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To set the scene, it was Autumn. Or fall, to those of you who prefer that term that means the trees became really pretty before shedding their leaves. Sky clear and blue, the sun out but not doing much to combat the bit of chill in the air. The road was all beat to shit and crusty, like you'd expect an ancient back road to be. Worse still it was like, 70% pothole. Yet somehow, I'd still managed to fall asleep.

He woke me with a nudge, if you can call his palm digging into my shoulder and shaking me violently to be a nudge.

"You know what they say about waking sleeping bears," I grumbled.

"Yeah well you can bite me later," he shot back. My eyes were still closed but I could_hear_ that stupid smirk he must be giving me. Just as a test I turned my head and snapped my teeth, getting pay-dirt in the form of a squealing otter and a mouthful of sweater fabric. Though, no flesh. What a shame. Still I gave him a tug my way, and he gave me a pinch on the nose. The bastard.

Not that I'd call him a bastard to his face. That's going a little far.

There was more to me climbing out, but it was mostly just us being stupid. God knows how we manage to do anything when we're within three feet of each other other than bicker and inflict minor amounts of pain. Even more puzzling is how he got to be my best friend.

I know what you're thinking, by the way. 'Oh fuck,' you're probably muttering, 'Another bullshit story about gay best friends crying and coming out and kissing and blah blah blah.' Well this isn't that. That story happened a long time ago, actually. Not that it worked out very well. But in the spirit of cutting through bullshit I'll just say it didn't work out the way we thought it would.

Now we're just two best friends, standing shoulder to shoulder and looking into the dusty windows of the dinky looking cabin his step-dad let us use for the next few days. He and that tattered looking backpack he'd been using since highschool, me and my suitcase I hadn't used in years.

"Wow. Place looks a lot shittier than I remembered..." he mumbled.

"You haven't aged too well either," I replied wryly.

He shook his head, chuckled, and gave my rear a thump with that thick tail of his. "C'mon, dork, lets get in and get unpacked. We've still got groceries in the trunk to put away. Assuming the generator still works."

I rolled my eyes and took the lead, making my way up the creaky porch and thanking all the gods I could think of that it didn't bust under my weight. The whole place looked like a murder shack, like someone was going to bust out with a cleaver and seven fingers on each hand and try to kill us.

Reaching out, I at least found out the door turned easy enough, and when it swung back I was pretty happy to see that other than a bit of dust, the whole place looked pretty nice. And moreso when I actually walked in.

Nice stone counter tops for the kitchen with a little island bar all directly to the right. Further back, a big, comfy looking leather couch sitting in front of a fire place. I could keep going with the little details, but that's a whole page of being boring.

The important part was that I looked to my left, where a serried of three doors were placed into the walls. I took the one in the middle, just because. Inside was about what you'd expect. Big, comfy looking homemade bed flanked by nightstands with a dresser at the very end, and miscellaneous feral animal skins pinned to the walls, presumably for decoration. I think one might have been a fox? I'd ask Cross later.

Speaking of Cross, the otter came up behind me just as I finished putting away my clothes. "Like the room?" he asked, taking a seat at the end of my bed and looking around.

"I've slept in a lot worse." I walked over and sat beside him, the plush mattress giving easily under the weight of two fat asses. "You kill the shit hanging on the walls, or was that the rest of the hillbilly clan?"

He let out a kind of snerking laugh and dug his elbow into my side. "We ain't hillbillies, asshole," he said, a classic argument that he never helped his stance on, because immediately after saying it he'd say something hillbilly-ish, like "Though I DID help make the deer horn chandelier. Killed a few of em myself."

Me, I'm from New York. State, not the city, mind you. Still the only thing I ever killed was the occasional bug that made the mistake of getting too close. So just about anything Chris 'Cross' did that was remotely country like seemed pretty outlandish. Especially when you looked at the big, gay otter. He just did not seem like the type of person to pop a cute critter and munch it's bones.

But that was Cross for you.

I Looked up to admire the handiwork, and slowly eased myself onto my back. Wiggling left and right a little I got comfy, and stayed that way when he leaned back to join me. One arm hooked behind my head, the other reached down to tug him close.

He might've let out a little grumble, but I knew he'd never pass up the chance to snuggle a little bit. Especially not now. And, I was right. He turned to his side and hugged me, one arm snaking around my belly while the other stayed pinned to the bed. Lord knows how he got comfy like that, but he managed.

"Hey Al," he spoke up, his muzzle pressed to my ribcage, "Thanks for. You know. Coming all the way out here with me. First Jacob and then... James, I just..."

I let out a patented Alphonse grumble to get him to hush. "Chill, Cross. It's not like you're dragging me to some third world country. It'll be like... a really shittily timed vacation that we both know is gunna suck in a few days."

I dunno why he thought I was funny, but he did, and that got a chuckle out of him. My arm tightened its grip and his did the same, and we laid there like that for a while, not speaking much more. The only sound I cold hear was our breathing and the soft rustling of the trees outside. It was... peaceful.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . I didn't realize I'd taken Nap the sequel until I woke up. It was darker outside. We'd arrived around five in the afternoon, and it looked like the sun was about to set. That's what happens when I drive night shift and he takes day. My sleep cycle gets all fucked up.

I could tell he got the generator working though, because above me the lighting was shining steadily, save for a little dimming every once in a while. That weird ass deer horn chandelier. God the guy was weird.

I got up and rubbed the crud out of my eyes, somehow staggering to my feet. Did I mention I'm not good at the waking up part of taking naps? Always been hard for me to orient myself back into real life, but I managed. I'm sure Cross could tell I was coming through by the scraping of my feet across the hardwood. Which, I might add, he did a good job of sweeping. A thought of an otter housewife shot through my head, but left just as quickly. He was awful at dishes.

"Morning sweetums," he cooed from the living room area, as if he knew what I'd been thinking and was playing along. I could only see the fuzzy crown of his head, the rest of him blocked by the couch. I shuffled on over and discovered that he wasn't even on the couch at all, he was doing his damnedest to start a fire. At least he was doing it in the fireplace.

"Bleh. I feel like I could slept right through it if I wanted to," I grumbled in an admittedly bearish fashion, climbing on the back of the couch and rolling over to the cushioned part.

He chuckled, still face deep in that fireplace. It gave me a chance to stare at him. His sweater hung off his body like it was three sizes too big. Chocolate brown fur so fluffy around the neck it looked like someone had taken a blow dryer to him. I could tell his glasses were sliding down his face constantly because he kept having to reach up. But my eyes were wandering more downward.

Hey, you can't blame me. Me and his ass had some good memories. Starting way back when, me and a certain otter discovered a lot of things together featuring his butt. Looking at it then... his footpaws resting underneath it, propping it up. Jeans hugging it in a way he didn't notice and I didn't bother telling him about. His tail was swept to the left, and made a slow, hypnotizing arc to the right. That was one thing Cross could never stop doing when he was thinking hard about something. I'd ask him about it when he wasn't playing with matches.

Speaking of, around the time I thought that, there was a poof, and a flash of light, and with a delighted squeak he moved over to show off his prowess. Sure enough a little teepee of sticks and leaves was now blazing, and catching the bigger outer layer of wood. I gave a complimentary golf clap, to which he grinned and bowed, like I was a group of cheering fans instead of a tired and scruffy looking brown bear who probably needed a bath.

Though I still let him have his moment. "Bravo, Criss Cross, master of flames," I said flatly, using that old nickname in its entirety. I don't even remember who started calling him that or why, but he hadn't been able to escape it since freshman year. At least it was better than Beverly Hillbilly. Not that he was in Beverly hills, but when a kid from deep Kentucky moves to New York, people tend to crack a joke or two along those lines.

But enough exposition for one paragraph. He laughed, tossed in another log from the pile that sat next to the wonderfully done masonry, and joined me on the couch. Sure he did it by sitting on my belly, but I like to think it still counts.

"Why'd you let me sleep so long anyway?" I asked, my paw roaming over his back.

He shrugged his shoulders as he answered. "I dunno. You were tired. Figured you deserved a nap. Gave me time to get the place cleaned up and fix some burgers on the oven."

I couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. He didn't know he was doing it, but I could tell. After ten years he was easy to read.

"Dude I already told you, coming out here wasn't some big favor I did for you." I knew I was taking on a tone with him, but it seemed like when he was thinking like that it was the only way he'd listen. "Hell, beats what I was already doing with my free time. Now instead of jerking off in my room I can do it in the woods like nature intended."

He sputtered, and had to fight melting down into giggles. I knew how to get to him. Another perk of being his best friend for a decade now. My paw moved up to that scruffy neck and I gave the fur there a gentle tug.

"Hey, offa my neck ya assbag," he snipped, turning his head to bite at my paw. And I let him. Not like he was winning anything anyway, I'm sure the taste just confirmed that I needed a bath.

"Offa my paw, fatass," I snipped back, wiggling my fingers around in his mouth.

Instead of spitting them out, though, he turned his head, and nibbles on the middle one. He knew very well what that did to me. I gave him the most pathetic bear version of puppydog eyes I could muster, squirming and rumbling all the while. Cross made me deal with it for a few more seconds before spitting me out with a delighted grin.

"Good to know I can still push your buttons," he said.

"As if you'd ever stopped pushing 'em," I mumbled, feeling just a little flustered now. I knew that in better light and with 100% less fur I'd be blushing. Perks of being an anthro with dark fur I guess.

I knew he had a sort of sadistic pleasure for making me squirm, and he knew I kind of liked it when he managed, but... He was avoiding talking about it. He had only mentioned his dad once since we'd started this thing and that was hardly in passing. So I shifted to sit up, and the otter scooted from belly to lap.

"So, dude. You uh... I mean, I know it's been kinda crazy recently, but now we've got a sec to relax, and I doubt I'll all asleep again until morning, so... If you wanna talk..."

I watched as his face turned from happy, to confused, to a stone mask. "I don't," he said sternly. "He's been dead to me for years. The only difference is I finally get to bury him. I'm fine."

He wasn't fine. And we both knew it.

But I knew better than to push it. Cross was nice, but when someone pushed things they shouldn't he had a tendency to push back. I was no exception to that rule. So I shut up, and he slowly slipped over to sit on his own side. A cushion between us and a roaring fire to make shadows dance along the walls.

I hadn't noticed, but somewhere in between us playing around and Cross getting cross with me (HAHA PUNS), the sun had set. The glow of the fire was the only light in the room. Well, and the light-bulb that was on from my little corner of the cabin, but that was a glowing rectangle that didn't extend past its boundaries.

But the point is, with the darkness, came a rumbling of my gut. I reached over and poked the otters cheek. "Hey, squeaky butt, where's the chow?"

He turned to me and puffed his cheeks out all big, and I knew that he was already over his little mood. "Bitch... guh. C'mon."

We both rolled off the couch, and while I went to flick on the lights in the room so we didn't trip over our own paws, he went to dig up the meat from the fridge. And I got a good look at that butt again. Maybe I was looking at an obviously upset friends ass more than I should, but it had been two days since I'd gotten any release, and almost a year since I'd gotten Cross' help in that department.

Not that I'd been complaining. Even if it meant a stop to our fooling around I always hoped he'd settle down with someone when he was dating. That's just what friends did. But, it never happened, and inevitably we ended up taking our frustrations over our lack of a relationship out on each other in the bedroom.

But he was out of one yet again, Jacob having left him brokenhearted just a month before. It was for the best, though. I knew, even when they were dating, that Jacob wouldn't have been around for the heavy stuff. The stuff like this.

In the middle of my train of thought, a plate topped with a re-heated burger and some wedge fries plopped down on the counter. "Bon appetit," he said with an awful french accent that managed to get a snicker out of me. I took a seat at the island bar... thing, and dug in while Cross fixed some drinks. For him, what he liked to call 'Kentucky Kool-aid'. I didn't like when he drank it, because it was basically ginger ale, some of that premixed Kool-aid stuff, and a lot of vodka. But I gave him a pass this one time. And for me, a coke with some ice.

"Thanks kindly, bartender," I said with the softest edge in my voice, but one he either didn't notice or didn't acknowledge. He just nodded and sipped his mix through a straw, leaning on the counter and looking past me. Probably at the shadows the fireplace was making.

As awkward as I might've felt, I let him have his quiet moment. I knew my role there. He'd need his space, and his quiet, but he'd need to know he had someone to share it with too. And while he might not have believed me, I was happy to give him that.

There wasn't a clock, so I didn't know how long I sat there eating and he stood there drinking, but we were both done around the same time. Cross looked me over and I gave him my best shit-eating grin and a thumbs up. "It was good," I said, "Honest."

He took my word for it and took the plate, tossing it into the trash. It was paper, mind you, tossing it was an okay thing to do with it. Lord knows we both hated to do the dishes, so stuff we could toss was a good investment.

"I uh... I'm gunna head to bed," he said, standing not but a foot or two to my right, waiting for me to reply. I knew what he wanted me to say, too.

A gentle refusal hung from my muzzle like drool for a moment. I was honestly about to tell him no. To make him go to bed on his own. But when I got up and stood level with him, I saw those eyes of his.

I tried. Honestly. And I know he did too. To break off that thing we kept doing where we always kind of slid back together between romances. But it just... kept happening. Only later would I think that maybe it was us trying and failing over and over to fall in love.

He took hold of my paw and squeezed, firm but tender. I squeezed back. I watched his muzzle spread in a smile. And, with an admitted edge of eagerness, I followed him into his room.