down slowly.

"Ah!" Bruce exclaimed. Horny dog was getting hard already. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he slipped out of his sheath and into my waiting gullet, allowing my tongue further access to the length of his shaft.

That should be enough. I slipped of Bruce's dick without ceremony and plodded back over to the dresser, ignoring his confused protests. I opened the draw, slipped a chocolate paw in, and retrieve my phone. When Bruce saw it, I could just make out the look of shock from the top of my vision while I cued up the camera function.

"Callum, what are you doing!" The camera made it's artificial click to announce the taking of a photo. "Callum, what the hell!" He made half-hearted attempts to cross-his legs over his crotch, but it was too late now. I'd already gotten my money shot, and the further six I took were just as incriminating. "Why are you doing this?"

I shoot him a glare. "Really, Bruce? You really have no idea why the fag might want some revenge?" Some of the anger drained from Bruce's face, then he took on the look of someone just hit upside the head. It was one of confusion and dread. Despite himself, his next sentence managed to be surprisingly composed. "Callum, I don't know what you've heard. But whatever it is I didn't take part in it."

Liar! "Well, Bruce, I just so happens that one of my friends got beat up last night. One of my gay friends, as if you hadn't already put it together. And it turns out the ones who did the beating were members of the football team. Remember now!"

Bruce dry swallowed, then made the mistake of trying to speak, "I- I didn't-"

"Didn't what, Bruce! Didn't think I'd find out? Didn't think I'd mind? Didn't think I'd have the balls to fight back?" My ears were flushed, and my veins were ice. I had a lump in my throat like I'd just dry swallowed a pill, and my heart was making a concerted effort to tear itself out of my rib cage. AND I wasn't done yelling yet. "Well now everyone'll see your balls, and know just in whose room you had them on display. Then we'll see how friendly those jocks or your team really-"

"I didn't go!"

My ears flicked. "What?"

Bruce gave me a look, one that I can only describe as honest. "I didn't go. Kyle convinced some of the others to make good on their plan to beat up one of the gay students. Said they were going to go to a gay club, then beat the shit out of the first guy that came onto them, and they could lure out into the alleyway. They tried to get me to come along, but I set I'd catch up after practise and then never showed. I swear I didn't do anything!"

I stared, my thumb hovered over the Send button on my phone. "So you just left them to beat up some poor-"

"I didn't know they were going to do it! I thought that once they realised I was gone they'd give up. I didn't know what else to do! What else could I do? I was- I was," He turned away from... shame? "I was scarred they were going to beat me up. Alright? I was scared. And you know what," he turned back to face me, with some fire in his eyes. "I was right." He half gestured to his face with his shoulder, "they did this to me on the field today. This game wasn't important for our season, so they didn't care about winning. They just took every opportunity they had to sack their own teammate."

And with that, Bruce started to leech my +6 for Self Righteous Anger. "That's what I wanted to tell you. I planned to quit the team after this, and I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to help me with being more... more open. Don't say I'm like them, Callum. Don't ever! Your friend getting hurt wasn't what I wanted. And I sure as shit don't want anything more to do with those people that did it! Did you even think to get my side of the story!"

I blinked. No. No I didn't

Course I didn't. You're just a dumb jock!

My feet were rooted hard to the floor, and my body stood as stone. Then, very slowly, my muscles tensed in such a way as to drive me forward. But I wasn't the one commanding them.

Just a big dumb violent bully. You're not a person. You're so closeted you beat up gays just so you can tell yourself you aren't one of them.

My left hand disappeared into my pocked, retrieved the key lying in wait there, then reached up and released Bruce's shackles.

You're not one of us. Not really. You don't have the brain to keep up with me. You're too shallow and insecure about your masculinity to have any kind of relationship with me.

Bruce snatched the phone out of my hands. I didn't stop him. I didn't stop him as he deleted the photos one my one. I flinched when he tore himself off the bed, half expecting the sucker punch I so richly deserved by now, but never came. I also didn't do a thing to stop him when put his clothes on. I also didn't do a thing when he slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone in my room with my phone. Not a damn thing.

I stood there alone for a while. But I wasn't calm. In my head, conversations from the past few months trickled into my head, each one bringing new horrors.

How was class? Bruce asked. How are you? What's wrong? What was your first time like? I wish I had been more sure, like you. Want come watch me play a sport that has been a large part of my social and leisure life since my early childhood? You heartless monster.

Bruce had been trying to talk to me, trying to make a connection, trying to make this more that casual hook-ups for sex. I'd dismissed myself as his sex toy because I'd dismissed him as this great dump beast, too shallow for any kind of emotional relationship. And I'd been wrong! So very wrong. I slowly, very slowly, crouched down to the ground putting my weight on the ball of my pads, my elbows on my knees and hung my head in my hands.

And stayed down there near the floor for a good long while.

It was Monday morning, I had a decadently sweet vanilla mocha in my hand, and I still felt like shit. Not even that good kind of shit that you bought from garden stores, that stuff was loaded with nutrients. I felt like the kind of errant turd you scrapped off your shoe, left there by some lonely destitute.

I was missing things about Bruce that never entered my mind as being things I liked about him. I missed the rumble of his voice as he pestered me for conversation. I missed the hypnotic rhythm of his snoring. I missed that genuinely, almost naïve, joy every time I answered the door. I missed the feeling and taste of his tongue on my own. I missed running my mouth over the crook of his neck, and taking deep lung fulls of his scent (okay, that I knew I liked) and I even missed getting to explore the cavern of his ear with my tongue.

But the absolute worst of it all, was that even while I was reminiscing over all the things which, if there was any justice in the world, I would never get to have again, deep down I knew I was just procrastinating avoid what came next.

I glanced down at my phone for the fourth time, in the last five minutes. This was going to be hard.

Message sent: We need to talk

I'd been careful to take a seat up the back to make sure my lecturer wouldn't be able to see me constantly checking and rechecking the message box. Lachlan had already replied to the text I sent him, and while it was a relief to see him respond, the one I desperately wanted a reply from was Bruce. I didn't know what he'd say, if anything, and I had the gnawing fear that what I wanted to say wouldn't make a lick of difference. But I had to say it. Mercifully, he answered five minutes before the end of my Immunology lecture.

Message received: So talk

Message sent: I'm sorry

Message received: That all

Message sent: No can we meet somewhere

Message received: I don't think that's a good idea

Message sent: I'm sorry I just want to explain

Message received: Nothing to explain

Message sent: Yes there is I haven't been fair to you

Message sent: I'll make it up to you

Message sent: Bruce?

Message received: Refectory 11:05 u get 5 minutes

Eleven-oh-five was only ten minutes after I agreed to meet Lachy. But five minutes? Who did that dog think he was? Didn't he understand the depths of how remorseful I felt? Didn't he understand how much I wanted to make this right?

That was the first thoughts that crept into my head, but those thoughts had led me to this predicament in the first place, so I stamped them down hard. Then I formed second thoughts. Bruce was still angry. He was probably hurt, and he probably didn't trust me anymore. Giving me five minutes was probably a good sign that he might at least listen to me, that there might be a chance to fix this.

Message sent: Sounds great I'll buy you a coffee

Message received: No thanks

My ears folded. This may well be much harder than I thought, but at least I was meeting Lachy first. I could bounce ideas about what I was going to say off him and rehearse my lines...of course that first meant admitting to him and the world exactly how horrible the thing I did was.

When Lachy and I made eye contact from across the Refectory my heart lurched. The poor coyote had his right arm in a sling, a fat lip, and a black and swollen eye. I'd decided the moment I sat down that I wasn't going to sugar coat it, or wait for him to speak. I told him. Everything, what I did, what I had planned to do, and what I almost did. He'd probably been expecting me to ask what happened or if he was alright, but I'd managed to be selfish again and put my own needs before his. He sat there quiet for a time then said, "Ya done fucked up fox."

"I know."

"No, I mean really fucked up. I guess I should be flattered that when you heard I was beat up, your first instinct was to try and get some kind of revenge, but seriously?"

My eyes flicked down to his bandaged arm. "He's meeting me in ten minutes."

Lachy's eyes widened in surprise, "Well that's impressive. What'd you promise to let him do to you?"

"I just want to talk."

"Seriously? If someone did that to me the only reason I'd go near them again is to slug them. For god's sake, Cal what good do you possibly think is going to come of this?"

"I need to say I'm sorry, Lach."

He nodded, "Okay, the fact that he would even want to hear an apology at this point is pretty miraculous, I probably wouldn't have the time of day for someone who did that to me. What's your ideal scenario here? What do you want to come of this?"

I blinked. "I want him to forgive me." Stupid question.

"Do you want things to go back to the way they were? Casual hook-ups on the side with nothing to do with each-others personal lives?"

Did I want that? The sex was always nice, but- "Bruce wants me to help me be more open." I deferred. "He told me he was planning to quit the team anyway."

Lachlan manage to give a grin, which due to his lip, then became a wince. "Ah, now that is interesting. Plans to give him a correspondence course?"

"Not funny."

"It's a little funny. Started out as fuck buddies, now he wants to be your proté-gay. Not an entirely impossible transition, but still its unusual that it didn't go from first relationship break-up to resentful ex. Or at least that it wouldn't have had you not-"

"What do you mean, first relationship break-up?

Lacy chocked a sip through his swollen lips. "Because the first one never works out. Even if it's not the first relationship for one you. It's the training relationship." Then he folded his left arm on the table and twitched his fingers in such a way as to suggest that, had he full use of his right hand, he would be arranging them in a smug pyramid of self-announced contemplation.

"So what do you plan to say."

"I'm gonna tell him, exactly what I was thinking. That I was angry, and not thinking clearly."

"Think that will work?"

My ears flicked. "Maybe. I... I don't think it's the mistake that he's really angry with. I think it's the fact I could even conceive that he could have done...this." I gestured vaguely at him.

Lachy managed to channel his insufferably smug demeanour, damaged face be damned, "To be fair, to took three douche bags to do this, and from what you've told me Closet Case is still one guy. Though 'Closet Case' may not really be fair anymore."

Then Lachy got up, a little more carefully than the able bodied would have, collected the remainder of his coffee and walked away.

Did Bruce and I have a future together?

Probably not. Damn.

But it was true. As much as I didn't want it to be it was true. It was his first relationship. His first gay one anyway. Which all things considered equates to the first relationship in which he was actually really into the other party. I might have blushed at that notion, once upon a time.

But the thing is, upon reflection, I could see what Lachy was getting at, and it was written in blazing neon letters. The first one is almost always doomed to fail eventually. It's the training wheels relationship. At least one, or both of you, has no point of reference for what a relationship is. You have too many preconceptions about what a relationship is, such that the many walls you inevitably meet in the first relationship smack you down and convince you that you're doing it wrong. So you give up, or find some excuse, or maybe you were just genuinely so fucking excited to have someone that you were willing to overlook glaring incompatibilities that, now without the rose-tint of novelty, you realise will destroy any fondness you had for the other person.

I guess... the reason it really got my groat is that it ended before I lost my fondness for Bruce. And it wasn't because he wasn't fond of me. He had been. Even fonder than what I was for him. He had what he wanted. I had what I wanted. Why the hell did I have to go fuck it all up.

Why did- why was Bruce early? Why was he stoping Lachlan from leaving? Oh God! He's not- he's actually talking to Lachlan! Why is he talking to Lachlan? No! Stop it! Lachlan do not engage him! You're still engaging him Lachlan! From the serious look on his face, and the slightly afraid look on yours, I'd say he's asking about how you got beat up. Which means you're telling him how you're the queer that his rubgy chums smacked up, which means there is about to be a whole lot of awkward between you and about 100 kilos of boxer dog.

Why on Earth are you- now their shaking hands. Why are they shaking hands? Bruce's face was still serious, but peaceful. Like a mutual and negotiated understanding had been reached. Honestly what the hell was he doing engaging Lachlan like that? If that were me I wouldn't want to be anywhere near the person I-

I would have avoided them like the plague. I would have backed the fuck out like the little chicken shit I am. Bruce was actively seeking out Lachlan, to apologise. Make amends. Take responsibility. Could I have done that? Could I have taken that kind of responsibility?

Was that what I was doing now? Yes, I'll stick with that. Maybe Bruce and I didn't have a long future together, even under the best of circumstances, but we could still have a little bit more future together. This wasn't something I could see myself ever facing up to before Bruce, so maybe something about his circumstance was rubbing off on me. I could still learn things from being with him, and supposedly he could learn things from being with me. That would do. That would be enough. For a little while anyway.

What it all really came down to was, was Bruce, the meathead Rugby player, enrolled in a fucking meathead Exercise Degree, and built like three of Men's Health Magazines sturdiest and most exemplary brick-shit houses, a more forgiving and merciful person than me.

My heart skipped a beat.

Well... maybe he was.