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The Quiet That Keeps Us

By Laz Briar

A mirror housed all the fears and anxieties over one's appearance. At least, that's how Ozzie felt.

He stared at his reflection with agonizing scrutiny. To him, all the flaws and errors of his frame spilled out with critical emphasis. An asymmetrical spot here, a knot of fur there.

“God dammit. Maaaaan."

He ran a hand through his trimmed hair. No. He had to be perfect. He wanted to be perfect. Yet, every attempt to modify his appearance in some way seemed to backfire, finding a problem somewhere. Didn't matter how small.

“Shit, pull it together, ain't got time for this," he muttered, leering at himself.

He looked over his lean body with aggravated fascination. Slim, gray furred body met his stare. Black splotches ran across his arms and legs along with the mixed composition of dog and hyena. An articulate tattoo of skull shapes wove along his left shoulder.

Not bad. He was in shape, he was sure, but damned if he wasn't trying to sniff out some excess weight.

He turned. The gentle, perky curve of his rump was hidden by a snug pair of briefs, and he glossed over it with uncertainty.

This looks good? It's gotta. Yeah. Come on. These are nice. I bought em' so they'd look good on me.

Why?

He looked at his alarm clock. 2:22PM. Okay.

He had an obligation. After all, he was the one who asked Anson out on a date. And not just a little casual outing, a date. An evening. A night on the town to get to know his companion better.

He shivered. Companion. What a nice word.

But you didn't get companions unless dates went well, and dates only went well if you looked good. Right? Right.

Am I overthinkin' this?

“Fuck no," he said, to no one. He planned to look good for his boy. He wanted to.

He growled. Well, he would be in front of the body-mirror all day at this rate. So, he conceded to the reflect tried to settle on his next nemesis: clothes.

It went poorly. He rummaged through his closet, shuffling through fabrics that might compliment the other. He'd rush to the bathroom, wondering if he should wear a stud earring, or two, or a necklace, or a stud earring with a necklace, or no jewelry, or. . .

And what about his hair!? Goddammit, why did his job demand a neat trim? He could've grown out his mane again, give himself some rugged flair. Yeah, like the scruffy almost-mohawk he sported back in high school.

He started to get nervous. What if he couldn't get his look together? Shit. Well. He could call Anson, change plans, invite him over to his place and. . .

Oh, right. Because Anson would love to see his messy room of houseplants, music posters, and bad photography. Bleh. Anson didn't care the first night he was over, but he wasn't about to call his nest of fetishes a nice date.

No. This was going to work. Right?

He went to check himself in the mirror again.

-*-

The week was not an easy beast to conquer.

Anson had never felt so simultaneously alive and distracted. Work had become almost impossible. Tasks threatened to drag to a complete halt. Meetings with his supervisors over upcoming projects for Songbird were met with impartial interest.

Dammit Ozzie.

Ever since Friday, he and the yeendog did their best to keep things normal. But it was incomprehensibly difficult. They'd talk for a bit too long. They'd find a way to see each other when it didn't even make sense to be on the same floor. Ozzie might volunteer to deliver cybersecurity queries to Anson, or Anson might purchase a coffee and get it to Ozzie in the sales department.

They were like giddy schoolboys. Until, of course, Ozzie was sick of it and outright asked Anson to do something the coming Saturday. Anson was more than happy to oblige.

“A date?" Anson had said, a bit stupidly.

“Fuck yes a date," the reply had been.

So it was. But this was like water on an empty stomach. It sharpened his appetite for Ozzie, and their outing. For a while, it seemed like Saturday would never come. But it did.

It was only until the day arrived, Anson realized he hadn't been out on a date in, well, years. Since he moved, in fact. And it was with another human back then. Now? He had no idea what the standard expectation for dating chimera was. Was there specific etiquette? Did they have their own subculture of rules? Were interspecies relationships taboo?

He mulled it over. He didn't count his time with the coyote back in private school. No, no, he was too young. Nobody knew. This was different.

He assumed – or rather, hoped – the qualifications were the same for any outing, and that chimera were accepting. They never struck him as judgmental. Or maybe he was overthinking it. Yeah, probably that.

Naturally, this translated to Anson staring in his mirror for an abnormal amount of time. Any imperfection he caught was multiplied ten times. Untrimmed face here there, asymmetrical hair there. And what was he going to wear?

Ozzie wasn't entirely specific in his location either. He mentioned seeing “parts of the city for some damn good grub," but that could've meant anything. So what then?

Anson absolutely refused to wear business casual. They had enough of that from work. So maybe super casual? But, if he did that, and Ozzie dressed nice, it's like Anson was half-assing it.

At this rate, he'd end up living in his closet. Thus, Anson settled on the tried and true: put on a polo. It was summer too, so at least he had an excuse to wear shorts.

Resigned to anxious excitement, Anson went to his living room and tried to distract himself with television. All the while, he couldn't help but imagine one hundred different ways the date might go wrong.

-*-

Rain? Fuck that, Ozzie wouldn't be deterred. He spent the last several hours trying on an assortment of clothes, jewelry, and tossing his hair in a way that was appealing. A little water wasn't about to ruin this night.

Indeed, a delicate drizzle fell along the streets as he stepped out, locking apartment door. It cooled things a bit, but only just so. Ozzie still had to crank the AC when he hopped into his black car, and the rain promised to make things muggy. Not a disaster scenario, right?

Energized, Ozzie started to make his way towards Anson's place. He was gonna' look damn fine for the human, he knew it. He made sure to wear a snug black shirt that accentuated his slim features and tight – though not too uncomfortable – jeans which gently hinted at his perky rear. A nice gold tab earring in one ear, a complimenting belt there. It was a little understated for him, but it would do_._ He'd wear his whole jewelry box for Anson if he could; he wanted to fucking dazzle.

He took a breath. This had to go right. This would go right. He'd known Anson so long now. He'd do anything to see him happy. Keep him.

Shuffling in his glove compartment, he yanked out the “quality' stuff. His 'never-fail-with-this' mixtape, an actual old cassette retrofit with his favorite current songs. Wasn't easy to get this car installed with the right stuff to play it, but damn if he didn't love the format.

OZZIE'S BULLSHIT MIXTAPE

He inserted it and let the songs overwhelm him. Every spectrum of sound spoke to him in some way, and he'd feast on the music for strength to get through the night.

It didn't take long to reach Anson. The human was downtown, out by newly constructed apartments built up over the past few years. Probably had something to do with the influx of business. Even amidst Saturday evening traffic, the drive wasn't long. Soon enough, Ozzie pulled into the appropriate parking lot, heart beating like a goddamn metal band.

Taking one last breath, he keyed off the ignition and scurried to Anson's building bloc. C3 was the room number, an unassuming green door on the third floor of the apartment.

He hesitated, staring at the frame. His heart swelled. That surge, that rush of fire, that anxious giddiness. He fidgeted.

He rang the doorbell, nervous as nervous could be. Every second was like some profound, extended agony only relieved when. . .

The door swung open and there appeared Anson.

Ozzie's muzzle tugged with a big, toothy grin.

Anson didn't wait. He grabbed the yeendog's hand and pulled him in for a sobering hug. Warmth, the indistinguishable sensation of belonging, comfort, safety, it all washed over Ozzie in an instant. He returned it, of course, with more enthusiasm he knew he was capable of.

“What took you?" joked Anson, releasing him.

Before Ozzie could respond, Anson looked him over.

“You look good, Oz. Real good."

It took every ounce of strength for Ozzie not to blush beet red. His tail wagged with jovial celebration, however.

He ran a hand over his bejeweled ear, as if drawing attention to it. “Huh? Really? Aw shut up man, you're just saying that."

Anson had his opportunity to admire. He never even knew Ozzie liked jewelry.

He didn't let Anson respond, though. “I missed you."

Anson smiled. “We saw each other yesterday."

“At work? Pfft. C'mon man. That ain't the same."

“It was only like, twelve hours, heh."

Ozzie frowned. “Twelve hours is too long."

Anson nodded. He brought the yeendog close again, just. . . feeling. Letting their forms stay together a while.

“I know," he agreed. “Thought the week would never end."

At this rate, they'd be stuck in Anson's front door, like a schmaltzy mosaic. As much as it pained him to break away from the human, Ozzie pulled back, gesturing for his companion to follow.

“It wouldn't if ol' Tazzy had his way. What was that bullshit he was talkin' about on Monday? 'Work is like a family, and you always take care of a family.' Where's he get this shit from?"

Anson chuckled. “Corporate ethics 101, I think. It's real." He stepped out of his door, locking it.

Ozzie made a face. “Ugh. Whatever. You ready to fuckin' roll?"

Following Ozzie, Anson nodded. “Whisk me away. And this was your idea Oz, so I expect to be wowed," he joked.

The yeendog returned with a playful smirk. A small sapling of genuine fear, however, took root.

Don't fucking fuck this up, man, he told himself.

“I got some umbrellas in case this gets bad," said Ozzie, gesturing upward. A gentle mist of rain continued to pepper the area, the sky fat and dark. Truth be told though, the yeendog liked the idea of getting “stuck in the rain."

Once in car, Ozzie started to drive them further downtown. This was where older living arrangements were built, and it meant stores and different buildings intermixed with apartment complexes.

“So you never said where we going, Oz. Is this meant to a big surprise?"

Ozzie waggled his head. “Mmm, kinda. It's Dogtown. Ever been?"

Anson had certainly not, though heard of it. “It's not uh, a strip club is it?" he joked.

Oz chuckled. “Not unless you want it to be. Naw, this is where some of the best street food is in the city, bar goddamn none. Promise. And if you don't think so I will take you to a club."

Another toothy grin.

It didn't take too long for Oz to reach the place. As his car wove through light traffic, roads narrowed, scarlet neon signs surfaced along building sides, and more people – chimera and human – were visible.

The muffle raucous of voices fell upon the car as Ozzie found a place to park, a distance away from what was, essentially, a massive street market. When they got out, Anson was immediately besieged by the ambrosia of cooked foods and fresh meat, intermixed with chattering voices and clanking metal. Sprinkles of rain continued to fall, though obscured by the endless curves and slants of towering building complexes lit in neon.

“Holy shit," Anson said. He had to say it, really. Down an “alley," if you could call it that, was an endless assault of people, wears, eateries, and lord knew what else. One might get lost just looking through it.

Ozzie knew how intense all of it was, and put himself right at the human's side, steady him against the nuanced chaos. His chest fluttered. He missed it. The genuine gravity and palpable warmth of someone you care about right next to you. His tail wagged and he fished for Anson's hand.

“Never knew about it huh?" he said, as Anson's fingers clenched around his own. Shiver goddamn shiver.

“I don't really do much exploring," said Anson. “Never had a reason to."

Ozzie pressed his nose into Anson's cheek, supplying a whisker-filled lick kiss. He could barely contain himself.

“Well man, we're changin' that shit right now."

Before Anson could even bathe in the glow of getting puppy nips from his partner, the yeendog yanked forward and tugged him through the alley.

For a moment, Anson was alarmed, because they were still holding hands. Was that. . . okay here? Ozzie ushered her him through people, and the human scanned through faces and expressions, seeking disapproval – if not disgust. But he found none. This wasn't like home, not like home at all.

His heart started to race. This was okay? Could he really just walk with Ozzie like this in confidence?

This city, these chimera, it was so distant and alien from his hometown. And yet, it was starting to feel closer to him than anything else.

Ozzie felt his partner stride next to him, ears flicking as Anson appearing at his side with, well. A confident joy was the best way to put it. Where that came from, the yeendog didn't know, but didn't much care either. He just wanted Anson to be happy.

“Not too far now," Ozzie would say, voice raised a bit over the noise. “It's my friend we're gonna see. Whips up some of the best hoagies around."

At this, Anson's stomach grumbled. Oof. He hadn't had a sandwich like that in a long, long time. Street food too had a special tendency to have some gristle to it, a little bit of 'grease' that gave the flavor an unhealthy yet utterly delicious flair.

“Ugh, get me there, please," Anson would say.

Not too long after, Ozzie had pulled his partner to a quieter part of Dogtown. On the corner, there were a barrage of food shops offering all sorts of unique cuisine, but their target was a improvised space, a square of light with a few tables, fresh ingredients, and a single cook.

On approach, Anson could see a few people munching away at hoagies, while a silhouette tossed and cut slivers of meat. Oil hissed, vegetables crackled, salt flicked.

It was an opossum, Anson saw. Pierced ears, apron, tattoo.

When they arrived, she barely registered them. “Hey, hey, welcome, lemme' get through this order, okay?"

Ozzie flashed Anson a look like he was committing some terrible mischief. He might as well have been, because when she did see them, her features changed completely.

“OZZLE!"

Grey cheeks flushed red. Ozzie whined. “Awww, nooo, man! Why'd you have to say that!"

The opossum finished up her cooking and wrapped it in bread and foil, granting it to an awaiting customer. But after that, her attention was on them both.

Anson quirked a brow. “Ozzle?"

She waltzed up, leaning over table. “Where the hell have you been, dude? Holy shit, I haven't seen you in months!"

Ozzie shrugged. “Well you know, I got stuff, man. I work!"

She rolled her eyes. “Work? Ugh. I wanna piledrive you." She didn't. Rather, she hugged him.

Now, her glance came to Anson, and it was her turn to blush. “Oh, shit, sorry, sorry. You're with him?"

She released Oz, who look noticeably flustered.

“Ozzie is an old friend. Haven't seen the little shit in a while." A glare at the yeendog.

Anson shook his head. “No, hah, it's fine. I get the feeling you two know each other."

“Damn right we do," said the opossum with a mirth of pride. “You gonna' introduce us, Ozzle?"

“Yeah, yeah," said Ozzie, turning to his partner. “Anson, this is Harriet. We go way, way back. Like, a novel's worth way back."

Harriet smirked. “We used to sneak out and drink under the legal limit."

Ozzie sneered. “Jeeze."

The revelation wasn't too surprising for Anson. He could see that. Even at work, behind a business casual suit, there was always an air of roughness to him. The idea of a teen yeen getting up to no good just made him cuter.

“Come on, we still chat on messenger. That counts, doesn't it?" he added.

The opossum groaned. She flashed an expression of playful disbelief. “Can you believe this guy? Childhood friends my ass."

Oz chuckled, stifling another toothy grin. “Well I'm here now! And I came to introduce my. . ."

A gentle pause. Ozzie so desperately wanted to say boyfriend. Badly. But he didn't want to assume, not yet, even after all that had happened.

“. . .very, very good friend, Anson. And to snag some of your delicious food. I vouched for ya'."

Harriet's visage of friendly annoyance shifted to a more understanding one. Then, sly amusement. Anson could feel trails of judgement radiating from her, like a big sister looking out for her younger sibling.

“Ohhh, that so?" She gave Anson a steady, inspective once over. “The latest catch, huh?"

Anson shrugged helplessly. “Looks like it. And it's nice to meet you, Harriet."

They shook hands, if not a little awkwardly, while Ozzie and Harriet briefly caught back up. But as they did, a small thought wriggled through Anson's mind. 'Latest catch.' What did that mean? Well, it was naïve to think Ozzie hadn't been with others before this. Hell, he wasn't even sure if they were an item yet, or if this was all some hazy, hot-blooded dream.

He wondered, briefly, if it all played out the same, if others before him had the same feelings for Ozzie. He made a mental to note to ask later on.

“All right, if we keep this up we'll never leave," Ozzie would say. “Fix my boy up your best, Harry."

The yeendog pat the seat next to him. Anson sat, eager to eat.

“My best? You mean everything?" said Harriet. With a smirk, she turned back to her improvised kitchen and immediately set to work, cutting up veggies and setting out strips of salted meat. Fried scents followed soon after, and Anson could feel himself drooling.

After an exchange of cash and minutes, Anson soon had a warm, foil wrapped hoagie in his hand. It dribbled with juice as cuts of steak and pepper mixed together, along with salt and whatever else Harriet stuffed into it.

Ozzie was already taking massive bites out of his, and the orgasmic delight played over his face.

“Ohhffnnnk," he mumbled between chomps. “Sff gdd."

Anson laughed. “Ozzie, c'mon. Swallow before you talk."

He gulped. “Oh? You like it that way, huh?"

They were distracted by the clap of cans on table. Harriett pushed forward a couple of beers. Longboats.

“On the house," she said, winking to the yeendog. “Be nice to him, Ozzle."

Ozzie gasped, grabbing it, thanking her profusely. “You awesome bitch."

Anson thanked her too, though admittedly felt guilty for not paying. Before he could attempt to, however, she was back to cooking food for a new set of customers.

But that was fine. In fact, relieving. Anson wanted Ozzie, really. All to himself.

A few bites in, he was hooked. “Damn, you weren't kidding. Maybe it's because I eat takeout so much but this is some good stuff."

Ozzie beamed, his tail wagging. He licked his spotted muzzle, nodding. “Yeah? You like it? Heh, I don't really come here to eat that much. It's like a guilty pleasure."

Anson took another munch. “With how good this is, I don't blame you."

Ozzie licked his nose and cracked the beer, swigging it down. As he did, rain started to pick up, the gentle mist now morphing into little teardrops. The two hurriedly ate the rest of their food, gulping down drinks as the rain picked up pace.

“Oshit. Uh, hang on, I got this."

Standing, the yeendog gestured for his companion to follow, and once again they were walking through the crowd filled streets. Umbrellas bloomed as the sky opened up, and they would get soaked if they didn't hurry.

At this point, Anson trusted his companion's direction. He had to, anyway. You could turn to your right and get lost in everything.

“There's another place I was thinking," said Ozzie as they walked. “Man, heh. Didn't think I'd be showing it to you so soon." It appeared the weather had different plans.

Anson was curious. “Really now? Why's that?"

Ozzie rubbed his head, flushing. “It's just, eh. Really important to me. I go for privacy. I'm kinda who I want to be when I'm there."

Anson held the other's hand. “Well. You don't have to show me anything, Oz. A little rain shouldn't force you to."

At once, Ozzie shook his head. “No, no, it's okay_._ I want you to come with me. Really."

Anson leaned to supply a warm kiss in Ozzie's furred cheek. “Then lead the way."

A rush of vigorous excitement. This was the first time in a while Ozzie had shown anyone this location. Not since, well. . .

Down a few more turns, the street cafes and places to buy fresh food disappeared, now replaced by actual shops and oddities. Oddities, because there were distractions for all sorts of things. Places to buy old cassettes and electronics, shrines, movies (even bootleg ones), foreign goods, and so on. But it wasn't any of these locales that interested Ozzie.

No, instead, they came upon an unassuming door with red neon draped over it. Several characters and languages formed around its windows, but in English, it read: Quick Rest – Beer for Soul and Good Time.

A mistranslation, probably. Upon seeing this though, Anson started to wonder if this was some kind of red light district.

“You know, I just kidding about the strip club," he said, testing. Ozzie smirked.

“More of em' around here than you know. But not what this is. C'mon."

Entering the place was like travelling to a different world altogether. It shut out the raucous of outside and bathed the entering couple in a calm warmth. Dim lights lit a large center room which was filled with strange plants and unique ornamentations. On the left, there stood a large gilded statue of what appeared to be a vixen woman, arms stretched and fingers poised. Beneath her, a small bowl filled with coins, while incense burned at its sides.

Beyond this, there was a counter with a single attendant, an old human woman. Past her, a hall with several paper-slide doors.

She noticed them first. Her features shifted behind glasses, recognizing Ozzie. “Ohoh. Spots. You come back again after so long? Nice to see you, yes!" Her voice was rich with an accent Anson couldn't quite pin down.

He waved. “Heya Beebs. Yep. Back again! Same old, same old."

“Company too?" she asked. “Very nice, very nice. Like room? Usual?"

He nodded. “Few hours and some alcohol, you got it."

She bowed, taking a pen, and scribbling something down. Then, she vanished, calling for someone they couldn't see.

At all this, Anson was quite bewildered. Alcohol? A private room? It sounded like a brothel. Not that Anson minded some personal time with Ozzie, it just wasn't what he expected.

Like a second sense, Ozzie turned to his companion. “I promise this isn't what you think, heh."

He tugged Anson by the hand. “Here, look. I wanna' show you something."

They came to the gilded statue. Ozzie appeared to hold it in some reverence, and Anson realized, this was an important symbolic figure.

“I don't think I've ever been religious. But, well, I dunno' how it is for humans but, with chimera n'stuff we have Vaesha. That's how you say it, I think? She's a goddess of luck. You like, put your wish in a token. That's supposed to be a piece of your soul? And she takes it and guides it. I think."

Anson listened closely, noting all the coins in the bowl. Ozzie's finger came to ruffle through them, pointing to one.

“This was mine." He tapped a slightly smudged copper coin with a big “O" marked on it.

He looked to Anson. “I put it in before, you know. The company picnic. And it was a wish to be with someone special."

Anson realized. “Oh. Well. Wow."

The other laughed. “It's dumb as hell man, I know. It had nothin' to do with us, I guess. But it's comforting."

“It's not dumb if it's important to you."

Ozzie rolled his eyes, leaning into Anson's shoulder. “I dunno man, it's kinda' dumb. But I've done it before. And I come here to think and figure myself out. Nobody knows about this except for. . ."

A pause. Anson put his hand around the yeendog's waist. The hesitation wasn't lost on him. He remembered what Harriet had said earlier.

“Was there someone else?"

Before Ozzie could respond, a voice called for them. This time it was a young man, likely the son. He bowed and gestured for them to follow.

“I have room! Please, come with. Order drinks then."

Ozzie glanced to Anson, then started to follow their concierge. The two were lead past several corridors, where a peaceful quiet hung in the air. More incense lingered like a calm perfume, and eventually they came to an empty space. It was, essentially, like a miniature motel room: a single flat with one rolled bed and some tables.

However, only a few lights illuminated it, creating a sort of dim, dreamlike ambiance. There was a laminated paper on one of the tables, and upon it, scribblings of assorted alcohol choices.

The concierge bowed and then lead them. “Make choice soon and I return, okay?"

He left. The couple entered the flat and paper door slid close. At once, Ozzie sighed, his lean frame relaxing.

“God, finally." He went to the mattress, sitting on it, smiling to Anson. “Guess I should've explained. This is like a rest spot? I dunno, it's weird. They let you sleep here as long as you want and order drinks. I can't tell you how many times I escape here."

Anson looked it over. It was quite comfortable for a rest place. Quaint, not exactly spacious, but it was like a hidden pocket away from the business of Dogtown. Figuring they might be here a while, he set aside his wallet and phone on the table, while also taking off shoes.

He didn't his question to get away, however. “We're not the only ones who know about it, sounded like."

Ozzie's ears sagged, as did his features. Anson regretted asking instantly; seeing the yeendog sad was too much.

Anson frowned. “It's okay, you don't have to tell me anything."

Ozzie waved a hand. “No, no. I brought you here for a reason, man. I'm just. . ."

Don't fuck it up.

“Wanna' do it right this time."

Anson didn't quite understand, but let the yeendog collect himself. He went to Ozzie, sitting next to him, and put his arm around the male's shoulder, squeezing through the black shirt. He could stay like this forever, if need be.

“I don't know what you think is right or wrong right now, Ozzie. But, it feels right to me. Everything does. I'm always happy when I'm with you. I don't care about anything else."

Joyful tail wags. Ozzie's muzzle tugged with a sincere smile. He pressed his nose against Anson's cheek, breathing, letting whiskers trace along the skin.

“I'll tell you anyway. Guess it's not a big deal as I think."

Anson let his hand mix with the other, fingers entwined. “I'm listening."

The yeendog certainly took his time, enough that a pregnant pause lingered in the air. The gentle stir of outside rain picked up, along with the distant ambiance of crowds. Ozzie searched himself for the right words, phrases. Finding the strength to dredge up old memories, old feelings.

He took a breath. “Well. I was in it with a guy a few months ago. Y'know em. And. It went a lot like this, actually. You and me, I mean. We hit it off really well one night, got wasted as shit and. . . you know, had a good fuck and all that."

Anson could feel the yeendog's fingers clench tighter, like this was causing him immense strain. And it was. He was curious, too. Anson knew the other man?

“I guess I hoped it would get serious after that. And it kinda did? We dated for a while, and, I dunno. I was falling for him hard, Anson. I kept thinking long term, real long term. But it was weird. He was kinda' distant and we didn't get intimate after that. I ignored it."

He sniffed. There was a noticeable quiver to his lips.

“It's okay," Anson whispered.

That appeared to give Oz the strength to continue. “Ugh, shit. Just. I spilled it out to him one day. Wanted to know how he felt, where we were going and. He. He wasn't like that. He wasn't this way."

Ozzie gestured to them both, vaguely.

Anson understood. “You mean he wasn't. . .?"

Another sniff. “Not gay. No. He said he tried to picture us together but couldn't do it. And that was it. I gave him my guts but he couldn't give back. Or wanted to. He told me he got so wasted and thought I looked good enough for him, made too many promises, got too deep. He didn't wanna' be the 'one night stand' bad guy."

Ozzie rubbed his eyes. “Aggh fuck, I didn't come here to feel bad, hah." Within him, that tiny sapling of fear was sprouting. This could potentially ruin the night, he thought.

Anson took his free hand and started rubbing the yeendog's back. “It's okay, I promise. And. Well, he wasn't honest. That's significantly worse, if you ask me."

He couldn't help but feel some level of anger, too. “You said I knew him?"

Ozzie snickered, weakly. “You're not gonna' do something, are you?"

Anson sighed. “No, no, nothing like that. I guess I just want to know."

At first, Ozzie didn't say anything. Then after a moment: “Jaxon."

That took Anson off guard. “What? Jaxon? You're fucking kidding."

Jaxon from shipping, the white furred mix-hound that he just saw last week at the company picnic. Acting as normal as could be, like nothing changed, like nothing was there.

“I. . . I can't believe that. And there wasn't a problem? Didn't you talk with him?"

Ozzie's eyes were distant. “Yeah. But everything for him isn't the same. I play it cool, I act like it wasn't a big deal but. . ."

He let his head arch, stare at the ceiling. “I kept thinking about it for a long time, I couldn't help it. I'd come here, almost every night, get piss drunk, and wonder. And I kept thinkin' I did something wrong."

God fucking dammit, Ozzie, Anson thought. Never before had he ever felt a mix of anger and frustration and. . . something else.

To even consider that the yeendog had been at fault was enraging. “Shit, Oz, come the fuck on. Of course you didn't. How could you have? You didn't know, and he wasn't honest."

Gently, Anson put his hand to the yeendog's cheek, rubbing his palm over the array of black spots playing over his handsome, gray fur. He stared into those quiet, loving green eyes, watching Oz blush.

“You gorgeous bastard. You're beautiful, you understand? You have more kindness in you than anyone I've known. I feel right with you, comfortable with you. You didn't deserve that."

Anson was ready to slam his lips into that soft, sweet muzzle, but was interrupted by footsteps and a familiar voice.

“Hello! Returning again! Just want to get your drink order, yes?"

The concierge didn't enter, but it broke their attention just the same, at least for now. Shit, they hadn't even looked at the menu. Anson felt a twinge of agitation, but let it go. They had all the time in the world.

Ozzie's cheeks were a delicate rose, eyes stung and glistening. He was smiling, holding Anson close.

“Mind if I make the order?" he said, voice low and hot.

Anson nodded. “Please do."

Ozzie didn't want to move, so tangled with his human companion. But, eventually, he went to the door to speak to the concierge. He already knew what he wanted: a rare import red wine, something spiced, like liquid fire. Once the order was in, it didn't take long for the concierge to return with a bottle and some glasses.

“Enjoy!" he said, as the door slid close again.

Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was watching Ozzie swagger back over with his lovably slim, handsome frame with alcohol in paw, like a dream come to life. Maybe it was his soft eyes and how they exuded affection and desire. Maybe how the gold stud earring glimmered with exotic enticement. But Anson was caught in something, freefalling, down into an abyss of want and lust and. . . yeah. Love.

He had no plans of escaping.

“You deserve to be happy, Oz."

Ozzie set the glasses down, popping the bottle and staring to pour. “That's everything to me, Anson. I just wanted to try again and make it all work."

It took a lot of restraint for Anson to not just get up and hold the man close. A combination of burning desire and genuine affection rushing through him, mingling into a sea of need. He didn't have to wait long though, as the yeendog came back to the flat mattress and handed Anson his glass.

They started to drink, the wine harsh yet inviting with its cascading spicy flavor. Strange, elegant, a lot like Ozzie.

“Don't feel like you have to fix anything. Not with me," said Anson.

Ozzie finished his drink, setting it aside. His eyes were downcast, but he looked happier. Tail whacked against bed and his hand started to rub along Anson's thigh, ruffling the fabric of his shorts.

“Ehh. It still hurts, Anson. But with you, I feel like I can be myself. Instead of just versions of me."

Anson smiled, finishing his own wine, a timid buzz lingering through his head.

“And right now," the yeendog continued, “I wanna' be yours."

That was about all Anson needed. Instead of words, he wrapped himself around the chimera and pulled him close. Close as reality allowed. Lips pressed into whiskery muzzle, and at once, the two embraced in a long, hungry kiss. Long, flat yeendog tongue would lash out and play along Anson's own, exploring, tasting, searching the perimeters and grooves of his male partner, learning.

Smacks and hot breaths quickly followed. They became like a singular knot, tied together, hands roaming and shuffling underneath clothing. Squeezing, hungry, voracious for warmth and affection. Anson felt like the winner here, as his palms were treated to the silky, soft generosity of thick fur, plush feels rewarding his touches. Scent too played a role, that wonderful, indistinct aroma of cologne and musk that identified Ozzie purely by smell – a masculine perfume mingled with gentle tinges of cologne.

Their foreheads pressed together, eyes bearing into the other.

“Anson," Ozzie muttered. “I wanna' be things for you."

The human felt his partner push at him gently, until he was on his back, facing up at the yeendog.

“Can you start by just being mine?" said Anson.

Ozzie was more than content to oblige. His chest fluttered and a renewed spring of affection coalesced within him. Mending, repairing, washing all the old wounds away. The once born fear was now replaced by a seed of something stronger, better. But he didn't think it, not yet. Gentle the word was, so tender that a mere thought might crush it.

Instead, Ozzie pulled off his fit black shirt, revealing slender frame. Little tufts of solid black fur appeared amidst his chest and hinted at a happy trail near his loins, still hidden by jeans.

“Goddammit Ozzie you're so fucking beautiful," said Anson, his hands reaching out to stroke at the male's sides. He squeezed and caressed against Oz's frame, his partner shuddering from the touches, ears tall and attentive.

The yeendog could only blush, helping Anson out of shirt too, sitting on the human's waist. His muzzle dove down to kiss and lick and suck at the exposed skin, starting at lips, travelling to chin, neck, chest.

Ozzie's nose flared, sipping in Anson's own odor. Humans were a bit different about that, not quite as staunch as a chimera might be. More oily, lighter, often obscured by body washes or perfumes. Yet, he could still tell this was Anson.

“Nmm, m'gonna take care of you, heh."

Anson pet his partner's head as things moved quicker. Now, Ozzie stripped out of his tight-fitting jeans and boots, yanking off belt and setting the garments aside. He was already quite hard, tenting his briefs, hinting at that lovely pike of hot, satin flesh. Anson felt his own nethers surge to life, hungry for release.

It took a lot of strength to not just pin Ozzie down and pleasure him there, but he let the yeendog continue. Ozzie slipped out of his underwear and let black shaft spring loose, a delicate patch of pubic fur sitting above it. It was cute, accented by a thin trail of yet more fur between his soft, thick testes, complimenting the rotund, perk year.

Anson clenched his teeth. “Gorgeous bastard."

Oz chuckled, hands tacking Anson's shorts, getting them off. “Been called a lot of things, but gorgeous ain't one of them."

“Get used to it," Anson shot back. He was cut off however by his own groan, as Ozzie had pulled away remaining tethers, leaving him exposed. This was followed by hot breaths over his tip, the yeendog licking his chops as let a finger run over the crown.

“I'm gettin' real used to you," said Ozzie, smiling. This was followed by a gentle kiss, a suckling smooch deployed against the sensitive tip.

Anson groaned again as the yeendog wrapped his maw around the first inch, applying delicate suckles, his sticky, flat tongue perfect for bathing and cushioning the malehood. Ozzie mumbled with renewed delight, watching his partner tense with orgasmic pleasure.

Anson couldn't help but reach down and grab one of the yeendog's hands, palm clenching to feel those delicate pads massage his own skin. All the while, Ozzie began to bathe his cock with wet, oral attention, slurping it as a dog might with a bone.

“Ozzie, Ozzie, god, I can't believe you do this for me. . ." he said, watching the yeendog work. Ozzie pushed the shaft enough where it bulged his inner cheek, looking at his human partner with servile adoration.

He popped it free, letting glistening shaft rest on his face, taking a moment to nuzzle and lick at Anson's testes.

“Then I'll fuckin' make you a believer."

Ozzie hopped on all fours, taking his free hand to cup at Anson's sac again. His own shaft was twitching, as if doing all this for the human was giving him his own little twinges of pleasure.

Now, he hastened. He locked his muzzle around the sloppy cock and threw his head upon it, enough where nose pressed into Anson's crotch. He took a deep breath of masculine scent, then pulled back, only to repeat the motion with vicious gusto.

“AnnnGGGG!"

Anson did not know if there were words for this, if they were capable of adequately capturing how he felt in all senses. The way his hand tangled with Ozzie's own, the way his lover served and pleased his cock with such vicious – yet enamored care. The way the yeendog's body gently bounced and swaggered with each motion. How they were bound together, in this little place, in this pocket of the world, in this strange location called Dogtown.

At this point, Ozzie was practically bucking his head against the human's loins. His maw was getting sloppy with saliva and pre, little rivers dripping from his chin as he worked.

“Mmmmgg. . ." He was getting drunk on Anson too, the combination of lust, wine, and scent turning his head into a fuzzy concoction of desire.

Anson squirmed, writhing, his waist punching upward in short little bursts, meeting the slick lips with his own primal grinds. God. Ozzie was drawing him out, his essence, him, and it was all so. . . correct.

“NN! OZZIE!"

To cry out his name was to cement the chimera in permanence. He was no dream. He was warmth and fur and smiles. And from that, Anson couldn't hold himself back, had to release. He could hear Ozzie squeak as a surge of issue raged from his tip, bursting in quick spurts of salty white ropes.

“Hmnnnf. . ."

The yeendog dared not let the precious seed escape, shoving his muzzle over the cock, nose once again buried in pubic threshold. He moaned as he felt Anson pulse inside his maw, drunk on the twitches, trembles, waves of orgasm. It helped that his mouth seemed to be a perfect fit for the human pike.

With a steady, tedious suckle, Ozzie pulled away from it, swallowing, licking his chops. The savory taste of human was in him now, similar yet, quite distinct. Anson's flavor. The liquor of his lover.

Anson was sweating, face flushed, breath heavier. Not exhausted by any means, but certainly riled up. As he looked at his companion, a yet stronger, overwhelming sense of affection came over him, if that was even possible.

Ozzie started nuzzling the other's abdomen, starting to laugh. “Ah, fuck."

Anson smiled. “What?"

The laughs rose higher. “Hah, I was gonna', I was gonna' try and say something sexy. 'Man you taste like a hoagie.' And I realized that sounded stupid as shit."

Anson couldn't hold back his own chuckle. Not from the words, only because it made his partner laugh.

“To be fair, hoagies are good," he said, eyeing the yeendog's crotch. “But you're better. . ."

Gentle laughter could not abate absolute need for long. After the laughter waned, Ozzie had crawled over his partner, perky rump sitting against Anson's still-hard mast. His soft testes rested on abdomen while taint and pucker teased the length, both men shivering.

With one last soft, loving glance, Ozzie raised, then carefully, slowly let his black ring nuzzle the bellend. A few groans later and a wiggle of hips, and the pucker sank upon the warm human pike, filling Ozzie completely.

There was a tight, twitching motion of pleasure, a jerk of adjustment as Ozzie found comfort on his ride, hands resting on Anson's shoulders.

Anson certainly felt it more, sensitive from his previous orgasm. But it did not deter him, his arms wrapping around waist, leaning up to kiss his lover again, tasting that muzzle and by proxy, himself.

“Nnn, closer, Oz, need you more. . ." he groaned, drawing the yeendog into him. Ozzie was happy to oblige, nodding, head resting under the human's chin while his thighs began to dance with slow bounces.

“Annnmmm. . . nmm. . ."

It was hard for Ozzie to speak. His mind – and his body – were lost now. He wobbled his rump along the shaft, coaxing pleasure from it, sinking his pucker along the inches with rapid dives, each strike causing loud claps to echo into the room. His tail wagged, black ring so perfectly spread, dribbling with a sloppy mix of saliva, pre, and semen. Fuck. He wanted to be filled. He wanted Anson to drain himself in his hole.

Anson thrust back into the perky rump each time it clapped against him. For a moment, Ozzie allowed this, pausing to let those brutal, rising thrusts spread and fuck his satin tunnel, like a mate claiming its prize.

“Here," he grunted, letting a hand fish between them. He gripped Ozzie's own twitching, throbbing cock, stroking it as he thrust, caressing the pulsing, black flesh in smooth, practiced strokes.

Ozzie trembled, whimpering. “Onnnf, Ans, shit, keepthatup, please!"

Here, the yeendog pushed off his partner, providing adequate space as Anson happily obliged. While the chimera bounced himself on cock, Anson was free to play with the yeendog's nethers. His fingers caressed and teased the plump, black testes, so very carefully squeezing them, only to writhe and stroke the midnight prick in smooth, generous motions. Pre dribbled into his palm, making it easier, ushering quiet moans from the yeendog.

Ozzie quickened. He was getting hungry. Soon, he was thrashing his bottom wildly on that pike, feeling it nuzzle his prostate, his pucker perfectly spread. Like a mini-knot, as it were. Just the right size to spread him enough that it was a challenge, yet flexible for a comforting fit. Perfect.

And so they became it, in that unified moment. That singular point where two lovers tie as one, an entity itself, a writhing mass of love and want and need.

“AAhahahhh!"

Ozzie trembled, buckled, shook violently as his cock flexed with spasms, spewing forth rich white seed in quick, hot jets. Trails of sticky issue covered Anson's chest, and every wave was stronger as he rocked himself on the human's flank.

Like a quivering pup, he fell into Anson, squirming through his peak, while Anson bucked to achieve his second. Soon, the human followed suit, a new wave of hot seed drowning the perky black hole with his claiming essence.

“Ohfuck, fuckfuckfuck. . ." Anson's own hoarse words could hardly maintain coherence, drowned in orgasm.

They heaved breaths, collapsing, binding together, a sticky mess of chimera and human, Anson and Ozzie. Seed poured from their coupling, little puddles soiling the mattress. Anson roped his hands around his lover's waist, while the yeendog nuzzled under chin again. Eventually, his shaft softened and slipped out, afterglow consuming them both.

There formed a silence, a quiet ambiance where no words were needed. The language of the body was enough. Outside, rain fell harder, obscuring the noise of the alley-ways.

After a while, Ozzie chuckled. “Oh, shit."

Anson was stroking the yeendog's back, watching his partner just. . . be.

“Mm?"

Ozzie lifted to look at the other. “I think I might be falling in love with you."

Anson almost wept, but instead, he just smiled and kissed him on the nose.

“Only thinking huh? Shit Oz, I've been there for a while."

Oz blushed, letting hands entwine with the other.

-*-

The evening was gentle. It kept both lovers in a veil of quiet. There was talking again, though not as much. The physical company was preferred.

In the back of Ozzie's mind, there briefly he thought back to Jaxon, back to the old raw, honest feelings of pure intimacy. And perhaps even love. And he knew, he had to let it go.

He wondered, to some degree, if Jaxon ever thought about him. He wondered if Jaxon ever had to find a personal retreat to contemplate the future, or nurse the pain with some creature comfort.

Did you ever think about me again? He asked himself.

But then something else came forth. He felt feel Anson's fingers slip around his own, caressing the pads of his chimera habit, fill him with care and words and love. And all those things with Jaxon just vanished.

Ozzie rose again to pour himself another glance of wine, still nake. He felt refreshed. New.

“Want some more?" he asked, looking to Anson. The human shook his head.

“No, I'm okay for now."

Another pause.

“So, Ozzle?" said Anson.

Ozzie started to laugh. “Goddammit."