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They’d missed the flight, end of story. Well at least you would’ve thought so anyway!

For Macalla, something as trivial as this was a challenge to his doghood; but he was losing this one. You could smell that he hated it; them, that and those. Oh yeah, and the weighing scale that was sat to the side of the counter too; he’d kicked that really hard and found that it was a little sturdier than he first thought.

With a limp and a viciously bruised footpaw that was hot and aching beneath all that handsome dark-hazel fur, he leant his paws to the desk with a bowed head. He was trying his very best to stifle this rage but every single last member of check-in staff at the airport were far too fuckin’ resistant and happy for his liking. Then he’d see his mate sat there sulking like a poor Rodin knock-off.

Why did he have to focus on Maxey even for a second? He knew deep down that this was all a ruse, a deeply hurtful cover for something that would bring black scent back into his life yet again; and as good an actor as he was at playing the angry-but-wrong customer, he was still in need of the holiday. Perhaps he really did feel bad about it. His tail had never lied before... much.

Aroma and visual triggers in the crowd that had gathered weren’t helping. There were the police officers, the two bulky vulps who hadn’t seen their sheaths in years, watching from yards away. And paws alive, did the terminal manager look like his cocky fuck of a brother; gave him a nasty look as he cut stares out of his chiselled face and flung them at pretty much anyone.

If he’d aimed at causing a scene with his upset scent and his deeply unusual Gaelic-like accent, he’d succeeded. Mac’s muzzle grew to a ridged half-snarl that still managed to speak relatively politely, even though he knew the outcome of each hollow placebo suggestion.

“Maxey, they need the cards.” It was a huffed and terribly frustrated voice that wanted nothing more than a conclusion.

The wolf had this blank, cub-like expression on his muzzle as he got whisked out of his self-pity by his mate’s glare. He went through his own pockets, before having to kneel to the concourse to unzip his flight bag.

“Maxey? Cards!”

The sight of him rustling around was making him even angrier.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Mac growled out loud before storming over and helping his mate to rifle through their luggage, “Want somethin’ done, do it ya’ fuckin’ self! Paws above Max, I told ya’ to keep them on ya’. Fuckin’ hell!”

“Sorry.” The wolf murmured tearfully, feeling his mate’s hot breath pant fast and hard, the piercing acid of his angry stare enough to make you melt.

Mac just snatched them away angrily, leaving poor Maxey to sit there all awkward and embarrassed; but it was still no use. Their scents had been removed from the flight register prior to take-off; it was simply too late.

It had been a quiet Thursday up to that point, but the angry scent and the shouting was now echoing about the glass-ceilinged terminal building. Whilst his larger mate quite literally threw down his case and proceeded to make a complete scene, Maxey sat back atop the luggage with tail flopped sadly toward the floor and a drawn muzzle propped to his paws.

He felt ever so guilty. It was something so simple that had caused this. Silly wuff had forgotten to set the alarm clock, and they had woken up only an hour before the plane was due to take off. It had been the worst morning of his life. The frantic packing, the dashing out the door barely dressed, the yelling, the blaming and the crying. They had gone from snuggling on the sofa the night before, all bouncy and excited about their long weekend away, to being numb and devastated in the chill unforgiving air of the airport.

The flights, the whole deal, was non-refundable. It was the cheapest but best break that they had been able to find and squeeze in for the four day weekend; and now it all lay in ruins.

What made it worse was that Mac had worked all spring and summer long for this; six-day eighty-hour weeks in the blistering heat as a self-employed Raethic (or ‘digger’) for the Shof Heritage Foundation. Sure, the saved-up scent value and cash incentives were nice, but they’d had no time together as a couple for over half the year. Hardly any evenings together, barely any days out to mention and they had mated only thrice since March. The latter was probably the reason why the usually easygoing and controlled Macalla was losing it. Maxey had to admit that he missed the intimacy too; the sweet way his big doggy would treat him on the run up to a long sultry evening of lovemaking. Paws alive, they hadn’t had a night like that in a long time!

This was simply because once Mac came in from a long day, they had just about enough time for a quick kiss and a cuddle (if Mac wasn’t too muddy that is) before Maxey went out to his night shift in the casualty department at the central city hospital.

The young wuff was a newly qualified TMT (Tail/Muzzle/Throat) Specialist and, although slight and petite for his creed, was excited to work the usually hectic, dangerous and largely unpredictable nights in Cas. His light-hearted, effete demeanour was surprisingly effective in dealing with the chunky hulks of violent, drunk, high or desperately wounded canine that stumbled through those doors night after night.

It’s where they had first met. It had been Maxey’s first month on his own when Macalla had been referred by his GP; and it was that meeting that saved the dog’s life. Max knew as soon as he stepped through his door that he had early onset distemper; and sure, whilst it was caught in time, Mac still suffered hard pads and muzzle problems to this day. Not that this was the only thing, because hoo boy, did Mac have a temper on him?! Maxey wasn’t sure whether or not that was cryptically something that had attracted him to this dark, dusky furred stud from the exotic west.

Macalla had spent so much of his hard-earned red scent to get them this trip to the coastal resort of Moridina on the southern Vulpic coast; and now it was all going up in a big cloud of tear-soaked, expletive-ridden smoke.

“OK sir, why don’t we try to calm down, huh?” One of the police officers had had enough.

“Yeah, why don’t you fuckin’ make me!?” The dog got in the muzzle of the law, nose to nose; he was spoiling for a fight, and this was never going to end well, “sheath-licking son of a bitch!”

It was then that there was a scuffle and a snarling yelp as the huge six-foot plus officer grasped a hold of Mac’s right arm and paw-cuffed him. He was swung round and placed under arrest.

“No, please! Please don’t. He’s sick, he doesn’t mean it. I’m really sorry.” Poor Maxey scrambled to his footpaws, tears flooding down his muzzle, “please don’t do this.”

“I suggest you step back.”

“No please, he’s... he’s an ex Distemper sufferer. Look, look please!” Maxey followed after them and ruffled up the right short-sleeve of his mate’s shirt to show them his medical scent-boost patch, “Please... I... I’ve been treating him myself, and he gets all het up and angry and it’s not his fault and...”

The second officer paused, ushering his colleague to do likewise. He took his cap off to reveal a strange mix of ruffled and flattened auburn fur, scritching at it and squinting his eyes.

“Look, we realise how bad your partner must feel about missing the flight today and we recognise his condition or conditions or whatever it is, but he’s still made a right royal nuisance of himself, Mr...?”

“Cobh. Maxwell Cobh. And I get that, and I’m sorry. It’s my fault, this is all my fault, not his!”

There was a deep sigh and a pause, before the officer frowned.

“I need a drink.” The vulp muttered to himself, before turning to look at Max, “OK, if you can get ‘im to apologise, we’ll let ‘im off with a grade two scent fine, payable right now. Understand?”

“Thank you.” The wolf turned to face his mate, “Mac, honey? Please apologise. For me? I know it’s... I know this is all on me, and I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I don’t know how right now, but I’ll think o’ somethin’.”

He could see the shifting eyes of his mate shivering like tiny pickled pineapple halves in their dark sockets; he was still boiling angry, probably more so with him than anyone else. But Maxey could also see that his tics had started again, and his nose was drying and starting to bleed.

“Oh doggy” The wuff padded forward and cuddled him. That harsh, grit-toothed breathing was stifled and now turned to a pitiful sob that whimpered into Maxey’s warm shoulder, “I’ll pay the fine and we can go home, cos’ all this anger and shouting’s making you flare up again, baby.”

Mac leant out of their cuddle, holding his muzzle high and away from the staff and the attention; he didn’t want to be seen crying. It was strange how, since his diagnosis, he switched so rapidly between emotions; almost belligerent in a cub-like way. And there was a ‘sorry’ mumbled in there somewhere. Maxey was just glad that the two police officers understood their predicament, the irrationality it brought out of even the hardiest tails, and indeed were close enough to the end of their own beat to not give a fox’s ass!

The scent fine was paid with what little Maxey had left on his own tail, before he solemnly followed Mac down the concourse with his wheeled bag trailing behind. The smells of cold floors, toasting sandwiches, and hot plastics were replaced with the irritatingly cheery bright light of day. This should all have been so far behind them right now; about a thousand miles behind to be precise.

“You OK?” Maxey ventured tentatively as they walked, ushering to hold paws with his mate; it was slow and reluctant at first, but once he slunk his paw to Mac’s side often enough, his hold was firm and sure.

“Yeah. Just... just wanna go home.” He didn’t turn to look, his gaze bee-lining for that first cab in the queue. Those syrupy eyes were somewhat glazed by the high-rise glass, the paw-worn concrete and the cooling caldera that was his own head.

His mate smiled bravely; he could rarely decipher what Mac was thinking, and he was historically very... well, he was a guy! He had grown up as the youngest pup of seven, a runt at that, which was probably why he had followed his father’s ultra-strict, ultra-masculine ways. Macalla rarely spoke about him, or any of his family for that matter. But he also never opened up about how he was feeling, or even whether he was ill or not; he was the kind of dog to just plough on regardless. Never did the poor sod any good, and look where it got him!? Low-Tail Elvoxis at twenty which was caused by depression and overwork, then a mild Distemper diagnosis five years later.

If it hadn’t been for his chance meeting with Maxey, paws only knows where the silly dog would be!?

The taxi ride back to their little terraced house on the southern edge of the city was quiet; far too quiet for Maxey’s liking. He could see Macalla looking out the window as they rushed down the ring road, kaleidoscope eyes playing the same old scenery over and over.

“Honey? Mac, are you feelin’ a bit better?” He soothed a paw over his mate’s knee just above the hem of his shorts; his tail didn’t smell right and it was terribly still. There was but a sad nod in reply.

The reflection in the car window told all. He was bleeding again.

Maxey sighed deeply as he turned his suitcase to its side and delved in to search for their bathroom bag. It had all of Mac’s medication in it.

“Here. Turn to face me, baby. Come on.” The lupe shuffled to sit round on his seat, “Mac? Baby, I need to... that’s it. There’s that handsome muzzle.”

He’d turned to face Maxey at last, managing a smile and an adorable blush too under all that deep, burnt-caramel fur.

“Thhhhh... that stings.”

“Sorry honey, just be a couple more... there we... yep, one more dab and we’re done.” Maxey attended to that sore, breaking muzzle and dry nose with a set of medicated ointments, gently applying each with little cotton wool balls, “there we go, all set.”

The wolf smiled, caught in his mate’s loving stare. He twizzled the cap back onto each bottle to pack them away, before looking up again.

“What?” Maxey blushed.

“Nothin’. Just rememberin’ how lucky I am to have you.”

“Awwww, you’re sweet.”

“Max?”

“Hmm?” The zip on the case was done up, and now Mac had his paws open, wanting a snuggle; so Maxey undid his seatbelt and shuffled over, mewing in his mate’s warmth.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you this morning. I’m... I’ve got no excuse, and I behaved like such a prick. I’m real sorry baby.”

“Not you who should be apologising. It’s me.”

Mac snuffled his refreshed nose between those addictively floofy grey ears, before resting his muzzle there; Maxey could feel the shake of his head.

“I don’t blame you for it. Stupid fuckin’ alarm clock! Wasn’t your fault. I don’t want you to think that doggy’s angry with you. He isn’t. I mean, shit happens, Max.”

Maxey heaved himself to sit back up, before turning on his tail and looking back at his mate sat cuddled into the corner.

“You... you mean that?”

“’Course I do. Sure I’m disappointed that we’ll miss out on the sunshine and stuff, but I mean, I’ll... oh Maxey, I’m sorry.” It was a perfectly innocent comment that had Mac wishing he hadn’t opened his big oofing great muzzle; because one mention of the sunshine and the stuff they’d lose from their holiday had his poor mate bursting into tears, “oh wuffie, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. Doggy sorry.”

He held him tight, ticking slightly as his muzzle filled with the dull wave of depressed scent from his mate’s tail, to mix with the fading sear of the rubbing alcohol evaporating from his fur.

Poor wuff was torn up. He didn’t feel much better when they got back through home, the smells of forgotten cold coffee and the wake of their early morning dash spread to the four winds hit every part of nose and heart.

Maxey dropped his case in the middle of their lounge and dashed up to bed in tears; he just couldn’t forgive himself and thought that his mate was keeping his anger under wraps so as not to upset him further. It was the height of Mac’s tail and that curious scent that swirled about him; he read it only as I’m fuckin pissed with you but I’m not gonna’ take it out on you... yet.

A heaved sigh and heavy footpaws made their way slowly up the stairs, following after the distraught wolf.

“Maxey, honey?” He creaked the bedroom door open and there, tail flopped and tummy down on the comfy duvet was his mate, bawling his eyes out, “Oh baby, please don’t cry. Tears doggy up to see you so sad.”

He padded over coming to sit gently on the edge of the bed, stroking a comforting paw across the wolf’s soft grey head. There was just a sniffled mew in reply.

“I ruined everything.” It was a sad muffled voice whimpered into the soggy pillow.

“Baby, you haven’t. I don’t blame you for it, really I don’t. Come on you...” Mac crouched down and snuffled his cold black nose across the side of his mate’s neck, “smile for me, come on. Smile for doggy dog.”

There was a soft giggle and Maxey wriggled atop the sheets, eventually rolling over to face his mate.

“I love you.” Mac murmured, painting the shape of a clover leaf on his wolf’s head.

Maxey closed his eyes as he felt those paws touch him. He may have been a lumberin’ great dog, but he was ever so gentle. The wolf shuffled over and lay his head in his mate’s lap, mewing as Mac stroked him, feeling his cute ears flop back then spring forward with each stroke. He could so fall asleep like this; the movement of big warm paws, the comfort of Mac’s body and that calmed woody scent.

“A ghrá listen, cheer up for me yeah?” There was another kiss lingered atop the bridge of the wuff’s muzzle, “I don’t want you to get upset over it all. I mean, we still have the weekend and we’re still both off work, so why don’t we have a little holiday around here, hmm? We could... um... oh I dunno’, go shopping, wander around the castles, have some nice dinners in. What do you think?”

Maxey just shuffled and mewed sadly; he was exhausted and everything was coming at him all at once. With another kiss and a whispered nothing, he was left to snooze; Mac thought best of digging himself in any deeper. He looked back into the bedroom as he wandered away, deep in thought and a paw fondling across his 4pawz phone.

The house was dead quiet and the sun was already almost gone, the final beams streaking like blood-orange filters into their little lounge.

Mac sat with a relieved sigh onto their two-seater sofa, closed eyes in that lukewarm sunbeam; perhaps he was trying to imagine himself on holiday for real, on the beach with a dri...

“On the beach!” He sat up with the brightest grin on his muzzle, reaching for his phone and dabbing at the screen numbers, “oh paws above, this’ll blow ‘is mind.”

“Hey Colm, it’s Mac. Yeah, yeah I’m cool. Listen a mhac, you remember that favour I did for you? Well I’m calling in my half of the deal.”

“Doggy?” Maxey yawned and shuffled to sit up on the bed; he was alone.

The poor wuff must’ve cried himself to sleep still fully dressed because it was now morning, bright blue-skies and hot rays of sunshine streaking between the dusty curtains. He sniffed at Mac’s side of the bed; it was cold and scentless. He’d slept alone last night.

There didn’t seem to be any scents at all in the house; no brewed tea, coffee or cooking breakfast. The only discernible smell was that early morning draught swashing up the stairs; they must’ve left a window open in the kitchen overnight. Maxey stretched and sulked himself off the bed before padding down the winding stairs, his footpaws silent on the lush lounge room carpet. The breeze was chill on his fur now, wrapping his paws about himself as he padded through into the kitchen. The door was wide open to the morning, but the sun was so painfully bright on sleepy eyes that Maxey could barely see, even with a paw cupped to his brow.

“Mac? Mac honey, are you there?”

“I’m out here, baby”

The wuff wandered nervously across the cold pan-tiles, noticing that there was a gritty, slippery texture to them this morning, crunching and scratching to his pads like stepping on miniscule sugar cubes.

The sun was warm and the scents abound with dew-soaked privet, puddle-stranded leaves... and seaweed?!

Maxey didn’t know what to say. He just stood in the back doorway with his muzzle open in pleasant disbelief. Two thirds of their back garden was completely drowned... in sand. Sat atop the pale beige, milky coloured dune was a luxurious deckchair, shadowing from the dawn with a huge rainbow umbrella; and there were shells too. Lots of little cockle and razor shells sprinkled here and there, framed by olivine seaweed and even a hunk of driftwood.

Speaking of hunks, Macalla was stood there, footpaws softly squishing into this artificial horizon, completely starkers!

“Mornin’, gorgeous guy!”

“Uhhhhhh” Maxey couldn’t help it; he giggled like a school-cub, padding gently out onto the sand with the help of his bare-furred mate, “what’s all this?”

“Mmmm well I know how sad you were about our missing the flight yesterday, so I decided to follow through on my idea to have a relaxing time here with you instead.” Those big dusky paws were roaming down Maxey’s back, making him arch and giggle.

“That tickles!”

“Mmmm, how ‘bout you get that sexy tail into those real skimpy speedos, hmm? You know the ones.”

“You horny devil!”

“Perhaps a little.” Mac played his tongue behind his front teeth, grinning playfully; he could eat ‘im up, he really could.

Maxey’s mind traced the same pattern. The smell of his mate’s body was fantastic. All that bare malinois fur radiating like fresh split oak in the sun’s rays; it was gorgeous. His tail was so much more bouncy this morning too; perhaps he really had forgiven him. Perhaps this was also why Maxey struggled in his excitement to strip off quickly and slip on those naughty undies; he loved the feeling of the soft material slipping up between his grey-furred buttocks to rest under his tail. He sauntered back down the stairs with just the bounciest, highest tail and the naughtiest thoughts running through his head.

Cue Macalla’s jaw drop! The wolf was loving every minute of striding out the back door of the house to show off to his much larger (and very pent up) mate. They weren’t even speedos at all really; it was hardly as if Maxey was wearing anything, not that that was a problem.

With a sly grin, the wolf padded over to the lounger and lay tummy down, allowing his tail and rump the best of the tanning morn whilst also permitting the best view of the thong back of his attire to a certain very special someone. He couldn’t help but smile as he rested his head sideward and took in the stunned look Mac had on his muzzle, and the adorable way he was trying to stifle the tumescence in his ample sheath. Coughing and blushing rampantly, Mac padded quick back to the kitchen before re-emerging with a small silver tray, atop which sat a tall brimming glass of chilled grapefruit juice.

“Your drink, my darling.” He went down on bended knee too; so so sweet.

“Well thank you.” Maxey went pink in the muzzle as he sat up and took the glass from his mate, reaching further forward and touching noses with him, “my favourite too. This is just so wonderful, baby, thank you.”

“My pleasure my sweet little wuff. Now you relax there and sip on your drink whilst doggy gets you some noms.”

And off he padded back into the house, wonderfully butt-naked. Maxey bit his bottom lip as he paused between gulps, hypnotised by the sway of that tail and that gorgeous muscled butt wrapped in swathes of dark tan fur. Exotic, studly male; it just made him melt.

Mac came back with a bowl full of fruit; strawberries, pineapple slices, plump blackberries and delightfully overripe raspberries. The smell was wonderful, and to have it hovering just under his muzzle was as fantastic a kick as he’d had from the first waft of his mate’s sheath but minutes before.

He was just so sweet to him. There he knelt at the head of the lounger, carefully feeding his cute little wolf, teasing that nose with the juices and pith. There were unstalked cherries in there too; and now it was Maxey’s turn to tease. He delved a paw in to find them, before plucking them up towards hi s muzzle and suckling and licking on their matt-maroon skin. The wuff turned to lie back, his head to the shade and his long pink tongue now rounding on every non-angle of the fruit in his midst, hung above himself to heighten the naughty illusion.

Mac whimpered as he watched, squatted to the floor and now feeling his fur grow hot. Maxey moaned as he teased himself, whining out as he played with his food. Macalla played along with his naughty mate, acting the submissive for a while. He crawled along on all fours tail high, to the foot of his mate’s lounger before nuzzling and kissing obsessively at those slender grey footpaws.

Maxey grinned, finally biting away the cherries and savouring their bittersweet flavour. He could feel his mate’s cool breath hush over his toes, ankles and hocks, graduating north much to his delight; his very own fecund treacle mercury heating and rising up to be one with him. The wolf bit his lip again as the breeze caught Mac’s tail and drifted a hot scent of ripe, musky need into his nostrils.

“Oh Mac.” He moaned as he felt the dog’s nose nuzzle at his tummy, ragged under-muzzle fur brushing teasingly over the very tip of his tender pink, still barely contained in his underwear; and now Mac had put his left knee onto the chair. Like an ivy circling a trunk, Maxey longed to be engulfed.

There were just snarls in reply now, dripping foamed phlegm pooling on the wolf’s warm white belly. Macalla, lifted his mate’s footpaws before straddling himself on the lounger and allowing Maxey to relax back; and now those big dusky paws were rushing underneath the thin sides of that thong.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for a day where I can have you all to myself.”

“Ohhhh doggy.”

Maxey moaned as he felt Mac’s warm paw slide away from his waist to cup over his aching cock. Neither said anything more; the dog just ushered the wolf to lift his hips, tail brushing and wagging beneath, so that he could slip off that last tempting shred of clothing.

But now, instead of letting him back down, Macalla held the base of the wolf’s back with his right paw whilst dropping the thong to the sand with his left. Then, shuffling a little further forward, he took Maxey’s waist in a firm but gentle two-paw hold, and buried his hungry muzzle under that tail.

Max squealed with pleasure, arching all the more as he was held there, an eager maw eating him out.

“Ohhh fuck, ohhh baby yes! Yes!” He moaned and murred, clenching his eyes shut, and whimpering every word that followed like the desperate little wuff he was, “eat me, eat me you big dog!”

“You fuckin’ smell incredible!”

“Yes! Ohhh fuck yes, talk dirty to me.”

“You’re... you... you’re such... ohhhhh fuck.” Mac was struggling with himself, his nose and muzzle scraping deeply between the wolf’s buttocks, unable to believe how much a single tail could drive him so nuts, “I’m so fuckin’ glad you didn’t shower last night. I wanna fuck you real bad!”

Mac snarled again, chorusing with Maxey’s moans, the reverberation shocking delightfully through the tender muscle of the wolf’s backside. The malinois in him, that strength, feralness and virility, was coming out and tipping him over the edge. The smell of his mate’s backside, that hidden sweat-drenched, dark pink pucker, had his own cock drooling long strands of clear precum onto the lounger cover.

“You know what I want for dinner!?” Mac murred in between huffs, his paws careful not to squeeze and clench his mate’s waist.

“Ohhhh... baby. I... other than my ass?” Maxey managed a wide-eyed giggle, a mix of all sorts of excited and pleasant bemusement.

“Mhm, I want dog stuffed wolf!”

Just as he said it, muffled in all that musky, sweaty undertail fur, Mac stuck his tongue right up Maxey’s arse, hilting it to the line of his soft palette and bringing out an uncontained pleasured yelp from his mate.

He tasted so fucking good, and now it was “dinner” time! There was the calming panting, the surprised giggles; and now Maxey was sat upright in Mac’s lap, gazing right into those caramelised-yellow eyes.

“I love you.” The wuff murmured as he felt Mac’s big paws grip gently at his rump, hoisting him up ready for the drop.

“I love you too, sexy.”

They kissed as they fell together, Maxey wincing as he felt himself stretched and filled by his mate’s precum-greased member. His tail flinched before the pain lapsed, then easing his eyes open with a needy sly glaze to start a hard grind across Macalla’s lodged, throbbing sex. The smell of his own damp, rock hard cock was terrific, trailing scribbles of liquid across his mate’s warm belly fur as he pulled up then dropped himself down onto him.

The most beautiful noose one could ever know; and the feeling of Macalla’s hot knot against the muscle of his ass was just the perfect aphrodisiac. His big malinois was in rapture, snarls carved on his muzzle as he felt every last thick, fleshy impalement sink deeper and deeper.

“Oh Mac, baby. Oh fuck... not seen you so wild.” Maxey stroked those velvety black ears, hearing his stud pant and huff and snort his desperate possession of this slender male. He started to nuzzle and kiss at the wolf’s chest, side-biting up towards Maxey’s collar bone, making his mate moan and arch.

It was a fantastic blur in the blue-eyed morning, the wolf’s eyes full of sky and dark handsome fur. Each rolling movement of his hips made them burn more, sear and simmer his insides to something special; and it was coming faster and faster, Mac’s paws scrabbling and gripping harder until his right paw was clasped right around the neck of Maxey’s sweat-damp tail.

“Fuck me... yeah. Fuck me, doggy.” The wolf leant his head over his mate’s shoulder now, whining and whimpering and gasping as he was bounced hard, pulled onto this wonderfully hot maleness and wondering whether he could ever feel anything better on this plain of existence, “ohhh... yeah, yeah. Uhh uhhh oh fuck, unnngg.. I’m gonna’... oh Mac, I’m gonna cum.”

His mate just growled, gripping him tight almost as though he was on a mission. He grabbed harder at that adorably shivering tail and made to look down at where his crotch met the body of his smaller mate.

“Hnnn.. oh god yeah, here it comes baby.” Mac let that sodden tail go and gripped to spread his mate’s arse wider, watching down and over to see his bulging knot slip out of view and up into Maxey’s body.

His voice evolved from a grunting effort to an almost calm, closed-eye delirium, leaning his head back and feeling the squeeze and contraction of Maxey’s insides. There was a loud yelp in his right ear as his mate came, unable to hold back any longer when he was filled, bucking against that bulge as it caught his prostate and sent a hot creamy burst of cum up between them. The smell of fresh wolf spunk, of his own sweat and his mate’s, and oh fuck, the aroma on that tail was enough to have Macalla at the point of no return, flinching and shivering with his mate atop him as he let it all go. His plump tan bollocks had long drawn up and now bred with a throbbing rhythm.

Maxey held his doggy tight as his lover climaxed, petting him gently to see him through it all, that big strong heart beating hard and that cute black sabre tail rising and falling like a well pump handle. It was amazing to feel his mate in this sort of ecstasy, to realise that this pleasure was him giving his all to his one and only wuff.

There was a happy collective giggle and sigh as the ride came to an end, the pair with heads together and nuzzling happily. Each mouthed an ‘I love you’ simultaneously which produced another giggle and a deep silencing kiss that was the perfect aperitif to the day; it had all been such a wonderful holiday morning.

Maxey smiled to himself as he recognised that even under the thundering rise and climax of sex, Mac still didn’t open up and get vocal all that much. He didn’t mind it, and besides, the pleasure he gave him was something that didn’t need embellishment really. He was just happy that he was happy, and not just going through the motions of having to endure mating. Couldn’t ever live with himself if that was true; but it wasn’t. Was it?

Fuck me wolf, why the fuck are you thinkin’ all this, for paws sake?!, Maxey muttered to himself with an exasperated laugh as he padded out to grab some towels from the bathroom.

Sometimes he could be a real silly worry-wuff as Macalla would put it.

They spent the rest of their Saturday lounging on their very own private beach, so far away from everything. It felt so good to be lost in the “sea breeze”, the sun-warmed sand and the kisses and cuddles they’d share every time either of them offered to pad to the kitchen to grab a nibble. Mac loved the feeling of lying tummy down in the dune, resting his muzzle in the snuggly swathes of false beach. Maxey could’ve sworn that he heard him snoring at one point, giggling as he saw that powerful, half-buried muzzle hushing wisps of sand with every exhalation.

As the day wore into evening, the pair were knelt there making cute little sandcastles emblazoned with their tail ribbons. As imposing as Macalla was, he was still a cub at heart, and all the light-hearted play was good for his remissive illness. Mac Mansions and Fort Maxwell were left holding the defence of their back garden even as the pair padded back indoors to make dinner, flags of promise ribbons abound and waving in the chill autumnal wind.

Maxey was forgetting all about their troublesome Friday at the airport as he leant his head on Mac’s shoulder, those big malinois paws peeling the potatoes. He smiled as he felt a wet kiss linger on his forehead and a snuzzle course across his muzzle; and uh oh, there was that growl again.

Mac put the knife and half-done potato back in the sink, and slunk to his knees behind Maxey.

“Ooo! Oh doggy... oh my goodness.” Maxey twitched and yelped with surprise as he felt that cold nose snuffle under his tail, his own paws gripping at the counter top as his mate almost lifted him off the floor, “ohhh baby, you’re so horny today.”

He could feel that snuffle of a nod as concentrated tongue and nose fixated on his rump. Now, he wasn’t saying that he didn’t enjoy it; it was just out of character. The malinois had been very much the stereotypical canic male, or at least that’s what Maxey had found. He was romantic and wild and had so so much energy all in the right places; but he had never really been one for scent.

Scent-love on this level was more of a vulpic thing. Wolves were more inclined to feral, rough mating, whilst the canines of overseas, those of dusky and dark fur, were definitely more romantic. Foxes on the other paw, now they were a totally different kettle of fish altogether! Obsessed with scent and aroma, it was well known that vulps were inclined to the foreplay aspects over the actual act of mating. Most got off on the scent of their partner, some used it as a drug; and that’s where the problems lay with Vulpic society. Such was the power of the tail and the muzzle, it corrupted and pervaded. There was even illegal production and synthesis of a plethora of rich musks and scents. Sex was big business.

And Mac spent most of his working day around vulps, lecherous ones at that. Maxey couldn’t help but stereotype; he just knew how some of them ogled after his mate and how they had tried their best to weasel their way in. But he’d always seen him put his footpaw down, especially when he was there. Perhaps he wasn’t as strong without him. Perhaps he had given in.

All this bothered him, whilst he was blissfully unaware that he wasn’t exactly reacting to the attention in the way Macalla hoped he would.

“Honey?” Mac had stopped and looked up, “are... are you ok?”

“Uh... uh, yeah. I sure am. I... was... just thinkin’.”

And now Mac got all disappointed, his big dusky ears flopping back as he got to his footpaws.

“You... you don’t enjoy it.”

“No no baby, I do... I really do.” Maxey felt awful; he’d lost that attention in his long and paranoid train of thought, “I’m sorry baby, I... I didn’t mean to get distracted. You can carry on if you like, I mean... I really love it, truly I do.”

“No it’s... it’s OK.” There was a brave smile on that big muzzle as he went back to preparing the veg.

Maxey slunk apologetically to his mate’s side and wrapped his paws about him, snuzzling with closed eyes. He was on the edge of tears again, but couldn’t bring himself to cry. He wasn’t about to ruin another evening.

“So glad you wore it.” Maxey was paw-in-paw with Mac as they wandered through the bright and breezy city centre, glowing at his handsome mate decked out in long board shorts and a bright red crewneck, “you look so adorable!”

“Awww I look silly.” The dog shuffled with his leather collar whilst his rampant blushing made the moment all the cuter.

“Ah ah ah, no fiddling with it now. Take it off and it’s one less blow job for you tonight.” Maxey grinned and nudged at Mac. He was awful; but it sure did the trick. A giggle and a snuzzle, and they were padding on across the paving towards their favourite little lunch place.

They’d already been indulging in some retail therapy as was evident from the burgeoning bags in Maxey’s left paw; spendthrift wuff had bought an entirely new wardrobe, coupled with some naughty tail collars and undies for his mate’s pleasure. It was the returned favour for Macalla being so willing to come shopping with him; he usually hated it. But it was their holiday together, and he had made the exception to get Maxey’s tail wagging again after Friday’s little debacle.

The wolf had also persuaded his big soft malinois to dig out his old film camera. It was now dangling off Mac’s shoulder on a zebra-striped strap and had already snapped off a fair few memories. It was one of those things that you’d usually do when you were in a foreign place, a place that you didn’t see twenty-four-seven; but since they couldn’t have that this year, it was a case of finding and enjoying all those hidden bits of the city that they took for granted. The bustle of the high street, Maxey showing off, the shadow of the castle walls as they met the modern crust of city and century, Maxey molesting a police officer and getting away with it; so often would Macalla take the picture, and look up with a nostalgic smile.

How could he? What the fuck was he thinking? Maxey was so sweet and loving and cute; what on the great earth was Mac thinking by straying? How could he live with the betrayal he had caused? Perhaps if he came clean, he could still keep him, perhaps if he... well, who knows, maybe he coul....

“Hey you, come on slowtail!”

“Sorry” Macalla giggled and bounded forward to recapture that slender wolven paw, “I have a sexy wuff muse who’s got an ass that won’t quit!”

“Sweet talker! That maw could get you anythin’.” Maxey snuzzled his muzzle to Mac’s left ear as they padded closer to lunchtime, “and I’ll probably let you too!”

Naughty boy!

They’d chosen a little place on the edge of the main park called the Hungry Hound; it had a cute, pub-like sign outside with a picture of a most perturbed looking vulp dashing away from a knife-and-fork wielding dog. It was their favourite haunt, but still got a photo of that too!

There was lots of tail watching to be had along with fresh made sandwiches, posh musk cured meats and ice creams for the traditionalists among them. The wolf’s infectious horniness continued through lunch, although it was little more subtle. Only a little though!

There’d be a sly grin and a fake confused look before Maxey wanted to know more.

“What’s up honey? Hmmmmm?”

A closed eye whimper interrupted Macalla’s attentive nomming on a delicious baguette, as he felt two very deft footpaws play up his leg and rub gently in rhythm against his crotch. The dog sat there hunched over the table with a look on his muzzle that said I’m so gonna get you back for this!

_ _

His mate just went back to sucking suggestively on the straw to his lemonade, a wry look in those bright blue wolven eyes and a tail that batted against the light frame of the chair. The breeze was chilly but fresh, the air full of happy scent and food strong enough to outstrip the sound of the traffic and the march of footpaws.

The happy smell of Maxey’s tail was something that made Macalla linger longer, watching that handsome wolven silhouette as he sat back to digest his lunch; he was looking away into the park, at the swash of the trees in the Indian summer and the gloss moss-green sheen of the lake at its heart.

He had tears in his eyes now; he was fuckin’ dreading the start of the week. How was he, this masculine, dominant dog, going to admit to his horrific failings and find the courage to come out and say that he had been so terribly wrong? He was gonna’ have to beg and beg hard.

“I’m back baby!”

Mac came padding through the door. He’d been out real early Monday morning to collect their photos from the processing place in town.

“Ooo ooo let me see!” His mate came bounding through from the kitchen, bare-chested and shorts almost up his arse; it was more of a belt than anything else.

Thing is, he’d come through from the kitchen so fast that he’d practically pounced into Mac’s big dusky paws, relying on his mate to catch him. He did... just!

“Well hi there!” Cradled in his paws, Maxey looked up at his handsome dog all innocent.

“Well aren’t you just the cutest thing ever, huh?”

“Mhm. You got photos?”

“Uh huh”

“Ooo goody! I’ll get the kettle on and we can look at them together.”

Off he padded, spring in those footpaws like they were a wind-up toy; and there Macalla’s stare lingered again. He had to brush the tears from his muzzle this time and pull himself together; he couldn’t possibly let on. And maybe the guy wouldn’t call again. Maybe he’d just swish his way into another relationship and forget all about what they had planned the other week.

Maxey came back through with two brimming mugs, and ushered his mate to sit with him on the sofa. Footpaws cuddled up onto the cushions, he lay there as Macalla opened the envelope and took out the veritable pile of photographs from their holiday.

There were lots of happy giggles as they gazed at each in turn, and lots of blushing on Maxey’s part; he hid himself all shy in the sofa cushions, mewing as Macalla laughed at those lecherous poses he’d made on the high street and whilst nomming at breakfast, lunch and dinner. The snap-happy dog hadn’t stopped, taking in the morning, noon and that very last kiss goodnight, managing to capture a very sleepy wuff all tuckered out atop the duvet; butt naked of course.

“You sly thing you!” Maxey frowned and snuggled close, clutching at Mac’s left paw and nosing at his neck, “voyeur!”

“Can’t help it. I have a drop dead gorgeous mate to...”

And it was just at that moment the phone rang.

“Oop, I’ll get it!” Off Maxey bounded, leaving Mac with his thoughts and his memories; and his re-surfacing fears. Let it be telemarketing shit or somethin’ he muttered to himself.

“Hello?”

There was a pause for a moment, and a hint of a snorted giggle.

“Hello?”

“Mac there?” It was an abrupt, half-chuckled question.

“Ummm, yeah.” Maxey frowned, “who’s calling?”

“Oh shit, he’s not still stringin’ you along is ‘e!?”

“Wh... what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figures! Tell the lazy fuck to make ‘is mind up or I’m off. You or me, boy. I’m not playin’ second fuckin’ fiddle to some pansy-ass wolf!”

“Excuse me?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Why don’t you ask your precious little boyfriend? Paws alive, I’m fuckin’ fed up with this shit! I figured he’d have at least told you and chucked you out by now.”

Maxey’s jaw dropped; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I won’t hesitate if you walk out you know. I’ll be riding that fat dog dick every night, mark my w....”

And he slammed the phone down, his head turning with an acidic scowl towards the lounge. Maxey padded slowly back to the carpet and the warmth, turning to see Macalla sat there with his head in his paws. It had been almost impossible to miss the yelling and the smell of sadness.

“How... how could you do this to me? After all this time and all I’ve done for you Mac.” The wolf’s ears turned back slowly, wrapping his paws about himself. He suddenly felt so cold and lonely, “I just can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry” It was a tearful murmur that was muffled in his paws, “I... I tried to tell you, but I just tried to convince myself that I could stay and be happy with you. And this holiday...”

Mac turned and looked up at his mate.

“This holiday has been wonderful, it’s made me realise how much I love you. I don’t want ‘im, I never did... it was just a fling, a couple o’ nights.”

There was a shake developing in Maxey’s head, biting his bottom lip as his eyes bore down on someone he could no longer trust.

“I knew it. I just knew it. You always told me I was a silly fuckin’ sod to be so paranoid. But I was right all along.”

“I’m sorry Maxey, I...”

“Who is it?”

“I really don’t...”

“Just tell me!” The wolf snarled, ridging his muzzle, “you owe me that. At least that.”

Macalla slumped back to the sofa, staring straight ahead with drooped ears.

“It’s Owen isn’t it?”

There was a nod and a set of eyes closing out to tears.

“I can’t believe you. I fuckin’ can’t believe you!” Maxey’s voice rose right through the sentence, culminating in a scream that he bellowed into Mac’s left ear, “you held my career back, took my virginity and my generosity, and then you go and fuck the town bike?!”

“I never...” Mac sighed, tears flowing down his muzzle making the dark fur all the darker, “I never meant it to be anything permanent. I wanted you, I still do. It was just a weak moment, a side eff...”

“Oh fuckin’ ‘ell, if you so much as make any connection between this and your distemper, I’m gonna’ fuckin’ kick your ass! I swear, you are the scummiest little slut. You and that sick fox suit each other down to the fucking ground!”

Maxey stormed off up the stairs, bursting into tears as he went.

“I fuckin’ hate you!” It was the last that he heard of him, punctuated only by the slam of the bedroom door and climaxed by the most awkward, painful silence.

Macalla hung his head, his paws clammy on the photographs. He couldn’t look at them anymore; he just wanted to die.

They didn’t see anything of each other for the rest of the day. Maxey had rather the bedroom and starvation than see the muzzle of the guy who cheated on him with that twisted, home-wrecking, red-furred whore. The easygoing day turned in on itself, freezing them apart as morning switched to noon then night, Mac subsisting on his thoughts as he lay on the sofa, tail flopped sadly off the edge. He couldn’t know what the morning would bring.

The house was still dark come 10am. Mac had pulled the curtains shut as he’d tried to get at least a little shut-eye on the sofa; he must’ve fallen asleep. The smells of nothing at all struck his nose, the emptiness and strangely singular scent that hovered about the air; his own. He sat up with a yawn, his tail flicking and stretching.

There was nothing else he could do other than wait for Maxey to emerge, to see whether he could repair what they had. He padded through to the kitchen catching sight of that colourful umbrella now tearful in the downpour, greyscale and blacks making the dune so very barren and industrial.

Mac flicked the kettle on and yawned again, before turning tail to rest against the counter top; and it was then that he saw it. There was a note on the kitchen table, left weighed down by their little alarm clock; it was the one from their bedroom.

Bleary eyed and tired, Macalla read what was scribbled...

Flying out to Canas this morning. I’m taking that job that I turned down just for you. I hope Owen breaks your heart, so you know how it feels!

_ _

PS. I forgot to set the alarm

_ _

And now there were spots of blood dripping onto the paper.