FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

One of the worst things I imagined pulling an all-nighter was having the computer freeze and lose all my work or getting stuck in an elevator. Not that I would use the lift to the first floor, and there is always a chance of being robbed, but Mike the guard bear in the building is not your old drop out cop with a hernia, he is the hunter of the god damned forest, papa-bear with a mean stare and a glock. The last part is not necessarily true, but Mike looks like a guy with a glock, you know like the guy from the movie, ice runs in his veins. The worst thing, well one of them comes in the form of a text, at five minutes before two pm in the morning. I'm actually almost done, six hours of overtime paid off in one single 'save' command and 'e-mail sent' sign. I tap at the phone, wondering what Zami is up to at such hour.

Your BF is trashed and half the club wants to fuck him. Get here ASAP.

Specifics! - is the first thing on my mind, besides nearing a headache.

I type back: where? And spend two agonizing minutes glaring holes into the plastic casing, tail a-twitch. And waiting... and I realize I shouldn't get so worked up over this. Matthew can look after himself, okay, he is a fucking lightweight, that is enough concern but I trust him that he won't fuck around. Did I ever think about him cheating on me? Yes, I don't think there ever was a relationship where one party or both never doubted the other. Is it likely of him to fool around being drunk? I honestly don't know, alcohol can push anyone over the edge of reason.

The screen lights up. "White Star". Matt didn't mention on the phone where he would be going tonight, partly because I didn't ask and I know when he is out with the 'guys' its better I keep my tail to myself. But the White Star is a mixed place, frequented by every kind of people. It is also raided by the DEA monthly so my worries about Matt's wellbeing overshadows the possibility of unfaithfulness.

There was one occasion he was so pissed he didn't know where we lived, and after successfully getting him upstairs he climbed into the bathtub and demanded to be tucked in. Imagine that at four am with only crickets giving the background tone to his mild shouting. Worst of all is that he couldn't remember anything from the beginning of night. So you get why I was suspecting someone slipped a pill into his drink. I gather my stuff, shut down my PC, not in a hurry but quick enough to get down to the lobby in two minutes, where Mike waves me off and says 'night in a bass that resonates across the marble hall.

I'm in the middle of texting Zami back to ask details about the current situation when an incoming call comes up. The stars are not visible in the artificial orange of the street, there is only a slight breeze playing with my tail and I don't know if I should take this call. It's been a while I talked to Warren and it wasn't in the tone of an adult and civil argument. The timing is blatantly obvious, but perhaps I could get something out of him if Zami decided to sit on his fucking cell. So I clear my throat and apply the Warren filter in my brain for excessive sarcasm and possible lies. He does it magnificently, the manipulative bastard, so the best choice would be saying 'fuck off' and hanging up immediately. I can't do that now.

"Warren? Are you sure it was me you wanted to call?"

"My dear wolfdog." He starts, slightly slurring and panting over the phone. I can hear the beat of music in the background and voices, lots of them talking over each other. "I'm absolutely shu-re I had to dial you the moment I saw what was happening here."

"What are you talking about?" You see it's a lot harder to deal with him when he is sober so at least I got the advantage, I can already see the lecherous grin plastered on his lapin muzzle.

"Sorry to hear it from me, wolfy, your boyfriend is cheating on you. I am truly sorry." Says the last part with glee dripping from his lips.

No you are not and he is not. - I think the last part with less conviction. Zami is there, the zebra would drag anyone off Matthew if that was the case. So I come back with: "Take a picture or it didn't happen."

Needs a couple of seconds for him to process that.

"Scotty, you do doubt my word." Hardly anything that comes out of his mouth is worth believing anyways, I roll my eyes while fight down the lump in my throat that wasn't there a minute ago.

"I'm glad that is clear."

"Shame, I bet you don't even know where you significant other is spending the night."

At this point it is no question I go to the White Star, the sleepiness is long gone from my eyes and I feel as though Mike had pumped me up with caffeine.

"Fine, let's play your game. I bet my boyfriend is at the White Star."

"And have you given him permission to make out with female cheetahs?" The rabbit coos.

I stop for a moment, reminding myself that Warren might be making up the whole thing to satisfy his own perversion. If only that text from Zami didn't exist I could laugh, send the rabbit to hell and merrily hang up on him.

"Was she cute at least?"

"Why, Scott, you decided to change the status of your relationship to open? In that case don't mind me if I have a go with your handsome fox."

I'll break your arm first, spineless scuff of a rabbit. But I can't say that and hasten my steps to the corner where I know a couple of cabs are always standing by.

"I don't want Matt to catch anything from you, so you better use a condom."

"Hah, fuck you. I got better game tonight anyways, but I humbly bow before your inspiring trust in him, or call it foolish?"

I press on the red end call before he could get under my skin even more. He has already done a perfect job on that. So I call up Zami on the list and actually get in a cab, state my heading when the zebra picks up.

"Yo, Matt is drunk out of his fucking fur. He is drenched, man."

"So don't let him drink more."

"I ain't his momma, not my job to be the mother hen."

"I would do the same for you, just get the drink out of his paw and the girl off his face."

"What girl?" He yells over the loud music.

"Warren said he was flirting with some cheetah."

"Half the club is flirting with him." The question is did he flirt back? Probably, Matt is a sucker for flattery. Zami barks something that the microphone catches ('be back in a minute'). "Look I'll ask him nicely and if he tells me to fuck off, again, the fox is outa' my paws. I'm nobody's god damned mother hen, got that?"

"Zami, just take care of him, please?"

The painful wrinkle across his long muzzle is audible over the phone. "Fine, I do this for you, not for the fox. And you owe me one."

"Okay, big time, whatever you want."

It occurs that the driver might interpret the dialogue as though I just agreed on sex as favor or something, but the ferret looks mildly bored and puts out the index to turn, getting closer to the edge of downtown area where the chance of getting mugged rises exponentially by each yard. Zami would walk or bike the distance because he is a freakishly tall zebra, seven foot something and ripped like a Mo-fo. He also likes to give the attitude and pose the macho best of his stripes, but I believe he is a softy.

Five minutes later I pay the ferret, biting my tongue because my wallet is rather thin to begin with, and slap another five bucks to the polar bear at the entrance. A good crowd is lingering outside, half of them drunk the other half stoned, but there is no line so I get in instantly. The club is a stokehole of hundred scents, sweat and pheromones of arousal. Even for a canid locating anyone in such crowd is impossible by nose, so I look for the tallest guy in the flashing lights, and surprisingly there is a couple of giraffes dancing on the far right by the row of booths. I try to spot Matt, but can't find him either by the bar and there is a good chance to pass someone without noticing here. Finally I catch stripes leaning over the wall, and I think I've never seen him this grumpy.

"Your fox told me to fuck off, so I did." The towering male raises a brew-cradling paw, beer almost sloshing out. "Been keeping an eye one him, though."

"Thanks." We bump fists, then follow his look through the crowd, where in the middle a handsome fox is shaking tail, dancing with two girls at once and one guy behind him, the tiger almost grinding against him. The public dry hump (it's not that bad, but the tiger is minutes away from actually putting a move on I think) makes me grit my teeth.

"What was he doing till now?" I'm aware it is pretty much spying on my boyfriend, at this point I also don't care.

"What wasn't he? Slurped tequila from the breast of a wolfess. That tiger," Zami points at the orange-black striped male an accusing finger, "been tailing him all night, so was a coyote girl."

At that a flat chested but beyond pretty female coyote comes around the quartet and steals Matt for shots. The fox dumps it into his gullet without question or even sniffing at the liquid and laughs when the girl leans in and practically shoves her long nose against his ears. I can see a hint of pink, the bitch licked the rim of his black ear.

"Whatcha' gonna' do?" The zebra snorts, just as he raises the bottle to his snout.

"I don't know."

"You two are exclusive, right?" He cocks and eyebrow.

"Always been."

"Set any rules about what doesn't count cheating?"

Feels like someone slipped an ice cube down my chest. Can't help but draw my claws across my muzzle, while Zami glares at me expectantly.

"Not really." Then the coyote girl brings him into a soft kiss, just as the tune switches to a slower, sensual beat.

"This is the point where I would peel the bitch off him." Zami half-yells into my flattened ears. Then a little flash goes off near the fox and coyote, and what a fucking surprise: it is Warren with his iPhone out to immortalize the scene. The rabbit resumes tapping away and ignore the big rhino that's trying to catch his attention with a cocktail glass. The rhinoceros ain't half bad, polished horn, nice crew cut hair, ruggedly handsome. A moment later I feel my own cell vibrate against my thigh and I don't need to think it is a new picture from Warren. I also know it will be uploaded to his furbook, twitter and every other bullshit social media he has signed up to.

When I look back (I don't bother checking my phone) my fox is gone, cold chill grabs me by the scruff of my neck and tail, even though it is hot enough in the club to make me break sweat. The 'yote is also nowhere to be found, the worst scenario is screaming in my ears while my brain is putting together mental images.

Zami stares at me incredulously. "Are you really not going to do anything?"

"Is it my job?" I growl out and grab his beer to chug down half.

"Get yourself one, wolfdog. And yes, you are his fucking S.O., find him, tell him off, spank him or whatever. Make him fucking scared if that's what it takes."

I want to point out that it wouldn't change a thing. But perhaps it would prevent something worse.

"He lumbered down there." Zami waves at the restroom's direction, almost knocking down a tiny otter by the head and completely missing the outraged expression from the fella'.

The thirty yard feels like a hundred, I must dodge tails not to step on, guys and girls bump into me - most don't even spare a glance. At the door I hope the coyote dragged him off to the men's room, because I can't enter the girl's without making a scene. However, a coyote bitch getting fucked in the man's toilet? No one would care.

I push the door open, the blast of music behind me dampens as the heavy iron door slams shut. There is a stocky stallion relieving his bladder by the urinal, another guy washing paws. I perk my ears at the stalls, listening to cloths rustling or obvious sounds of fucking. I'm sure there is guy puking his guts out in the first stall so without any other notice I start opening one by one.

By the sixth my heart has moved into my throat, I pause, one paw already on the door. Do I want to see it? I can smell fox musk lingering around the frame, not easy to pick up over the rectifier, urine and cheap soap dominating the air.

I ready myself for her screaming and choice swear of words. Instead I find Matt sitting on the toilet seat, halfway slumped against the stall wall with tongue lolling out of his muzzle, and most importantly: alone.

My relief over the evidence is quickly washed over by the worry that he is fucking out of it.

"Matt. Hey, fox, wake up." He does stir to a good, muzzle rattling shove.

"Uhhhh, leaf me al-llone" One black gloved arm fends off my dark grey paw. He peeks at the floor, eyes only mere slits and I catch a glimmer of blue there.

But I do smell coyote over him and arousal, but nothing else. He growls when I put my paw on his shoulder.

"Ghet tha' fuck away... from me." He ends in a hiccup and starts to slide down, tail bristling behind him. The growl in my ear is less frightening than the state he is in when I set him up on both feet. "I'm ta-kenn."

Takes a second or two to digest that. I don't know if I want to smile and hug him or start crying there. "I love you, fox." The whisper falls on deaf ears and he tries to shove me away. "Easy, Matt. I'll get you home."

"Leave me alone!" It echoes all over the restroom.

"Calm the fuck down, we are going home." And at that a large grizzly bear pulls the door open, muzzle set in a serious scowl.

"You better leave that poor chap alone, ya' hear me?"

It's not easy to turn with an adult fox as extra weight, Matt doesn't help at all, he is dangling like ragdoll in my arms, head bobbing left-right, then settles down and heaves a long breath.

"Look, the chap is my boyfriend and he is wasted..."

"It is god damned obvious he is wasted. Don't fucking think you can take advantage of him you sick bastard." He blocks the way, posing and snarling at me. There is a good whiff of alcohol on his breath. Another bear pokes his head around the stall, less imposing and kind of scared by the look in his eyes.

"Dude, is it what I think?"

"Fag is trying to rape the fox!"

"Fine, call the fucking police," I snarl and they give a startle. "Or you can wait a second and let me show my god damned phone that he is my boyfriend."

"No fucking tricks you psycho." The grizzly showers me in spit so I settle Matt back down on the toilet, careful of his tail and fish out my phone. Takes like fifteen seconds to find a picture with both of us in it. I shove it into the bear's face whom squints at it, then us, then back again at the screen.

"Fine. You are both faggots." He rumbles and takes off. When I look back his pal is also nowhere in sight.

"You just made my Friday night even better." The muted words are lost in the beat of the music and a toilet flushing, and I register it is Saturday morning. Matt's head is dipped down, tail completely limp behind him. I hope he won't bitch again and thankfully he remains silent mostly, commenting the long walk from the stall to the hazy dancer floor with unintelligible sounds.

"Took you long enough." Zami rumbles from his spot, looking as imposing as ever, then frowns at the sack of fox on my shoulders. "He didn't look this bad fifteen minutes ago."

So that's how long I've been trying to get him out? Seemed to be shorter.

"What has he been drinking?" I get a better grip on my fox, Matt gains a sliver of clarity and mumbles: 'Ain't feeling well.'

That's our clue to get him the fuck out, Zami comes up on his right and we trot into the night with limp fox limbs dangling upon the floor. Orange and fluorescent white blinds me, the polar bear at the entrance takes a calculating look at the three of us then resumes the long drag of his cigarette.

"So you caught him in the act?" The zebra asks nonchalantly as we prop the fox down on relatively clean bench. Matt starts falling on the right at once.

"He was alone in a stall. No one else." But the relief is completely transposed to annoyance. Where are Matt's friends? Haven't seen either one of his talk-big, chest banging bros on the floor. I check his pockets if he has everything with him and thankfully nothing is missing, which might look like I'm robbing the fox while Zami is standing guard. Matt doesn't object to the process, at this point I'm sure he wouldn't say a thing even if we ran a razor through his hide.

"Thanks for helping."

The zebra waves a paw and snorts, but I see it is part of his show. "Yeah, you owe me."

I manage a grin, and he scowls.

"It's not like a saved the world." The zebra pulls out his phone. "Almost three. You wanna' grab a beer?"

He misunderstands my wide eyes and short bark.

"I'm not asking you out. The night is young."

"The night is over for the fox. I'll haul his ass home." Which reminds me I don't have enough cash on me to actually pay a cab. Neither does Matt, his black leather wallet is also empty. Zami sniffs out the problem and rolls out a crunchy bill of twenty.

"Here. Juts fucking take it!" He rumbles and shoves it in my paw as I start objecting. "You won't walk that distance, you'll only get in trouble. Besides, he is nothing but dead weight right now." Which is true to some extant but the disgust in his voice makes me wonder.

"What else was Matt doing in there?"

Zami kicks the bench, not hard but enough to make a noise. "Your boyfriend was an ass, that's all."

"You wouldn't get worked up by just that much."

"No I wouldn't." He counters sharply, shrugging. "Are you completely sure he is gay?"

That makes my ears twitch. "What?"

"Girls were hitting on him all night and he looked pretty interested."

"He was also wasted." I point out but Zami put the paw on the source of my insecurities.

"Look, Matt slept with girls before. But rest assured, he is gay enough."

"Don't need the bedroom details." He says, holding up both paws.

The music flows out from the alley which leads to the White Star. It's only forty yards I think, a furniture storage and butchery wedged in the block, but it is deserted, not a single soul save for the three of us.

"I didn't want to intrude on yer' private life. You better call a cab before the fox catches a cold." Matt remains oblivious to us, tongue hanging from his muzzle.

I ring the same company that drove me out here and hang up after the drowsy voice registered the call. I squint at the zebra. "You wanna' have breakfast tomorrow, together? My treat."

"Are you planning that fancy place you love to go to?" He is kind enough to say fancy instead of fabulous. "Fine, the coffee ain't horrible there."

"At ten, that works for you?"

"Sure, I'll be done in the dock by then."

"Wait, you have work ... today and you are out partying?"

"Sure." He grins, flashing thirty two carats worth of herbivore teeth.

Zami helps me put Matt on the backseat and slams a meaty paw onto my back as goodbye before I climb in next to the fox. The driver, some pudgy raccoon in his late forties needs a bit of convincing (no, he won't throw up) and I spend fifteen minutes praying that Matt's body can hold out that long.

He does but not long enough to reach the apartment, the fox seems to have another lucid episode, summoned by his probably exploding bladder and lumbers-flails across the street.

I manage to talk (plead) him out of pissing over a garage door, he has already got his junk out and convince him to do it in the alley.

I hold a tense paw against my brows as he finishes his business and start stumbling down the alley, in the wrong direction. Takes another plea to steer him to our apartment, three nightmarish flights of stairs and just at the finish line, Matt collapses right at the front door.

At this point, watching over his limp tail, askew ears and pathetic state my patience runs out so I slide down next to him, torn between reaching out to touch his fur and smooth down his cheek ruffs. But the lights shut off, the stairway's electricity is programmed to conserve energy like that. Matt's soft breathing is the only thing I hear in the darkness, and weren't for me I think he would sleep in the awkward position till morning.

I put the keys in the lock, turn and stop in the doorway, ready to shut him out. It's not the first time he got this pissed, I've already said that, but I'm not sure if he was drinking with his friends or that he didn't go out to find some willing tail tonight. In the end as I switch on the lights in the foyer I meet the tired, amber gaze of a wolfdog and turn back. I'm not that big of a scumbag to make him sleep in the hallway like a beaten dog.

***

I wake up like a sack of brick, the morning sun piercing my eyes. Right, I forgot to pull the curtains after getting Matt to bed. The fox hasn't moved an inch, still sleeps in the fetal position he took after putting his ass down. The annoyance and insecurities that circled my nerves are back instantly, but there is a glimmer of happiness that he is all right. The clock says nine twenty, so I drag my tail to a quick shower and nice brushing, when I step out Matt is still sound asleep. I decide against waking him up, which translates as avoiding to talk to him or have the 'talk' with him right now. I won't launch into that on an empty stomach plus I'm still seeing the helpless fox drunk out of his skull.

Couple of minutes later I'm basking in the heavenly scent of bacon, waffle and nose-wrecking coffee aroma and find the zebra in the corner. He looks pretty fresh and waves a paw over as soon as he spots me. Sitting down I realize the furniture was not designed for guys like him, his hooves nudge me under the table and I know he is not hitting on me. The deer waitress brings coffee then takes our order, finally the zebra lets out a long yawn, I smirk at him: "So even superman gets tired."

He rolls his eyes, drawing thick nails across his stiff mane and hair. "Made it home fine?"

"Yeah, which reminds me..." I put down a twenty on the table which he frowns at. "I owe you. And yes, breakfast is still my treat."

"Calm your tail." He pockets the bill and stares out the window. "I'm amazed how clean this part of town is."

"You live down on Helmsburg, what did you expect?"

"Rent is cheap." He shrugs. "How is the fox?" The disgust is missing from his voice, unlike last night. I still wonder what else Zami saw in the club.

"Out cold."

"You kicked him out?" The wide eyes could be comical if he didn't sound dead serious.

"No, out cold in bed. Didn't wake him."

He deflates, rubbing one ear absently. "For a second I thought you put his ass out on the street." Can't shake the feeling he knows something. "By the way, have you had time to check the web?"

"What for?" The waitress returns with a plate of bacon and eggs with veggies on the side, and a bowl of oatmeal for Zami. Unlike other herbivores, the zebra doesn't sneer when meat is on the table, so I dive in as he replies.

"Ooo-kay. Then I get to prepare you that Warren, being the nice bunny he is, posted a couple of pictures of Matt and that coyote girl."

For once I'm not surprised by Warren, I take it as a sign of getting immune to him.

"How angry would I get if I checked out those posts?"

"I would laugh and go along with my day as usual. But of course I don't have a boyfriend with couple hundred comments."

Yes, almost forgot the blessing of our age, everyone wants and thrives to have their opinion heard.

"What are they saying?"

"I didn't memorize them." Zami shrugs but dutifully checks his phone and starts tapping away, humming in the process. "Couple troll comments, several cheater, a very long of 'Blessing upon those that find God's path after straying off', some religious douche... ranting in several paragraphs. Another couple of outraged ones that Warren posted this."

In fact only the God fearing comment stirs anything in me, but it could be the coffee, so who knows?

"You could do this yourself." He finishes in a grumble and starts shoveling spoonfuls into his long equine muzzle.

"Warren thinks this would shake me up?" I chuckle between bites and swear I've never tasted bacon this good. Whatever happened to my taste buds, feels as though I haven't eaten in days.

"Fuck knows."

"How was the morning in the docks?" Strangely, he doesn't smell like fish, I make a cursory sniff at him across the table again.

"Don't wreck your nose, I showered before taking the bus." But he is grinning, although most people dislike our most canine habit. "It was fine, nice workout for the morning, doing it tomorrow too."

"How much do you make off one morning?"

"Nah, we are not talking numbers. I don't ask how much you make at the uni or in that fancy office."

"The campaign is only temporary." I reply, crunching cucumbers and bread in an impromptu sandwich and wash it off with bacon.

Zami brings the mug to his muzzle but stops, peering over the rim. Finally I notice there is a new presence only a foot away from me, wonder why I couldn't smell him before: a lanky wolf in silk shirt and tight pants. The look on his muzzle, the oozing pity is focused entirely on me.

"Hey, Scott, I'm so sorry." I would come back with 'what for' if he didn't go on without stopping or sparing a look to the zebra. "It must be hard to find it out like that, happened to a friend of mine too."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I admire your bravery, I wouldn't want to leave the house after such humiliation."

"How about you spit it out what you want, woofer, and go back to your artichoke shake and tofu?" Zami snaps.

Nostrils flaring, the wiry male casts a 'peasant' look at him, the zebra takes a sip (the cup ridiculously small in his large paw) and says: "Quick, before you'll see stripes before your eyes that are not mine."

"Scott." The male starts in a theatrical sigh "Hang on, you'll get over him."

"You get over yourself, priss, would you like me to saunter over your table and start jerking off? I'll whip it out if you need milk to your coffee, just let us enjoy our breakfast."

Now Marty, the wolf looks disgusted, bit still lifts a paw to pat my shoulder. "Call if you want to talk it out." Then flicks his tail and pads off. I don't even know what has happened.

"Was he assuming that Matt and I...?"

Zami snorts into his cup, "And came in zooming like a vulture."

Outside the diner I watch one lonely Chevrolet drag by the sidewalk, not much traffic on Saturday, but more pedestrians enjoying a nice morning.

"So now that Hurricane whatshisname has left."

"Marty, his name is Marty."

"Right, now that Martha is gone and my appetite is back, let me ask... how hard are you freaking out?"

I cock an ear to him. "Seems everyone else knows better what happened last night, I'm not really fucked up."

Zami searches my eyes and leans back. "I thought you'd be out of your fur by now."

"Do you want me to?"

"No. But it's good to see you ain't a dramawolf. Wolfdog." He adds the last part with a grin.

"Okay, let me check it." I reach for my cell but find only the keys in the pocket. Fuck, I left it on the charger. "Maybe later."

"Right. So, have I mentioned this girl to you? Slim tigress, feral in bed and merciless with her claws?"

I squint at him, he is wearing one of his conquest grins, the expression reaching his eyes.

"After you went home last night guess who called me up?" The zebra winks at me that only a walrus with cataracts could miss.

"You are fucking kidding me, after three am you got laid?"

"You can check my back for scratches if you don't believe me."

"Animal." I mumble to my mug and he puffs out his chest.

"Told you the night was young."

We talk work and pussy for the rest of the meal, not bothering that a couple of ears turn time to time in our direction, Zami certainly doesn't mind if anyone else hears his stories, and I can only participate in that conversation in theory so the last few minutes is mostly him comparing the tigress to that cacomistle he banged a week earlier.

At some point our second serving of coffee is drained and we slowly get up.

Marty perks up as we pass their table, he shares it with a pair of raccoons and bobcat (the 'coons are definitely gay) but we don't glance their way. At the crossing we say goodbye, and Zami yells from the other side: "Call if you wanna' have a beer later."

A smile is plastered on my muzzle until I reach the apartment door. It smells mostly of fox and wolfdog, if I had to describe my scent I would go with a hair softer than the scent of forest and add a touch of plains. The keys land with a jingling thud by the papers, I smell citrus in the air and before my mind makes the connection; a russet muzzle appears dashing from the bedroom, a toothbrush sticking out from his fangs. Honest to God he looks afraid, as though he had been running up and down in the apartment, eyes wide and tail bristling behind him.

The fox meteor crashes into me in a fierce hug, the brush dangling by my ears as he mumbles: "You weren't in bed, then I checked everywhere in the apartment and you left your phone here and..." He leans back, sizing me up but the scare remains, foam drips in a thin line from the corner of his muzzle. "And I got like hundred texts and voicemails... What happened last night?"

"What?" I gawk at him, taking a step back. The gesture seems to scare him even more, if possible the vulpine ears reach the lowest degree I've ever seen. "You don't remember last night?"

"I don't even know how I got home!" He looks definitely disturbed now, ears flicking time to time, the bristling never ceases.

"What kind of voicemails did you get?"

He hurries into the bedroom, when I reach the door I find him swiping through his mails and texts on the phone.

"Brenda was ranting how much of an asshole I am, and here" ... he taps away on the screen. "Your sister called." The message starts in a bark that I'd recognize anywhere.

"What the fuck has gotten into you, fox? Why would you do such thing?! You brushed your fur from the wrong side? If you had done this in the past and Scott didn't say a thing just to protect your sorry hide I'll... hold on, mother is calling, possibly because of you." The snarl is definitely Emily in her sixth gear.

"Then there was your mother." Matt stabs a claw against the screen.

"Matthew, only reason I'm calling you because I can't reach my son. In case he is nearby please convey my message that I'd like him to pick up the phone."

Yep, mother as cold as the Antarctica.

I glance at his paw, taking a closer look at the screen. There are several messages that start in Fox! with capital letters.

Matthew in present looks like a leaf, shivering against a wind that threatens to blow him away. Pity surges through me, so I try my best, calm voice.

"You really don't recall anything from last night?"

Which is perhaps one of the worst things I can say, he sits back down on our bed, taking deep breaths and clutches his head, claws all out. "What did I do last night?"

Somehow I feel like a parent scolding a child. There is no satisfaction in it, I sit down when he gives me a heart wrenching look.

"First: you got really drunk." The fox holds my eyes. "Actually you got so drunk that you didn't recognize me or Zami."

"We were drinking?"

"You were. When Zami called to get you I was still working on the polls. You were at the White Star..."

"Where? What?" The utter disbelief can't be fake on his muzzle.

"At the White Star and when I got there you were nearly passed out in a stall. So we got you home."

He stares at me, mouth apart, then down the floor, and back at me again then starts shaking his head. "I had a couple at the Cold Turkey with the guys and then... Oh, God I don't remember."

Well at least I know where he started the booze cruise. Matt buries his face in both paws, cell clutched between fur and skin.

"What did I do?"

Somehow I don't want to say it, so I grab my phone and look up the latest post from Warren E. Remington and stick it under his nose. The fox goes from uncomprehending to dumbfounded, and lastly, shameful.

He doesn't meet my eyes, and I'm not exactly trying to catch his. I put away the phone and shut the screen off.

We sit in silence for a minute, while I think I shouldn't be making a big deal out of this. Matt looks tortured enough by his memories completely missing out and being confronted of his act. The thing is: I can't imagine what he is going through, I've never been so out of it to actually forget something. Besides, it was a drunk kiss. But I know why I'm not hugging him and laugh like a kid and say: "It was just a silly thing." Because I don't know what else might have happened. Has he done this before? Was I living like a fool up till now? I never doubted his word when he went out with his friends from college or high school, when he was visiting family (I'm not welcome at his parents and doubt I would ever be).

The problem is that it is the foundation of our relationship that is not cemented. And if it so easily shaken, what can I expect? Am I turning this to be much more than it actually is?

"Show me again." There is a steely resolution in his eyes and he looks over the picture as though he was looking for some watermark or evidence of photoshop. The grim look softens when he drops the cell on the bed, inhaling shakily.

"I'm sorry."

Strange enough, hearing it doesn't make me feel better. In fact I'm feeling guilty for not comforting him. The fox turns to me. "I'm sorry I did that."

Yeah, you don't even remember - and this is the point where I should say it's fine. I know he didn't sleep with anyone because I'd have smelled it on him.

"You were drunk. Let's ..." My heart sinks that I'm looking for signs of lying. The whole fox is a fluff of guilt, why do I want to make him feel even worse? Am I vengeful enough to punish him further? "Let's forget about this, okay?"

He seems incredulous and sadder, as if I told him we should break up.

"Uh... you aren't mad?"

"I'm mad, but not at you." Half of it is a lie and he sniffs it out immediately.

"You are right to be mad."

But not for what you think I am, but can't bring myself to growl it out. "It's no use to yell at you for kissing that coyote being drunk."

"You can try." A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, where the foam dried, leaving a line of white in the russet fur.

"Well, I am not going to do that." That gets the smile off his face. He inches closer.

"You are mad, I can see that, look I forgot it literally but you can't. Just... say it."

"I don't know how I feel about this." I blurt out and realize I can't even express properly what I think . "I mean it was a kiss, big deal, couple of morons flood furbook with it so what?"

"They what?"

He claws at his own phone and spends half a minute with muzzle hung open, scrolling through the text.

"Well fuck."

"Fuck Rowan." I murmur, makes us smile but that doesn't last long either.

"Why are you mad, then, if not for the... kiss?"

Takes me a deep breath and several heartbeats to say it. "I just wondered if you have partied like this before."

Matt seems lost, then his features harden, but it's not a look of guilt. In my mind the imaginary cracks remain. I want to ask if he had cheated. What if it happened earlier? The list of 'what if' multiplies in my mind. Somehow last night poisoned me.

I know why mother and sister is angry, they are presented with a biased evidence, a picture taken in a club and although it doesn't show how inebriated Matt truly was, the underlying description packs the punchline. Cheater fox.

And here I am, possessing all evidence and finally I recall the key moment in the peach-urine scented restroom.

"You know when I found you in the stall you wanted to push me away, and protested quite much."

"Oh, Jesus." He disappears behind his paws, only a black nose and similar colored marking visible.

"But then you said: Leave me alone, I'm taken." I pry one paw away from his face, finding a shocked fox, amazed fox, and the hint of moisture in the corner of his eyes. I think I got my answer (for the moment) right there. He envelops my dark grey paw in his back one, and we stay like that for a long seconds, like an old couple hunkering over photographs, ears slightly folded but not out of sadness.

We don't make love right there, nor after I fix Matt some eggs and pills to help his headache. The whole day is kind of an 'after movie' levitation, where you leave the theatre in a daze, recalling the scenes with a glow in your chest. I keep putting off calling mother and leave only a text that say 'everything is fine, nothing to worry about' - which I know won't satisfy her. We make love at dusk, the green curtains illuminated by the last purple of the sunlight, and my fox's russet hide is like leaves in the falls. We both like to top, but enjoying the bottom side is my part more often than his. This night he squeaks, yips and whimpers as I move in him, with him, in a tight embrace. And I love to chew at his ears - I think he kind of fears I might bite too hard, get carried away but there he experiences a visceral thrill, and by the hardness of his knot and insistent grip on my back he likes that just fine. And when we finish, he licks at my muzzle and nuzzles close.

***

Epilogue

When he called and said he was in the neighborhood I suspected he wasn't just checking in, it ain't hard to put together fox and ulterior motive in one sentence when said fox doesn't really hang out with you. It also passed his ears that I didn't wanna' entertain him (not even for a brief visit) but I guess those large ears must have some filter on.

The living room could use some tidying up but at this point I don't care; the doorbell rings when I grab a shirt and put some decent pants on.

"Hey, Zami." He offers, ears kind of down. But I'm not an expert at reading canines so it could be 'sorry to bother you at such time' or the 'I'm in trouble' splay of ears, hell it could be 'I know what you did last summer' kind of look.

"C'mon in." My hooves clap-clap over the cheap linoleum, there are marks of claws, dark holes of cigarette burns in the moss green fabric. I got used not to openly sneer at it, and I think this is the first time Matt actually came over. Adds even more suspicion to my already existing ideas why he wants to talk in private. I would offer him a beer or coke but uninvited guests don't deserve proper hospitality, no matter my grandma must be rolling in her grave.

I plop down on the couch, toss a can of deodorant away and wave him over. He sits gingerly across the coffee table, some piece of crap left from god knows which tenant, judging by the sheer level of hideous in the wood, plastic and glass combination no one ever wanted to hold onto it.

My grandma also used to say when talking to canines you only havta' watch the ears and tail. Matt's tail is already held stiffly in his lap.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to thank you for Friday. Well Saturday technically." His blue eyes wander from the broken blinders to the peeling, grey paint on the walls to the table, trying his vulpine best not to let the obvious reflect on his face. I beat him to it.

"This place is a dump, I know."

"That's not what I was thinking."

"Then?"

"I kind of imagined you would have this pimp theme going on. Flashy furniture and..." He trails off, and I snort a laugh.

"I haven't showed you my bedroom, yet. But I'll let that remain a mystery." He doesn't know what to make of that and smiles a little.

"I appreciate that you looked after me."

"No prob." I clip it short, even though he was a pain in the ass.

"I was wondering what I've done that night."

Right, Scott said the fox was kind of amnesiac, a perfect excuse if you ask me but I don't have to live with the guy. By the lost look in his eyes he might've been telling the truth.

"Lots of shit, you weren't yourself, well not exactly yourself." I might call my brother to ask about it later, he had mentioned something about pathological intoxication years ago and the only thing I can recall about it that I laughed and told him to go out drinking instead of studying.

"But in detail? What did I say?"

"You don't want details." Can't help but snort and he shrinks back in the chair. Matt runs a paw through his short locks, claws out; damn the fox is anxious. Then I catch the flare of his nostrils and wait for that flash in his eyes. But he shakes his head, blue eyes desperate and pleading.

"I think it is better you file that night away as a fuck up and try not to think about it."

"But all those comments and messages..." He trails off.

"You shouldn't give a fuck about them."

His nostrils flare again. "God I hate it when it happens." The fox looks embarrassed. "The smoke is just making my nose... useless. Can't smell anything else."

And how much I thank God that I smoked inside today.

"Sorry, bad habit."

Matt waves a paw. "So ... is there something I should know? Did I do something, well, uh... bad?"

"You didn't kill anyone." I shrug, needless to say that doesn't comfort the fox much.

"Did I cheat on Scott?!" He blurts out, avoiding my eyes.

"Not this time." Shit, unfortunate phrasing. Matt gives me a sharp look, defiant but ultimately: guilty. I almost say sorry, almost. He is quiet for long seconds, then takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay." But there is still some remnants of worry in his eyes. Mother fucking fox, he is afraid I would tell Scott. The silence is truly getting to embarrassing levels so I stand and he gets the hint, there was no illusion in the first place he was coming over for a nice chat. As for Scott I wonder if he sees the cunning fox behind the pretty blue eyes, and in the end that's not my business.

I see Matt out, the fox turns in the narrow hallway, the air smells of trash, smoke and home cooked meals. "Thanks, for everything." He says in a tiny voice, perhaps he means it.

"Sure." I reply inanely, wondering how big of a scumbag it makes me that I'm keeping his secret. The bolt slides back in a soft noise behind me. For brief seconds the smell of the stairwell lingers in my nose, then I inhale the prominent scent of deer.

Dean pokes his head around the corner, his rack is coming in, gives him a college boy look, something unfathomably dashing. He is not wearing anything but boxers and I can't help but grin and shoo him back into the bedroom. He laughs as I pin him to the bed, the sheets bunch around the tip of his antlers and the giggles bubbling in his chest are more of a low purring.

"How on Earth can't a fox smell deer and sex on you?" Then his expression turns serious. "Pretty heavy stuff you two got going on out there."

"Not my mess." I stop just an inch from kissing him. Hell it wasn't weird an hour ago, now I'm having this strange sensation that the fox might be back at the door, pushing his long nose 'round the corners to place that strange scent he couldn't quite get right. Dean doesn't force a kiss, instead he rumbles (like a truck engine coming to life) and says: "You know I'm a sucker for drama and shit. Care to fill in the gaps?"

"'Bout the fox?" This time I kiss him, long enough to come back panting, breathless. "Or fill you up?"

"Either. Both." Dean gasps, I reach for the nightstand.