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**Chapter 6 – How To Save A Life

(Content Warning: Homophobia, Depression, F-Slur, NSFW)**

Mikey: So, what are you doing today?

Dill: Rn I’m getting set to take a bath. Gotta look fresh and clean when I head in to work tomorrow.

M: Oh, ok. what do you do?

D: *Sighs* You know the StarBarks, up on 5th St, just down from the Tolliver House?

M: You work at StarBarks ?!

D: Yessss. >.< *Ahem* “Hello, my name is Dylan, I’ll be your barista! What can I get you today? A venti caramel mocha frappuccino? Alright, that’ll be 6 dollars, thank you. What was you name again? Okay!” *Writes ‘Mikail’ on your cup*

M: Jeeeeze, dude, you got that shit on lock lol

D: Damn straight! I’ll fuck up your order with a smile in my heart and the cold dead eyes of food service worker __s the world over.

M: lol

D: But, no, I honestly try to do my job right and make sure everyone has a good day. Unless you’re a dick. Then I might “ accidentally” forget to spell your name right.

M: Fair enough I guess, I’ll remember to not piss you off, next time I’m ordering a… wtaf is a venti caramel mocha frappuccino, anyway?

D: XD I dunno, guess you’ll have to come in and order one and find out. So, what about you? Any plans for tonight?

M: I gotta go to Sunday Dinner with my parents. Dad’s trying to impress some big shot on the city council and wants to show me off.

D: Fuck. I’m sorry. :C

M: Nah, it’s fine. Honestly, if that was the worst I had to put up with, I’d be fine with it.

D: Still, it’s not right. I wish I could help.

M: Thanks. Honestly… Having someone to talk to about it is actually kinda nice. I’ve not ever been able to just… vent about this shit before.

D: Well, glad I can give you an ear. Anytime you need to vent, you can just talk to me. ^.^

M: Thanks, D.

D: ;) Of course~

* * * * *

Dylan stepped out of the bathroom, turning to head down the hall towards the laundry room, his nose working as he smelled the scents of a roast dinner being prepared in the kitchen. The Bee Gees were playing softly throughout the house as he ducked into the laundry room, tossing his bundle of old clothes, towel and washcloth into the machine and turning it on. His fur, even in its current, neatly trimmed state, ready for summer, was still fluffed out and silky, fresh and clean, and he smelled of his favorite vanilla cream shampoo. He was wearing a pair of flannel shorts in a soft blue and white color, bare chested to let his undercoat continue drying. He popped into the kitchen, smiling as he walked over to the woman chopping potatoes at the counter.

Abigail Starr was small, just a hair over 5’3” tall, not counting her ears, one of which flopped over slightly at the tip. It was a small thing, but it gave a hint to her mixed heritage, as her grandmother had been a hound dog of some sort. It had caused something of a stir in Dylan’s great-grandmother’s family, when she had come forward with a coyote as her fiance, but the two had refused to back down, or let bigots and fools dictate how they should live. It wasn’t easy on them, back then, but they had seen it through. He thought about his own Grandma for a moment, and felt a little sad. Of all the people to not accept him, she had been the one who hurt the most, because he’d felt for sure she would understand. Would support him. But, for all that her mother might’ve been a fighter for her time, she was still of her time, and the social and religious norms that she’d been raised with made it clear: Dylan was a sinner, who’s soul was damned to hell if he did not, quite literally, straighten up.

These thoughts may have made his sigh a little heavier than he had meant it to be as he put his arms around his mother and hugged her. She turned, having already been well aware of his presence, he was sure, and hugged him back. “You okay, Dyllie?” She asked, rubbing his back as she leaned back to look at him.

He smiled warmly, nodding. “Yeah, Mom. Just thinking about Grandma.” He said, shrugging slightly. “I wish I could see her again.”

She frowned, patting his arm. “I know, sweetie.” She pursed her lips, silent for a moment. “I keep trying to talk to her, you know?” She said as she turned back to prepping the potatoes for the pot. She was going to make some potato soup, which Dylan didn’t particularly care for, but the potatoes from the soup were always great mashed.

“No. You never told me that.” He said, frowning, as he went and pulled out the loaf of fancy, Italian bread his Mom had bought from Kreeser’s a week ago, getting it and the bread knife, and starting to cut it up for dinner.

“Ohhh, yeah. I don’t think it’s right, and I don’t… I don’t want the next time you two talk to be when it’s too late.” She said, looking down at the potatoes with a soft sigh.

“Oh, Mom.” He said, putting the knife aside and coming over to give her another hug. “I’m sorry.” He said, feeling his throat choke up a bit, only to have her turn and put a finger on his chest.

“None of that! It is not your fault!” She said, sternly, and he stepped back, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “She’ll see reason, I know it.” She said. “We just can’t give up!” She said, smiling up at him again. “Kindness, Dyllie. We just have to remember that.” She said, turning back to the potatoes, and he returned to slicing the bread. Dylan feared she was pursuing a lost cause. It had been seven years since he came out, and his Grandma had barely spoken to him since, and when she did it had not been pleasant. Still, he would be skinned before he tried to turn his mom away from such a hunt. They worked in silence for a bit, getting things ready, before they both wandered into the living room, taking seats on opposite ends of the day bed, currently folded up and acting as a sofa. Abigail turned to look at her son with a small smile on her face. “Speaking of kindness… How did it go, Friday night?”

Dylan blinked, looking up from his phone, and smiled. “I didn’t tell you already?”

“No, sweetie, this is your first time back home all weekend.” She said, chuckling slightly, and he flushed.

“Ohh, jeeze, I’m sorry, Mom.” He said, shaking his head and groaning slightly. She simply waved him off.

“It’s fine, honey! I know you’re safe with your friends, and I want you to be happy. Honestly, I’m still surprised you haven’t moved out, yet.” She said, rolling her eyes, and he laughed.

“In this economy? I’d have to move in with Ash or Tal or someone just to be able to afford rent, anyway.” He said, shrugging, before a soft smile curved up his lips. “Besides, I like to be here if you need help, you know that.” He said, reaching out and taking her hand in his. She smiled warmly.

“You’re a good pup, Dyllie, you always have been.” She said, before taking a breath and squeezing his hand. “Now, stop avoiding the question. Did he do something bad?” She asked, smile turning to a frown at just the thought of her boy being hurt in some way.

Dylan blinked, before laughing and shaking his head. “No! No, not at all, Mom. Actually….” He held up his phone, looking a little bashful. “I was talking to him, just now. He’s having to get ready for dinner at his parents’ house.” He said, smile dying slightly, even as Abigail’s brightened.

“I’m glad to hear it!” She said, squeezing his hand again, before frowning as she noticed the change in his expression. “But you seem a little down, though. What’s the matter?”

Dylan took a breath, biting his lip, and shook his head. “I… I don’t know if I should say, Mom. It’s not my problem to tell.” He said, and she hummed.

“I’m not sure I agree with the whole ‘can’t talk about other people’s problems’ thing you kids have going on. How else is anyone supposed to know if someone needs help?” She said, and Dylan glanced away, before sighing.

“Okay, I’ll… I’ll say this much. His relationship with his parents… especially his Dad, is not… healthy. His Dad has pushed him a lot, pressured him to… do certain things, act certain ways. To be who he wants, as opposed to who Michael wants. It’s like Michael’s happiness doesn’t even matter to the man.” He said, feeling his breathing getting faster, indignation rising in him at the thought.

Abigail frowned, nodding. “I see.” She sighed, before shaking her head, lips curling up to show her teeth. “It’s bull, but it’s the kinda bull this world is full of. Too much so.” She looked at him. “Your father and I, we always agreed… our place in this world was to educate you, not rule you. We didn’t own you, in any way. But, unfortunately, a lot of parents seem to think that’s what having a kid is all about: Is having some little duplicate of yourself that you can push and poke and teach to do the things you want, rather than just giving them the knowledge and tools to find out who they are, for themselves.”

Dylan looked at her, taking a breath as he teared up a little, before leaning over and hugging her tightly, rubbing her back. “… You’re the best, Mom. I mean it.” He said, nuzzling her cheek. She smiled, hugging him back, and kissed his cheek, and he squeezed her. “I am so lucky to have you in my life.” He pulled back, sniffling slightly and smiled. “I love you, Mom, always and forever.”

She smiled back at him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “And I love you, too, son, always and forever.”

* * * * *

“… Well, Michael, that is one hell of a story!” The older human sitting across the table exclaimed, smiling. “The fact that you were able to make that touchdown is astounding!” Walter MacCreary was a man in his mid fifties, at least, graying hair receding back from a wrinkled forehead, while his jowls sagged around a fleshy, wet mouth. He dabbed it with a napkin, wiping the soy sauce off his chin. Michael had personally heard his father refer to the man as a ‘sack of lard’ on more than one occasion. But, MacCreary was also a local bank manager and a member of the Town Council, and David Tsang was nothing if not a political animal, literally and figuratively.

Michael sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It is a hell of a story, Mr. MacCreary, sure, but… we still wound up losing that game.”

“What?! How?!”

“Football is a team sport, Mr. MacCreary. It doesn’t matter how well one individual player does, most of the time. If the team isn’t giving their all that night, there’s not much you can do.”

MacCreary snorted, waving his hand. “Pah! Lazy good for nothings then, if they weren’t following your lead!”

“And that, Walt, is exactly the kind of attitude I’m wanting to see.” David said, leaning forward. “The kind of mentality I’ve been pushing you and your comrades in the Town Council to have! Teamwork! Community! They keep sitting up there, hemming and hawing and wasting time and tax money on public works or ad campaigns, and meanwhile we have places like that damned skate park taking up valuable space! Or that hellhole, Ryan’s, tempting our youth into a life of moral and financial ruin!” The older tiger said, and Michael glanced over at his father. He hadn’t known his father even knew about Ryan’s pub. No sooner did he think this, than it occurred to him that of course David Tsang would know about a place that was supporting the kind of people he despised most. He sighed, softly, glancing down at his plate. How many times had his father spoken of the place, and Michael had simply not paid attention? How many times had it slipped by him, because it was just one more thing his father was complaining about?

“I know, Davy, and I agree with you! You know that!” MacCreary was saying. “But, I mean… we can’t just go around saying that sort of stuff, these days-”

“Why the hell not?!” David demanded, slamming a palm on the table. It was an act, lacking the violence or explosiveness real anger would have had. He meant everything he said, but he was playing it up for his audience. Michael had seen it so many times, and he was so tired of it. “Why can’t we say it when it’s nothing but the truth?! These children running around on the internet, in our streets, boys pretending to be girls, or vice versa, no cares for any sort of social status or structure! They’re too soft! One wrong word and they break down crying, all while they’re trying to tear apart the fabric of our country! The morals and righteousness that saw my family through the hardships of working on the railroad! We helped to build this nation, Walt, and now I have to sit here and watch these queers and liberals try to rip it all down again!”

Michael felt like his teeth might actually break, from how hard he was clenching them, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from showing his fangs. He couldn’t stop the tip of his tail from twitching back and forth, as his stress levels rose. He felt like there was a lump in his throat, that was wanting to come out, though whether in the form of vomit or as words, he wasn’t sure. And, he also wasn’t sure what form they might take, if it was the later.

“I agree!” MacCreary assured, leaning back a bit, eyes wide at the vehemence of David’s display, even as he was smiling slightly. “God damn, but I agree, David! Why, oh, why you won’t put in your name for the council, I do not understand. Shit, with you on board, we might could get something done about all this shit going wrong in this town!” He looked towards Michael with a smile. “Especially with our own college football champ here on our side! Why, we could go far with you as our face, Michael, and your father’s voice and ideas and my clout!”

Michael’s head spun, as he looked up, feeling his eye twitch, and his mouth opened. He felt his throat almost seem to swell with the words he was holding back. He suddenly stood up, fast enough his chair squeaked loudly on the floor in the sudden silence. “Excuse me.” He said, swallowing roughly. “I need to use the restroom.” He turned without really waiting for a reply and walked away, quickly. He took the stairs two at a time as he went up, almost running by the time he reached the upstairs hallway, and rushed into the restroom next to his bedroom, shutting the door and locking it, before leaning his back against it. His heart pounded in his chest as he sucked in air as fast as he could, his lips tingling slightly. He staggered over to the sink and leaned over it, squeezing his eyes shut.

Why are you upset? Isn’t this a good thing? You could help him, get his attention, his affect-

“I don’t want his attention!” He snarled, under his breath, putting his head in his hands and leaning over, almost sobbing with how hard he was breathing. “I just- Want- To be-” His voice caught, choking on each word almost as he gasped. He stepped aside, practically falling onto the toilet, sitting there, his elbows on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He tried to calm himself down, even as he heard that voice in his head.

What’s the point? Why fight it? You’re fucked anyway. Any day now, he’s gonna get a phone call, or a letter, from the Dean, and then the gig is up. He’ll know, and you’re ass is out in the gutter, with no one and nothing to help you.

“No, no, no, nonono!” He silently screamed into his clenched hands, rocking back and forth, shaking on the stool. What was he supposed to do? No matter what he did, he was doomed. No matter where he turned, all he could see was a cage, rolling along the ground until it fell over a cliff face, and no one was going to catch it, no one would stop it. No one was going to-

The vibration from under his butt nearly made him jump through the roof. He staggered to his paws, reaching back and finding his phone in his back pocket, on vibrate to not interrupt dinner, where it had been all night. He felt a strange shot of hope and adrenaline course through him, as he scrambled to open up the phone. It was just some notification from one of his apps, and he sighed, leaning against the wall, nearly sobbing again. Before he looked at his phone once more, biting his lip.

You can’t tell him! What would your father think?! What would he do ?!

Michael stood there, struggling to breathe, before opening his texts up. He thought about calling, but he would be damned to hell before he let anyone hear him like this. So, he texted, instead.

‘Hey D could we talk tomorrow? Maybe at Ryans? Please?’

He slowly slumped down, until he was sitting on the side of the tub. His breathing was starting to calm down a bit, but now he was shaking like a leaf, like he was freezing to death, but at the same time he felt hot, all over, like his skin was on fire under his fur, especially on his head and face. He reached up, rubbing his cheeks and muzzle and groaned.

He pounced on his phone the minute he felt the vibration, opening it up to see a response waiting for him.

‘Sure, Michael. What is it? Are you okay?’

Michael bit back a sob, seeing the message, and took a shaking breath again, nodding. “No.” he said, softly, but shook his head.

‘Fine. I just need to talk to you in person about something. Something I need to-’

He stopped, unsure how to continue, and wound up just leaving it at

‘Fine. I just need to talk to you in person about something.’

He hit send and leaned back against the wall beside the tub, breathing in and out slowly, feeling himself starting to relax as he thought about it. He could tell Dylan. He had already told him most of it, so he could tell him this. Maybe he could help. And if not, at least someone would know. Someone who cared.

Does he care? Why would he care about you? Why-

That voice began speaking again, making Michael frown, before the image of Dylan’s face came into his mind, smiling at him and telling him he accepted his apology. That he would help him.

“He cares.” He said, softly, closing his eyes. He jerked at a knock on the door, his breath instantly catching as fear spiked through him, but the knock had been soft, gentle, and his mother’s voice soon came through the wood.

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?” Mei Tsang said, voice muffled. She was a sweet enough woman, and Michael knew she cared for him… but she was as traditionally minded as her husband was. A woman’s place was to serve her husband, nothing more. And so she did, without question, but with more than a bit of fear, just as Michael had for so long.

Michael felt his phone vibrate and looked down at it. ‘Sure thing, Mike, I get off work tomorrow around 3:30, so any time after that, we could meet. I hope everything’s alright.’

“Michael?” His Mother’s voice, through the door again.

He took a breath, looking at the time Dylan said he’d be free, and took a breath, nodding. “Okay. I’m okay, Mom!” He said, loudly. “Sorry! I just… I think I’m feeling a bit sick, tonight.” He got up, pocketing his phone, and walked over, opening the door. Mei stepped back, clasping her hands in front of herself, and looked at him worriedly. David often commented that she must be where Michael got his small stature from. While most male tigers easily topped out above six-feet, with David standing at an average for the species around six-four, Mei Tsang was positively tiny even for a tigress, coming in at only about five-foot-six. She wore a simple pantsuit in muted, drab colors, her fur neatly trimmed, combed and scented, light makeup making her blue eyes stand out. Such an odd color, for tigers, who usually tended towards yellow or orange eyes. Michael had gotten his eyes from her, a cool, soft shade of aquamarine.

Michael took a breath, letting it out, as she tilted her head in concern. “Sorry, Mom. Can you please tell Dad I’m sorry. I just… I’m not feeling well, tonight, is all.” He said, looking down and away from her.

“… Are you sure, sweetie?’ She asked, softly, and her hand reached out, hovering in the air near his arm, and he looked at it, then to her face. “You can tell me, if something is bothering you, you know?”

He stared at her, licking his lips, hand shaking slightly.

My father is a controlling, racist, speciest homophobe who stands for everything I am beginning to hate, in the world and in myself, and I feel like I’m falling apart and being dragged down to die at rock bottom, in a world full of people that don’t want me and cannot love me. Like there is an anchor around my leg, pulling me under to drown under the weight of everything I can’t say and I’m not supposed to feel. That I just want to die, sometimes, rather than have to feel this way anymore. That even just a casual touch makes me react like I’ve been hit, because that’s half what I’m expecting-

“Mike?” She asked, softly, worry in her eyes. He blinked, coming out of his thoughts, and looked at her, chest rising and falling, face almost blank, except for the sad, tired look in his eyes. He smiled, awkwardly, the corners of his mouth looking like they had to be forced up, before he nodded.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really. I just… need some rest.”

She took a breath, and let it out, her own eyes turning sad as she nodded. “…Alright, son. I’ll let him know.” She said, letting her hand fall away, finally, as she stepped back. She turned walking down the hall, and he watched her go, face falling again. She paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at him, but silhouetted as she was against the light from below, he couldn’t make out her expression. He forced another, smaller smile, which did not last near as long, as she turned and walked downstairs.

He turned and made his way to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him, and walked over to his bed. He kicked off his shoes, but didn’t bother with anything else, before he collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing down on him as he rolled over. He took the pillow laying beside him and pulled it close to him, squeezing it tight to his chest. He lay there for a long time, before sleep found him. He would never admit to anyone that he was crying.

* * * * *

Dylan thought about stopping by his Mom’s place to change clothes after work, but something in Michael’s texts the night before had seemed off to him. Like whatever the tiger was wanting to talk about was more important than he was letting on. So, instead, he simply popped into the bathroom at work and took off his apron and the black button-up he was wearing, putting them both in his bag and leaving himself just wearing the tie dye tank top he kept under the shirt, and the black skinny jeans. He would follow the rules so far as he had to, to get by, but he’d be damned if he let some corporate overlord completely own his body and soul. He also took his earrings out of the bag and put them back on. His other piercings were typically covered up by the shirt he wore, so no one really said anything, if they even knew he had them. Lastly, he slipped his toe ring on and put his choker around his neck, the latter made of three hemp cords, decorated with turquoise beads and a pendant of a moon. Smiling as he looked in the mirror, combing his head fur back with his fingers, he nodded, taking a breath, and stepped out of the bathroom a free ‘yote.

The drive to Ryan’s didn’t take long and if it hadn’t been for needing to get home later, he would have likely just walked the two blocks up Tolliver Street to the pub. He pulled into the parking lot, turning off the radio as he glanced over and saw Michael’s Charger parked closer to the front door. He got out and walked up, running a hand along the mural on the wall as he did so, smiling at the bright colors. He stopped, though, frowning, as he saw a mar on the wall, a dark splotch among all the happy, proud colors: Black spray paint, used to crudely draw the word FAGS in large, bold lettering down one side, right across the yellow stripe in the Pride flag. He frowned at it, tapping one paw, before deciding to let one of the Ryans know about it, as soon as he saw one. He wondered if Ash would have to strip the paint from the wall to fix it.

Sometimes, he wondered why he bothered staying in this town, but he knew the answer. He could say it was because his Mom was here, and he wasn’t going to leave her by herself. He could also say it was because this was where his friends were, the people he loved and trusted with his life and soul. He could say it was where he was born, and he had roots here. He could say any one of those things, and they’d be true, but they weren’t the real reason he wouldn’t leave. The real reason was pure and simple, unfiltered, raw spite. He would be damned if he admitted defeat to these sorts of pathetic, childish displays of hatefulness that the redneck idiots of Deepwater loved to perform in an attempt to get rid of the things that made them uncomfortable. He refused to let them win, and that’s all there was to it.

Imagine being so insecure that someone offends you by their simple existence. And they say we’re too sensitive!

He walked inside, spying Cliff talking with a customer, an athletic looking female canine anima, at a table near the door. She was tall, taller than Cliff by an inch or so, with thick blonde-white fur, one ear hanging flopped over while the other was perked, attentively. She was wearing a tank-top and gym shorts, both showing off a lot of fur, and the strong muscle underneath it. The pair seemed a bit intent on their conversation, so Dylan headed for the bar, instead, seeing Erin. The coyote walked up and waved to the petite stoat girl, who walked over. “Hey, Dee.” She said, smiling. “The usual?”

“Sure, Erin. Hey, uh, do you know about-”

“The fuckin’ artistic masterpiece painted over the face of our proud establishment by Deepwater’s finest savants? Yeah, we know. Dad took Ash to the craft shop to get some paint and supplies. I think big brother has some plans, for how to deal with it.” She said, smirking as she reached into a cooler and grabbed a bottle of light beer, popping the cap off and passing it over the bar to Dylan, who took it, giving her a salute.

“Well, if Ash has a plan, I can’t wait to see it. Slainte!” He said, and the two shared a grin, before the stoat glanced over, hearing a call from the far end of the bar.

“Hey, uh, your… friend? That guy who was in here last week and tried to start shit? He’s waiting for you in the Northeast corner.” Erin said, mouth thin. “I know Ash said he seemed like a chill enough guy, now, but you make sure to give a holler if you need help, got it?”

“Okay, thanks, Erin. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Dylan said, waving the girl off to deal with her other customers before they got impatient, and made his way through the bar to the Northeast booth. He saw Michael before he got there, leaning over a glass of whiskey, looking at it with a pensive expression on his face. It reminded Dylan of the first night he’d seem him in here, and he felt his pace pick up, and worry needle at his mind. He’d seemed to be doing better, even just yesterday when they’d talked, he’d seemed lighter, happier. Something must have happened at dinner last night with his parents, it was the only thing the coyote could think of that would cause the other man to once again be looking like this.

He stepped into the booth, slowing down as Michael looked up, blinking, and a smile did try to quirk up one corner of his mouth. But, there was a worry, a stress on his face that spoke of something eating at him. Dylan slipped into the booth across from him, laying his bag down nearby, as Michael spoke.

“Hey, Dylan. Thanks for showing up.”

“Of course.” Dylan said, smiling softly. “Has something happened, Michael?” He asked, leaning forward, hands in front of him, beer set aside while he focused on the man across from him.

“No. Yes.” The man shook his head, showing his teeth briefly as he glanced aside, before taking a breath. “Not… really? Nothing new, I just… Mmm.” He pressed his lips together, looking down at his glass, frowning.

Dylan reached across the table, laying his hand on the oak wood surface, polished smooth from years of being passing hands and glasses. Michael ran his thumb along the edge of his glass, looking at the canine’s hand, resting gently near his arm. Close, but not touching. Not without permission. He tapped the glass on the table a couple of times, taking a breath and letting it out slowly.

“You remember… what I told you, yesterday, about… my Dad, and how he…?” He said, slowly, hesitantly. Blue eyes flicked up to look at Dylan, fear hiding behind their cool, gentle surface, like a shark waiting just below the waves. Dylan nodded, and the tiger swallowed, throat working. “Well, he knows, that she left me. That Kelly left me. He told me, he’d known for a week. But, he wasn’t mad… not at me. He said… said she didn’t know what she was missing. That… That he’d find me ‘someone better’.” He said, mouth twisting bitterly.

Dylan frowned, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought. A partnership was a special thing. Love was something you couldn’t force, that you couldn’t arrange for. It just happened. No one had the right to tell anyone else who they could and could not love, or who they should be with. “Michael….” He said, softly, but the tiger held up a hand.

“That’s not… It’s fine.” He said, taking a breath and sighing, shaking slightly as he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a drink.

“It is not fine, Michael! He can’t do that, it’s repulsive! It-”

“Dylan.” Michael said, voice hard.

“No, Michael, I-I understand that it’s your life, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of-”

“They cut me from the team.”

Michael’s words put a stop to Dylan’s indignant tirade, leaving the booth hanging in silence, so heavy it felt oppressive. Dylan blinked, mouth open for a minute, before frowning. “W-What?”

The tiger looked into his glass, throat working as he swallowed nothing once again. “The football team, they cut me, last week before I came home.” He said, voice soft, stony, face expressionless but for a sadness around his eyes. “… Cut me from the team, and… and suspended me, from college.”

Dylan sat, looking at him, blinking. “But… You were always so good, though! Why?” He said, leaning on the table, looking at the other man.

Michael took a breath, sighing it out through his nose and looking away. “…. Kelly broke up with me, and I… I started going downhill, ya know? Couldn’t stop thinking about it… worrying about what my Dad was going to say, going to do.” He swallowed, taking another drink, licking his lips as he looked back down at his glass. “… You know the worst part?” He asked, looking up, fearful and hesitant, still. Dylan shook his head slowly, biting his lip. His ears were perked, all his attention focused on the man across from him. The tiger took a breath and let it out, looking back down at his glass. “Nobody said a damn thing. Not the coach, not the rest of my team… and why would they? I acted like an ass to all of them, like I was better than them. I was a dickhead, a piece of shit.” He slumped in his seat, slowly, as though a weight were pushing him down into the upholstered cushion.

“… C-Can I touch you?” Dylan asked, softly. Michael blinked, looking at him. He opened his mouth, glancing around, almost looking… afraid. But then, slowly, he nodded. Dylan reached out, gently, resting his hand on the other man’s arm. Nothing more than that, just a touch. Michael took a shaking breath, and sat up, rolling his shoulders and taking another drink. But he didn’t pull his arm away.

“… None of them said anything, until one day… We had just finished practice, I was in a shit fucking mood, and our running back comes in. Dwight, big dumb fucking bull… Shit, that… That came out wrong, I just….” he ducked his head, rubbing his temples.

“What did he do?” Dylan asked, choosing not to say anything about the mildly speciest remark.

“… He asked if… if I thought he had a shot, with Kelly.” He said, lowering his hand and looking at Dylan.

The coyote sat back, mouth open in shock. “… What? In what world did he think that was okay?!”

Michael looked up at him, and his mouth quirked, almost smiling. Something of the look in his face… it made it clear he hadn’t really expected Dylan to feel that way. The coyote gently squeezed his arm, shaking his head. “What did you do?” He asked, having a feeling he already knew.

Michael flushed slightly, and Dylan saw his jaw twitch as he gritted his teeth, looking down at his glass. “… I broke his jaw.” He said, flexing the fingers on his right hand. He sighed. “And… Well. That kind of thing isn’t looked at too kindly, turns out. Neither by my coach, Dwight’s family OR the Dean.” He sat there, shaking slightly, still. Dylan could feel how tense he was through his arm, his fur standing on end. When he looked up at the coyote again, the fear was there, lurking in his eyes. “… I’m… I… I’m terrified, Dylan.” He said, turning away and growling, even as his voice tried to break. He reached up, angrily swiping at his eyes, pulling his arm away in the process. “Fuck!”

Dylan frowned, biting his lips, and chose to push on, instead of bringing attention to the tiger’s tears. “Of your Dad?” He asked, and Michael nodded without looking at him.

“Yeah.” He said, clearing his throat roughly, as though trying to dislodge the lump Dylan could hear in his voice. “… Any day now, I know, he’s gonna find out. Maybe… Maybe a letter, something from Dwight’s parents. Maybe a call from the Dean… But he’ll find out, and… And he’s not going to forgive this. Not like he did Kelly leaving. He won’t blame anyone else, he’ll… he’ll blame me. And he’ll… he’ll throw me out, and I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have a job, he paid for everything and I was in college on a tuition! I lived in the dorms! I don’t have friends I can stay with, or family… I’m just so… fuck! I’m so scared, that I’m gonna… I’m gonna wind up starving in a gutter somewhere, with no where to go and nothing I can do!” He said, and by the end of it, try as he might, he couldn’t hide that he was in tears. He was still trying to fight it, still trying to sit up straight and suck it up, but it was clear just how badly this was effecting him. Dylan didn’t even need three years of Psychology to tell that.

He sat, watching this man, who had always seemed so confident, so strong, even when he was making Dylan’s life hell. This man that Dylan had been frightened of for so long, had hated. He watched him, now, trying desperately to cling on to his pride, his strength, and to fight off the tears that were running down his cheeks. Tears of frustration, fear, despair….

Dylan reached over and pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser. He held them out to the tiger, who looked down at them, swallowing roughly, before reaching out and taking them. “That’s not going to happen, Michael.” Dylan said, sternly. The tiger paused, looking at him, before frowning and looking away, wiping his face.

“Oh, yeah? And you just know that, how?” He asked, bitterly.

“For one… I don’t think he would do that.” Dylan said. “I’m not saying he’s not an asshole, or a piece of shit, he clearly is, but… Why wouldn’t he just blame the school? Or Dwight? He’d be more likely, I’d think, to go bitch them out and demand that they take you back.”

“And what if he doesn’t, huh? You don’t know him, Dylan!” Michael said, looking at the canine with desperation. “If I’m not perfect, I… he’ll… he….” He looked down, blinking rapidly. “Fuck.” He said, grimacing, showing his teeth as he looked away.

Dylan took a breath, reaching out and laying his hand near Michael’s again. “Michael… If it does happen, I promise you won’t be in the gutter.” He said.

“Where else would I have to go? What, the YMCA or some shit?” Michael asked, looking up at him, shaking his head, expression pleading and bitter at the same time, hopeless, yet wanting more than anything to believe there was some other alternative. So, Dylan would give him one.

“That’s an option.” He said, watching Michael sneer. “… Or, you can come stay at my and my Mom’s place.” He said. Michael blinked, looking at him, and Dylan could see the gears turning, see him looking at him mistrustfully, as though expecting some sick joke or trap. “We have a day bed in the living room. We usually use it as a sofa, it’s only there if Mandy or Troy want to stay over for a night. It wouldn’t hurt anything for you to sleep there.”

Michael sat there, blinking rapidly as his brain tried to process that Dylan was being sincere. He shook his head, looking down. “I-I couldn’t… No, I couldn’t do that.” He said, licking his lips, eyes wide as he took a drink with a shaking hand.

“Michael? If that happens, and I don’t think it will, but if it does, you call me. Okay? Don’t hesitate, and me or my Mom will be there to pick you up as soon as we can.” Dylan said, meeting the tiger’s eyes. “I promise you, Michael. I would never let a friend suffer like that.”

Michael froze for a second, his whole body going still, as he stared at Dylan, into his eyes. Dylan could see the tiger’s mind racing, as his eyes flicked back and forth, focusing on one of the coyote’s eyes, then the other, then looking at his mouth, then his eyes, as though trying to connect his words with his intention. He swallowed roughly, clearing his throat. “… A-Are you sure your Mom would be okay with that?”

“It’ll be fine, I have friends over to stay a lot. And, if she knew you had no where to go, she’d insist. ‘Everyone deserves kindness’, remember? That was her, who taught me that.” The canine said, smiling gently, and Michael looked away, catching his breath, reaching up to cover his mouth with a shaking hand.

The tiger sat for a moment, looking away, and Dylan picked up his beer, taking his first sip of it as he let the other man compose himself. As it was, he barely heard the man speak, when he did. “… Friends?” Michael said, so softly, it was like he was afraid the word would break if said with any more force.

Dylan looked back at him. “I’m sorry?” he asked, gently, and Michael cleared his throat, glancing back at him from the side of his eye.

“… Are… Do you… Are we… really friends, though?” He asked, voice still quiet, hesitant, uncertain.

Dylan bit his lip, before reaching out his hand again, laying it down gently on the table. “… I would like us to be, Michael.” He said, gently. “… Would you like to be?”

Michael took a breath, looking into his eyes, before looking down at his hand. He hesitated, before reaching over. He didn’t take it, didn’t hold it or anything like that. He simply tapped the side of his hand against Dylan’s, lingering for only a second, before pulling away. But it was his choice to touch him, to make that contact, and Dylan felt his heart swell at the tiny gesture, even as the tiger looked up at him, bottom lip held firmly in his teeth for a moment before he spoke. “… Yeah.” He said. That was all. Nothing more, but it said more than a soliloquy.

They sat for a moment, as the tiger tried to process things, and the coyote gave him the space and time he needed to do so. Dylan got a text on his phone as he was sitting there, and opened it up to find it was from his Mom.

‘Everything alright, Bucky?’

He smiled, tapping back. ‘Yeah, Mom. Just talking with Michael. He has some stuff going on, right now and needed someone to listen.’

A moment later, her response came through. ‘I’m proud of you, hon. Love you, always and forever!’ This was followed by a string of heart emojis and a hugging one, and Dylan smiled wider, responding in kind. He looked up to see Michael looking at him, a curious look on his face, almost a smile. Dylan grinned. “My Mom.” He said, holding the phone up. “Just checking on me.”

Michael frowned, still smiling. “… She cares about you a lot?”

Dylan nodded. “Of course she does.” He said, watching the tiger looking down at his glass. Dylan bit his lip, thinking, before taking a breath. “Hey…? You, uh… you wanna go somewhere? Just, like, hang out, have fun? Get your mind off of things?”

Michael looked up at him, frowning slightly. “Like… w-what do you mean? Like-”

“N-Not a date! God, no! Sorry!” Dylan said, waving his hands and shaking his head. “No, no, nothing like that! I… Michael, you genuinely do not need to worry about that, with me.” He said, seeing the tiger sighing in relief a bit.

“What do you mean?” He asked, and Dylan shrugged.

“I don’t flirt with straight guys. All it does is reinforce negative stereotypes and waste everyone’s time.” He said, firmly. “I will not ever do that to you, I promise.”

Michael looked at him, before taking a breath and nodding. “Okay. Okay, Dylan, I trust you.”

Dylan smiled, nodding. “Thank you.” He said. “So… What about it? Just to hang out, relax? You came with me and my friends to a place we go to, for that. Is there somewhere you would like to go, that’s like that for you?”

Michael sat there for a moment, chewing his lip, thinking, before a look came over his face. He actually blushed slightly, glancing away and shifting in his seat awkwardly. He glanced at Dylan, who looked at him, curiosity peaked now. “… You’re gonna laugh at me.”

* * * * *

The pair of them were down by the marina, on what locals called ‘The Boardwalk’, a string of tourist traps, gift shops, small theaters, food places and other entertainment venues for the folks that came to spend their time and money on the lake. Dylan had driven them here in his Nissan, promising to bring Michael back to his Charger when they were done, and they were now parked in front of a low, single-story building, plain construction with an off-white siding that was weathered to a dirty tan color by age. The sign across the top was still bright and noticeable, though, six letters, black on white backgrounds, announcing the purpose and name of the place.

“The Arcade? Really?” Dylan asked, glancing over at Michael, who looked away, flushing.

“Shut up, Dill Pickle.” He said, before clearing his throat and looking back at him. “Uh… I mean… Look, just… This place was like an escape, back when I was younger. Freshman, sophomore years, when my Dad was starting to get really into pushing me on football, I used to come here every weekend, to escape all that shit, for one day out of the week.”

Dylan had pressed his lips together a bit, at the nickname, but now he was frowning, curiously. “You came here every weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit! I came here every weekend, I never saw you!” The coyote said, shaking his head.

The tiger frowned. “I did! Every Saturday!”

Dylan stared for a second, before nodding in realization. “Ohhh, shit! I came on Sunday, after church.”

“I had to be at home that day, to help make Sunday dinner.” Michael said. “Plus, some weekends, I had games on Sunday night and couldn’t do either.” He snorted, looking back up at the building, a strange smile on his face. “Imagine we were that close to running into each other here.”

Dylan fidgeted. “Yeah….”

Michael looked over at him, frowning. “What is it?”

“To be honest, I’m glad we didn’t. It sucked enough, when I stopped having the money to come here. I wouldn’t have come back, if I ever ran into you, here, back then.” Dylan said, and Michael frowned.

“… Yeah, I guess I understand that.” He said, sighing. Dylan looked up at him, before giving him a small smile.

“It’s okay, though. Those days are behind us, now. Come on.” He said, getting out of the car. The pair of them walked up and entered the arcade, instantly hearing the sounds of the games, classic rock playing over the radio while people from the ages of thirteen and fourteen all the way up to thirty played games, snacked, chatted and hung out. “So, what was your favorite game, then?” The coyote asked, curious, expecting it to be Mavven or FEEF or some other sports game.

Michael grinned, looking around. “Easy. Alley Brawler II: Turbo Deluxe.” He said, and Dylan turned to look at him, mouth open slightly, as the tiger spoke, voice soft with nostalgia. “… Honestly, I spent way too much time and energy, not to mention money, on that game. Me and some other dork just as obsessed had this rivalry going on. Never met him, probably some sweaty thirty year old living in his Mom’s basement. Whenever I came in on Saturday, he was always sitting on the top of the scoreboard. So, I’d spend half the day knocking him back down again. Next week, he’d be right back up there-”

“No.” Dylan said, and Michael stopped, turning to look at him. The coyote was staring at him, mouth open in a look of total shock. “There’s no fucking way, Michael.”

The tiger looked at him, frowning, before realization started to dawn, and he shook his head. “No! You…?!”

“You were MLT?!” Dylan exclaimed, a grin starting to spread over his face.

“And you were… Oh, fuck, what was it?! Uhh… W… WEC! That was you?!”

Dylan sighed, laughing, before rolling his eyes. “Fuck! Yeah, yeah! ‘Wile E. Coyote’.” He said, letting out a huff of breath in amusement as he looked at Michael.

“Oh, my fucking god, really bro?” The tiger said, laughing.

“Well, shit, what did yours stand for? It… Wait, it wasn’t just your name was it?!”

Michael flushed. “N-No!” He exclaimed, a little too quickly.

“Oh, my God, it was, wasn’t it?” Dylan said, grinning as he leaned forward. “What’s the L stand for?”

Michael crossed his arms, lips pursed, face so red it was visible through his fur. Dylan lifted an eyebrow, leaning closer, and Michael leaned back, growling under his breath, before sighing. “… Leonard.”

“Leonard?!” Dylan exclaimed, laughing. “Your name is Michael Leonard Tsang?!”

“Gah, fuck off, dude!” Michael said, rolling his eyes and stepping away. There was a small smile on the corner of his mouth though, as he looked back at Dylan. The coyote took a moment to get his mirth under control, before looking around, and spying just the thing he was hoping to see.

“Come on, then, Leonard.” He said, and the tiger glared at him, even as he fell into step beside him.

“Do not call me that!” He said, and Dylan laughed, as he stopped, turning to face the cat and leaned on the arcade machine they’d found themselves in front of.

Alley Brawler II: Turbo Deluxe.

“Fight me for it.” The coyote said, grinning as the tiger looked at the machine. Michael stepped up, resting his hands on the old controls, instantly finding them comfortable and familiar, as his fingers came to rest just how they knew.

“Who was your main?” He asked, glancing at Dylan, who smirked.

“Kammi.”

“Kammi?!” Michael blurted, incredulous.

“Yeah! What’s wrong with that!?” Dylan asked, grinning at the look of utter shock on the tiger’s face.

“How did you ever get top spot playing her?!” Michael exclaimed.

“Oh, so who was your main, then? Belrok?” Dylan asked, and Michael gritted his teeth, flushing again. “Oh, my God, really? The meta game? You are such an NPC.”

“Okay, Wiley, put your money where your mouth is, then!” Michael said, gesturing to the machine.

* * * * *

Three hours later, the two came walking out of the arcade, much poorer in coin, but richer in experience, as Dylan was giggling like a schoolgirl at Michael’s shell shocked expression. “How?” The tiger asked, dumbfounded.

“”It’s not just about the character, Mikey!” Dylan said, and Michael glanced over at him. “You’ve not played in a while, I take it?” The tiger shook his head, and Dylan shrugged. “I play AB6 with Ash and Tal all the time. Not quite the same, I know, but still close enough that I’m not rusty, unlike you.” He said. “You didn’t do too bad, for having not played in so long, though, you only lost… what was it again?” he asked, tapping his chin, hip cocked to the side. It was a pose that he seemed to take without thinking, that accentuated the curve of his waist, the swell of his hip.

Michael cleared his throat, looking away and sighed, almost groaning. “… I won thirty-seven out of a hundred.” He said.

“See, not too bad.” Dylan said, reaching over and patting the tiger’s shoulder. Michael felt a buzz of electricity through his shirt, a sensation of heat that, while intense, wasn’t quite burning. He still flinched a bit, and Dylan immediately pulled back. “Shit! Sorry!”

Michael cleared his throat, looking away. “It’s fine. You… it’s fine.” He said, uncomfortable, reaching up to rub his shoulder. He waved it off. “You already said you won’t bite my head off if I slip up and call you ‘Dill Pickle’.” He said, shrugging. “So… I won’t be angry if you… touch me like that, occasionally, on accident.”

Dylan sighed. “Right, right. Thank you.” He said, looking sorrowful, still. “I just… I was doing pretty good about that, I thought.”

“You have been!” Michael said, smiling at him. “Really, you have. Come on, let’s get back to my car. I gotta get home.” He said, sighing, face falling slightly.

“Hey, Michael?” Dylan said, as they got into his little car. “Did you… have fun, today, at least?”

Michael thought about it, and smiled. “Yeah, actually.” He said, nodding. “I did. And I still can’t fucking believe that we were playing each other on that game for so long, and never even knew it.”

“I know! It’s crazy!” Dylan said, grinning. The two continued chatting about the game, about strats and tricks, and the characters they’d always hated having to go against (Geef, for both of them, without question) as Dylan drove them back to Ryan’s. As they pulled in, Michael glanced up out of the windshield, and frowned.

“What the fuck?” He asked, as he saw Ash and Taliesin standing outside, the latter taking a puff from a vape as they were doing something to the mural on the wall.

“Oh, shit! I forgot, yeah.” Dylan said, before clearing his throat. “Someone… Someone tagged over the mural, at some point. Erin told me Ash had a plan for how to fix it.” He said, climbing out of the car, after putting it in park and killing the engine. Michael got out, too, frowning as he followed the canine up to the wall. When he saw the ‘tagging’, as Dylan had put it, his fist clenched, along with his teeth. And yet, he immediately felt… confused.

It wasn’t that voice speaking from inside. He’d noticed he’d been having that issue less and less, the last couple of days, ever since that night at Amplify. No, it was rather because, on the one hand, he wanted to be angry at the use of the word, but on the other, it was impossible to be, given what had been done to that word: Ash and Tal were currently in the process of incorporating it into the mural, giving it a fuzzed, rainbow border, as though it was in motion, and covering it in little butterflies, stars and there was even a little blue unicorn with a rainbow mane and tail prancing on top of it. “Jesus.” He said, looking at it. “What… the fuck?” He said, trying to not laugh.

Ash, dressed in a micro skirt and tank top, pointed his finger at Michael, grinning. “That! That is exactly the reaction I want!” He said, nodding.

“Oh, my God, Ash.” Dylan said, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking genius, I swear.”

“I’d’ve thought you all would’ve wanted to get rid of it.” Michael said, frowning, even as the sight of what they’d done kept making him want to grin.

Tal took another puff on his vape, the smell of the cloud he blew out enough to tell Michael it was not nicotine he had in the tank, before smirking. “See, that’s what we count on, but that word is ours now.” He said, grinning with a cock of his hip. “And what better way to show it? Words only have the power we give them. Doesn’t mean a straight guy like you can go around saying it.” He said, pointing a finger at Michael. “But, hey… maybe if you keep being as chill as you were the other night, you can get the Pass.” He said, winking.

Michael frowned slowly. “I… I don’t think I want that pass.” He said, taking a breath and looking back at the word, feeling himself clenching his jaw at even just the thought of saying it.

Tal looked at him a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough, bro. Better that, than the alternative.” He said, smiling. Ashley, meanwhile, was looking between Dylan and Michael, an odd look on his face. The stoat leaned over, smiling, towards Dylan.

“Sooo… Where have you two been?” He asked, eyes darting between them.

“Oh, uh.” Dylan said, blinking and looking at the stoat like a deer caught in the headlights.

“We were at the Arcade, down on the marina.” Michael said, smiling as he saw Dylan’s surprised glance. He guessed the coyote wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with talking about it. “Dylan was teaching me not to judge someone’s main in AB2.” He said, huffing out a soft laugh, and Ash started laughing.

“Oh, shit!” Tal said, grinning. “Another man learns to fear the Songbird’s ‘Spiral Arrow’ of doom!”

“Honestly. I never realized how shit I was at defending against aerials.” Michael said, shaking his head.

“You’re not shit, you’re just out of practice!” Dylan insisted, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway. It was fun, and nice to see you two, again.” Michael said, turning. “I gotta get home. See y’all Friday?” he asked, looking back, and Ash and Tal glanced at Dylan, who smiled, rubbing his neck.

“Oh, uh, I… kinda invited him to come with us again.” Dylan said.

Ash rolled his eyes, laughing. “Man, you’re getting good at doing that without asking! Not that I mind! I’m looking forward to it, Mikey!” The bubbly stoat said, grinning and waving. “I’m totes gonna make you sing the girliest fucking song I can, this time, though!”

Tal laughed. “He means it! See you then, man!” He said, giving Michael a thumbs up. The tiger smiled at them, before looking at Dylan, seeing a happy grin on the canine’s face. He waved to him, and the ‘yote waved back, before the tiger climbed into his car. He pulled out, Shinedown playing on the radio, and headed for home.

* * * * *

(CW: NSFW AHEAD!)

After dinner, where he’d had to hear his Dad going on about his plans to try for a place on the Town Council later this year, Michael had managed to make his excuses and head upstairs. He’d cleaned up, and gone to bed, as he had every night so far, thinking exhaustion would drag him under. But, instead, for the first time since Kelly left him, he had found himself fidgeting. His mind turning over and over, while his fingers almost ached.

He ran them through the fur of his belly, feeling it, soft and warm against his own touch, and he felt himself stirring, inside the shorts he was wearing. “Fuck.” He muttered. He wasn’t sure why he was so worked up, tonight. Maybe it was just that this was the first night in a long time that he hadn’t felt so depressed he couldn’t think. In fact, he was in a pretty good mood, tonight, enough that his Dad had even commented on it, when he first came into the dining room after getting home. He’d managed to play it off that he was just feeling better after being sick the night before. But the truth was, he’d had fun today, without any concerns or worries beyond just… enjoying himself. And it had felt so freeing to tell Dylan about his problems. About the real worries he had. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and his soul. So what if he… had maybe cried a little. Dylan hadn’t said anything, hadn’t judged him.

He thought about the coyote’s offer. That, should the worst come to pass, and his Dad threw him out, he could come and stay with him and his Mom. Michael wasn’t sure, even now, if he actually really believed it, but even just the offer was more than he’d ever expected from anyone.

He bit his lip, sliding his hand down and stroking it over the growing bulge in his shorts, his breath coming a bit harder and faster. He rubbed the leathery pads of his fingertips against his shaft, through the fabric, feeling them brush over the sensitive little nubs, where he’d been debarbed when he was eleven.

It was a common practice among felines, similar to circumcision among humans. But, while circumcision was mostly a religious practice that happened to have some tangential medical benefits that were not really necessary in most cases, debarbing was an absolute necessity for feline males. When a feline male began to enter puberty, many things began to happen, changes in his body. Most of these were the same as young males went through, of any species. However, one was uniquely felid; his penis began to develop small, keratinous growths along the last third or so, just under the head. These growths quickly developed into spiny barbs, made from the same substance as his claws, which were an evolutionary holdover from their feral past. Female feral cats, of all sorts, require stimulation to begin ovulating, even when in heat. Evolution could have simply taken the path of making that stimulation pleasurable, but it would seem that it was in a bitchy mood that day, or else it simply didn’t like felines. It chose pain as the appropriate stimulation, instead. A male cat’s barbs were designed to scrape against the insides of a female’s vaginal walls, creating the stimulation necessary for ovulation to begin. However, this process was so painful on its own that female cats would often try to fight back and escape, mid-coitus. Which was why those barbs were also designed to flare out when the male reached orgasm, digging into the female’s walls and keeping her trapped in place.

Needless to say, one of the earliest medical practices recorded among feline anima was the removal of these barbs. Pleasure was a perfectly suitable stimulator for ovulation, and with sapience came a refined understanding of how unnecessary pain was in the process.

Michael was sometimes surprised, in off moments, that his father had allowed him to be debarbed, but he supposed it was a common enough practice, traditional, even, that he hadn’t minded. He was somewhat aware that it was fairly common for the procedure to leave behind small, flexible nubs of flesh, where the barbs had grown out from, originally, and from personal experience he knew them to be quite sensitive to the touch.

He huffed out a breath, stroking his fingers along his length, through his shorts again, and let out a shuddering breath. How long had it been? Two weeks? Three? Long enough that he already felt a bead of precum leak out and stain his shorts, even after just this light teasing. He sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep unless he dealt with this, so he got up.

He poked his head out his door, glancing down the hall towards the stairs. He could hear the TV on downstairs, and knew his parents were likely watching it, currently. He quickly made his way across the hall to the bathroom, where he collected a washcloth, wetting it down thoroughly before wringing it out, and then crossed the hall back to his room. He shut the door and carefully turned the deadbolt, locking it.

He went over to his PC and booted it up, laying the washcloth down on the desk nearby, before reaching down into one of the drawers underneath. He knew exactly where what he was looking for, was, and soon enough he came up with a small, clear plastic bottle labeled ‘SmoothGlide’. He sat it down nearby as well, before slipping his shorts off, slowly.

He bit his lip as they fell to the floor and the cool air kissed the hot, sensitive flesh of his shaft. He sighed, as he put his headphones on and booted up the internet, going into his bookmarks and down to the bottom, to a folder labeled ‘Football Stuff’. Needless to say, that’s not what it was. There were not a ton of links inside, a few art sites, a comic or two, and, of course, Yiff __Axis. He opened it up, looking at the familiar black and orange color pattern, logged in and, as usual, went straight to his followed models, of which there was only one. Stella Sutra, definitely not her real name of course, was a gorgeous tigress model. She was a Siberian tiger, not a South China, but it had never stopped Michael from fantasizing about Kelly while watching her.

He clicked one of his favorite videos from her, a blowjob from the male’s POV. He’d always wanted Kelly to do this for him, so bad. But, as she put it, ‘Only whores would use their mouths’. This had never stopped her from demanding he go down on her, though, when she was feeling in the mood. He took a breath, feeling a frown needling his brow as he thought about this, and shook himself, skipping ahead a bit, past the initial banter, to the real meat of the video.

He watched as Stella bobbed her head up and down, the male model’s cock disappearing into her muzzle with a smooth, practiced motion, her large, orange eyes looking up from behind thick, full lashes, straight into the camera, to meet the viewer’s gaze. To pull them into the illusion that she was doing this for them, not just some faceless guy hired for the size of his dick more than anything else.

Michael picked up the bottle of lube, squirting some into his hand, and coating his shaft in it, catching his breath at the cold sensation of the liquid running down over the hot flesh, to drip across the fur of his sheath. “F-Fuck.” He sighed, as he took it in his hand and began to stroke it, long, slow motions that matched the movement of Stella’s head on screen.

He watched her, the tilt of her head, the bat of her lashes, the sound of her mouth working, sucking, slurping… All of it, familiar, something he’d watched, done this to, so often. Always while thinking about Kelly, wishing to be closer to her, to touch her and be touched in return. He gripped his cock tighter, picking up the pace, even as the video stayed the same. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the video, feeling the wet, slick motion of his hand, as he thought about… who? Kelly? That was over. She wasn’t coming back, and the more he thought about it, the less sure he was he wanted her back.

She had been beautiful, for sure, but she had also been abusive. Toxic, even. The longer he was separate from her, the more he realized that she had never loved him, never wanted him. She was as trapped in the relationship as he was, and took it out on him, using him as a trophy to hand on her arm in public, and a toy in private, then throwing him away when she was done with him.

He opened his eyes, groaning as he realized he’d been sitting there for several minutes, not moving, as he fought with himself mentally. He looked at the video, seeing the beautiful tigress on screen, her movements faster, shallower now, as she was working her partner towards an orgasm. An orgasm that Michael himself was not feeling any closer to than when he started. If anything, his erection had actually wilted a bit. “Shit!” He growled, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Unbidden, a thought drifted through his mind, and he flinched, actually setting up in his chair, eyes opening, body tense. His chest rose and fell heavily, a mix of fear and adrenaline.

What the fuck? He thought to himself, softly, frowning, before the thought slipped past his mind again. A thick, full tail, bushy and soft looking, and the curve of a waist. He stood up, rolling his chair backwards as he walked away from his computer, eyes wide. He reached up, rubbing his face with his hands without thinking, and jerked, cursing softly as he rubbed lube across his right cheek. “Gah, fuck!” He snapped, turning back and walking over, picking up the rag and scrubbing the side of his face. As he did, he looked at the video playing out its final moments, the male model stroking himself to completion across Stella Sutra’s gorgeous, glam model face. As the video ended, a series of recommended videos came up in its place.

One caught his eye. ‘Busty she-wolf Luna Lace gives the best blowjob you’ve ever had(POV)’. The thumbnail showed a wolf looking at the camera, pressing her large breasts together while letting her maw hang open, tongue lolling out over her teeth, her large, golden eyes shining mischievously.

I just… I need something different. He thought to himself. Something that doesn’t remind me of Kelly. That’s all. He sat down slowly, breathing heavily as his heart pounded in his chest. He’d never watched porn of another species before, unless you counter the males in Stella’s videos. Which he did not. That was why he felt like his heart was about to jump out of his chest.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

One thing was for sure, though; just the thought had his cock back to full mast in a heartbeat. He hesitated for a moment, before clicking the video.

He watched, as the woman, Luna Lace, another obvious porn name, introduced herself. She sat on the couch, talking dirty with the guy behind the camera, before he asked her to show off her tits. Grinning, she pulled her shirt off, lifting her bra to expose them. They were very nice. Full, round… they looked like they might even be natural, for that matter. The guy told her to get on her knees, and she did, smiling up at the camera, at Michael, as the man moved closer.

His cock came into view, along with his hand, enough to tell Michael he was human. He had a moment to feel sad it wasn’t a feline, before the she-wolf looked up into the camera, licking her lips. She had the biggest golden-amber eyes he’d ever seen. He stared at those eyes, unable to look away, as he reached down and began stroking his shaft again.

She took the man’s cock in her hand, stroking it up and down as she panted on the tip a bit, before licking it slowly, from tip to base and back up to the top. She swirled her tongue around it, before taking just the tip into her maw. She suckled on it, briefly, before leaning her head back. Her angle and the man’s groan, more than anything, told Michael she’d likely grazed her incisors over the sensitive flesh of his head, before she grinned and gave it another lick. Then, with a hot little moan of her own, she leaned in, taking half his length into her muzzle, and began to really blow him, head bobbing up and down along his shaft while her hand stroked the base of it.

The whole time, she kept looking up, making eye contact with the camera, with the viewer. Michael was drowning in those big, golden eyes, feeling the pressure beginning to build already. “F-Fuck! Fuck!” He groaned, biting off anything more for fear of his parents’ hearing him, even as his back arched in his chair. He felt it bubble up and then burst free, almost painfully, spraying his chest and stomach with ropes of hot seed. He kept stroking, hissing in a breath as he unloaded nearly a month of pent up need. He kept going until he was empty, and it was becoming too sensitive to touch. He let go, and melted into his chair, almost laying in it, legs stretched out under the desk, hands hanging limply off the sides, chest rising and falling with soft pants.

He took in a deep breath, blinking his eyes open against the lethargy that came with the afterglow, as he made himself sit up, getting his breathing under control as he reached for the washcloth. He picked it up and cleaned himself off, as thoroughly as he could. He had not set his eyes back on the monitor since he’d came, only vaguely aware through his headphones that the video had come to an end. He glanced up at it, biting his lip, and reached out, taking the mouse and scrolling down. He saw that the uploader was, in fact, Luna Lace’s own, verified channel, and he cleared his throat, mouse hovering over the ‘subscribe’ button.

“Something different. That’s not bad.” He said, blowing out a breath. He clicked the button.

He shut off his computer, putting the rag and his shorts into his laundry basket, and climbed back into bed, naked pulling one of his pillows over to him to hug it to his chest, as usual. He smiled softly, feeling fuzzy and warm all over still, as he began to drift to sleep. As he did, he thought of soft, amber-gold eyes and, ever so faintly, in the back of his mind, the smell of vanilla and jasmine.