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The Hurt We Have

By Laz Briar

I discovered a new hurt when I saw Ozzie that Wednesday afternoon. It's a strange pain, a kind of quiet agony I didn't even think could exist.

When his silhouette appeared around the corner amidst the crowd of coworkers, immediately I could tell something was off. His shoulders were slumped, ears low, eyes distant, tail drooping. He wasn't walking with the same energetic stride I knew him for; he lacked the fiery swagger I'd come to adore. Normally the end of the workday put a smile on him, but now?

I remember trying to keep things light, figuring perhaps he wasn't in the best mood. Maybe he was a little sick, I thought to myself. But when he told me he felt tired and just wanted to go back to his apartment, I was concerned.

We had been coming to my place after work for the better part of three months now. Not every day, sometimes schedules didn't allow. But it was routine enough that I'd considered him a normal part of my world – and frankly if my apartment was bigger, I'd have asked him to move in with me. For Ozzie to decline our “usual," well, I was alarmed.

“Ozzie, if there's anything going on, you can tell me," I had said. He shrugged it off.

“I'm just bushed, sorry," he had replied. So, that was that.

When I dropped him off near his place in Calabasas, I gave him a peck on the cheek but, didn't find much reciprocation.

Well, needless to say, I spent the entire night worrying about him. To know that he was uncomfortable or dealing with a problem I couldn't help resolve was a nightmare I didn't want to live. I don't think I slept too well that night, either. Off and on I was able to get a few texts to him, though it did little to abate my concerns.

The following morning I remember putting together the best goddamn breakfast I could think of for him, even getting up early. I made sure to bring him some blackleaf tea – a special caffeine drink safer for his stomach, and anything else which could provide him a modicum of relief. I had to fix it. I had to make him better. Because his sadness, no matter how small, hurt me. He deserved all the world's happiness, as far as I was concerned.

I picked him up at his place, and to my relief, got more of the story. As it turned out, the job chewed him out.

Ozzie works in sales for Songbird, and they have quotas. They also try to pass customer service over to their agents (the "universal agent" angle), which often leads to some pretty nasty people antagonizing reps for problems they have no responsibility to. On top of being told by his rotating manager he was falling behind that week and needed to get “his shit together," Ozzie apparently had to deal with some unpleasant call ins. One, apparently, quite speciest in nature, another from an elderly sort demanding Ozzie explain how Songbird worked for free.

Ozzie is not the kind of chimera that breaks easily, not that I've seen. But whatever happened during the week almost made him quit. The Thursday morning I picked him up, I recall him not wanting to go in. He only did to meet the pressures of the company.

What am I getting at? Well, suffice to say, I saw his sadness and just "refused." I could not bear it. I would not. Ozzie has done so much for me. If I could give him the world, I would.

But, with meager means, I'm only capable of so much. I do, however, have a plan. Perhaps you'll humor me. I want to show him how much he means to me, and that I'd do anything for him. This time, I wanted to do a little more. . .

-*-

Anson scrolled over to the event posting via social media with mischievous intrigue. Ozzie, for the moment, was gobbling down his dinner with enthuse, only pausing to sip his beer. A useful distraction, because Anson had plans.

Tonight, they were at Oz's place. Anson figured this was a good idea; finding comfort in your own nest helped settle the struggling spirit. And, he liked the change of pace too. Ozzie was a creature of exotic intrigue – his walls were lined with portraits and posters and art projects looking like he picked them up from a thrift store. A smaller place, but, it had character, the sides that Ozzie didn't always show.

Even dinner was the same way: cheap takeout and cans of beer. Anson didn't object – whatever the yeendog needed to feel better was more important. And, his recent discovery looked like a potential remedy to the disease of a bad week.

Anson continued his scrolling. On _PageSpace, _here was an upcoming event down near the coast, not too far off from Thousand Oaks. It was a get together for 'party animals' or some such, promising a big beachfire, music, and beer. The kind of thing that – frankly – Anson was probably a bit too “routine" for, the kind of thing horny college kids did when they were on break.

But it was the wild, freeform spirit which Anson paid attention to the most. The kind of thing Ozzie was. Sure, the yeendog put on his tie every morning just like everyone else, but he was still an animal. He still needed to scream, to feel, to be.

Anson marked the event as interested, hiding the intention from his boy. At least for now. It wasn't quite time yet. After all, there was more to the equation.

A bit later, Anson excused himself to the bathroom. Now came the rest.

Ozzie's bathroom was an armada of personal care products. The amount of work he put into his looks and overall appearance was astounding. For instance, there were several conditioners and shampoos just for his fur coat, the kind of nutrient rich important stuff you got from places you couldn't name.

Special gum cleaners, toothpaste, shapers for hair, musk-cologne, vitamins – it was practically a pharmacy. This gave Anson ideas. He discretely memorized some of the brand names, taking pictures where necessary.

Afterward, he did his best to locate some of the designer brand names for Ozzie's clothing of choice, along with jewelry. That proved a challenging task – because figuring preference and quality was tricky. But he could figure something out. Once satisfied, he returned to the living room shortly after, his intentions cloaked. It wasn't enough to take Ozzie somewhere, Anson felt. He could do more – so, so much more.

They retired to bed a while after, though Oz was restless. Frustrated, no doubt. Even amongst the gentle ambiance of his plant ridden room, he couldn't find peace.

“Anson," he said finally, voice low and rough. “I'unno how much more of this shit I can deal with."

Ozzie kept his gaze locked on the ceiling, as if looking for answers.

“What do you mean?"

Ozzie let off a long sigh. “It's gettin' worse every month, man. Quotas, calls, everything. They keep upping the requirements on the board, how much money we gotta' make, and then these fuckin' customer calls."

The yeendog growled. “I don't give a fuck if your router got firewall blocked or some shit, that's not my problem."

Anson's hand rubbed along his partner's arm, hoping to offer some matter of comfort. This just added more reasons to treat him to something.

“I know, it's not fair to you."

“I didn't even want this job, you know that?" said Ozzie. “I got thrown into it. Dad insisted. Wouldn't hear anything else, just went on and on and on."

Oh. That was new.

“Oh," said Anson. “Did he get you the job or something?"

Anson couldn't remember if Ozzie had ever mentioned his father.

A headshake. “No. Just pressured. A lot. He's always been insecure about success or some fuck. I don't know. After we lost touch with my brother he's leaned on me about this kind of thing. Never cared about my interests. So now, every day, I gotta' go to a job that I'm hating more and more."

Anson admittedly felt curious about Ozzie's brother – who also was also absent of earlier conversations, but decided not to dig too far.

There were also a hundred things he thought of saying that he knew rang hollow: It's just a tough week. Nobody likes work! You'll feel better soon. Take your mind off it.

“Even with the money. . ." Ozzie continued. “It just doesn't help. I distract myself, I keep busy. But man. I don't know any more. I don't know how long I can keep this up. If. . . if you weren't at work with me every day, Anson, I'd have left a long time ago."

God dammit Ozzie. Anson felt his chest pang with a wave of hurt.

“Damn, Oz. How long has this been going on? How long have you wanted to quit, I mean?"

Ozzie offered an empty chuckle. “I've wanted to 'quit' the business life a long time ago. It's all so shit. Before Songbird, worked at a small time shitshow. Remember that company culture garbage I told you about? The drinking one? It was that. Friend of dads. Selling alarm systems. It was worse. I took it because I was just getting on my own."

He growled. “Selling to people. Making money that I saw less than a percent of. It's soulless, Anson."

Anson could tell this was in danger of spiraling into darker territory. Ozzie – god bless the beautiful fucker – was collapsing within himself. And he was the strong one, to Anson. He was the one that seemed to not care about life's bullshit.

Work had a way of meticulously grinding down one's spirit. Anson felt it too, sometimes, but not like this. He, at least, had an interest in the cybersecurity field.

“I'm sorry Oz."

Now was a good time.

“Look. . . I know this is really hard for you. But, hey. I've got an idea. Maybe we can get away for a night, you know? And I don't mean a little drive down the road, I mean something you might like."

At first, Ozzie didn't respond, as though the idea needed a moment to take root.

“Like where?"

Anson mulled over his words.

“Well, it's apparently this open invitation out on the coast. Just people hanging out, you know? I think you can pay for booze and food or just bring your own."

Ozzie blinked, glancing to Anson. “Yeah?"

“Music too? I'm pretty sure it'll be shit though. Some guys on acoustic, I bet. We can make fun of it and get wasted."

A tiny, tiny smiled formed over Ozzie's muzzle.

“Set some shit on fire for all I care. Whatever you want, Ozzie. Maybe we can take a night and then just. . . figure things out from there, you know?"

Anson's hand travelled beneath the cover to mingle with Ozzie's own, squeezing.

The yeendog was quiet for a while – though his thoughts were loud.

“What about work?"

Anson laughed. “What about it? Fuck work, Ozzie. Just forget about it right now. Do something with me. Just be who you want, you know?"

The words were tempting. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Anson could see the eagerness flood through Ozzie's eyes.

“What if I. . . can I bring friends? Shit. Shit Anson! I haven't seen my friends in so long. I don't even get to talk to Harriet anymore because of the job."

So much for emphasis on community and togetherness, Anson thought. I guess the only family that mattered to Songbird was its own people.

“Of course. You don't have to ask me for permission, Oz. Bring anyone."

Anson paused. Then:

“We can all hang out and talk or whatever. Spend the whole night shitting on work, if you need to."

A subtle yet still audible 'thump' echoed in the room – Ozzie's tail wagging against his bed.

“Yeah. I'd like that."

Here, Ozzie turned towards Anson, resting on his side.

“Uh, Ans. If I do though, well, it's not just Harriet. I've known some of them for a few years. If they actually meet us. . ."

“Yeah?"

A dry chuckle. “Well like, they're a little uh. Rambunctious, I guess? I used to get pretty trashed with them, y'know. Drunk and high and all that. They might want to if we're seein' each other again."

This didn't exactly surprise Anson, though he understood what Ozzie was trying to imply.

“You're not sure if I'm comfortable with that?"

A gentle nod. “Uh huh."

Anson had to think it over, if he was honest with himself. His restrictive – if not smothering – upbringing meant it was a clean nose all throughout the early years. Barring looking at porn with Jasper, there was not much in the way of 'wild experiences' either. College too proved to be fairly banal. Sure, he attended a party or two, but it was standard fare. No drugs or anything extreme. No risks.

Maybe it was time for a little change.

“It's different," said Anson. “I've never done anything like it. But I'd be with you. I trust you. Who knows?"

Now Ozzie's muzzle stretched with a grin.

“I didn't think you were into that," Ozzie said.

“Well, I'm technically not. But I can experience new things with you. It'd make you happy, right?"

Ozzie's tail wagged with greater haste, practically drumming against the bed. He squeezed back against Anson's palm.

“Hell yes man. Hah, I can show you off!"

Anson smiled. “You sure can."

Ozzie curled a little close to his partner, body relaxed, neck under chin.

“I'm kinda' excited now. When's this happening?"

Anson took a moment to remember. “Upcoming holiday weekend. Sunday, looks like, around the afternoon well into evening."

Ozzie grumbled in approval. “Oh man. Oh man I wanna' do this now. Where'd you find it?"

“Open invitation on PageSpace. Thing where you can list your own events or something? Figured it was a nice change of pace. I just want you to have fun, Ozzie. It hurts to see you sad."

The yeendog huffed. “Am I? I don't mean to be. Guess I'm just gettin' tired of it all. I should just suck it up, I guess. If mom was a cop I can be in sales."

Anson pulled Ozzie close and held him.

“No, no. You deserve to be happy, Oz. If this isn't working for you then, I don't know. Let's talk about it, okay? But for now, what do you say? Do something fun?"

A sigh. The yeendog's form relaxed, mingled with Anson's own. “With you man? It always is."

This, at least, relieved Anson. He knew Ozzie wasn't entirely better – hard to be with the onus of an unpleasant job in front of you. But if he could apply some solution, no matter how small, he was happy to do it.

Now he just had to fix the rest.

-*-

Days came and went in their usual fashion – though Anson did everything in his power to get Ozzie through it. Even with the prospect of an outing on the horizon, the job robbed Ozzie of his spirit once the day concluded. His bright, tenacious spirit was waning.

Anson went into overdrive to make sure he could provide any support possible. Extra special lunches, a beer when they got home, listening and talking as oft as possible. But Ozzie was getting caged, and he still held the soul of a wild animal.

He had concluded the only possible remedy was their night out; after all, it's how they bonded the previous three months. But Anson wasn't content to leave it at that. He had to do more.

Before the weekend approached, Anson conducted a meticulous level of research over Ozzie's fancies. These were particular, specific things the yeendog purchased for himself, not just a casual buy from the store. So, he found online a few things to hopefully top off the night, make it that much more special.

By the time he scoured through all the things he figured Ozzie would like, he was looking at a king's ransom in price. Some new designer clothes, a new ring, some “professional" level conditioners for fur coats, and an old vinyl of Ozzie's favorite band “The Kelvins." It was essentially all the extra cash Anson had for the rest of the month, but this was worth it.

He made sure to have the packages delivered before their weekend outing, conspicuous enough that Ozzie wouldn't get suspicious. Anson couldn't give his boy the world, but he could give him the part of it that was special to him.

Once in place, all there was left to do was make it to the actual weekend. Sunday crept up on them at an agonizingly slow pace – more so that Ozzie was so miserable, but it arrived all the same.

When it did though, Ozzie was beside himself with excitement. They were at his place again, where the yeendog took extra care to choose proper attire. Shorts and tank top this time around, and Anson followed suit. Probably for the best, long clothes and sand didn't exactly mix. No swimsuits either, Ozzie wasn't keen on having saltwater caked into his luxurious coat.

After that, they took Ozzie's car and were soon speeding towards the coast, about half-an-hour off. It was close to evening, enough that sunlight would hang around for a few hours before yielding to a generous sunset.

Ozzie kept a rowdy ambiance of music going in his car, though not loud enough the two couldn't hear each other.

“So who did you invite again?" Anson said as Ozzie made a few turns.

“Mmm, just a few rowdy little shits. You already know Harriet. She's bringin' her girl, uh, Mari I think. Mari with an 'I'. Rex is coming too and I think he's dating a guy right now? So probably with his number one."

Anson remembered. Harriet was the opossum girl that cooked them food back in Dogtown. She seemed nice, but absolutely the type Ozzie hung out with.

“Rex is definitely holding but I'm not letting him give you anything. Dunno' about the others. But they're cool people, I promise."

Anson shrugged. “I can take your word, Oz. If you trust them, so do I."

“Mm, it's a bit more than that babe. This is your first time so, you know. Light dose. But it's easy to get scared – stuff can make you paranoid as shit if you don't know where you are or who you're with."

Oh. Anson realized Ozzie was referring to the drugs.

“Uh, how paranoid are we talking here? I'm not going to see like, snakes coming out of my legs or something am I?"

The yeendog started to laugh, a sort of mirthful chirp hyena were known for.

“Noooooo! It's just weird, sometimes. If don't feel safe it's like. . . well, even the rocks are out to get you. But I picked something nice and mild for us, we'll be fine. Rex though? Fuckin' loon probably brought his good shit."

As they continued to near the coast, Anson tried to picture how this would look. Or think about how he might feel.

“How's this work, exactly?"

Keeping his eyes on the road, Ozzie tapped at his glove compartment. “In there, in a bag. You can take em' out if you want. They're like cigarettes, basically – but we call it 'haze' most of the time. Pretty easy to use too."

Curious, Anson opened the compartment to find a small plastic bag with what appeared to be several small, gold plated cylinders, not too dissimilar from the dimensions of a cigar. He took the bag, looking through the clear plastic. It looked nothing like you could inhale, at least not from what he saw. They were like pens, really.

“Yeah, something like that," said Anson. “Or syringes, depending on the drug, I guess."

“Well, no syringes. But anyway, like cigarettes. Inhaling, I mean. You take the top off, you turn it on, and you just breathe in the vapor. Easier on the lungs too."

Didn't seem so bad. “Simple enough."

“Gettin' high's never been easier. And it's legal. I don't really bother so much anymore. But you were insistent, Ans, so, here we go yeah?"

Anson rubbed his partner's leg. “That's what I like to hear."

Ozzie was happy to answer other questions Anson had, few as they were. But eventually, they reached the coast where the get-together was held.

The event listed it near SoCal's state beach (or one of them, at least), where an immediately visible sprawl of bodies appeared in the distance. The crowd wasn't exactly massive, though not small either – another healthy mix of (mostly) chimera and a splash of humans. A majority of them certainly looked young, perhaps barely out of their teens.

Parking wasn't hard to find, despite the numbers. In fact, at a glance there might have been around fifty people at most, give or take. Enough to fill the beach with a sense of vitality and life, though not enough to drown it.

Ozzie found a spot, keying off the ignition, as the two left the car. Anson had to stretch, hit with the ambiance of the ebbing ocean, breaking shore waves mixed with the conversations of the attendees.

In most predictable fashion, an audible twang wafted over the sandy shores, the strike of acoustic mingling with the smoky aroma of cooking meat. Shouts spiked the air and running figures caught Frisbees or beach balls, while lounging vixens relaxed on towels, sipping beer.

The yeendog wasn't interested in it, however. Rather, he pulled out his phone and swiped a few messages, no doubt texting his friends.

“Damn, they got here fast," he said as Anson came to his side. “They already set up here. Looks like the wanna' start a fire later too."

“A legal one, I hope."

“Mmm, maybe," said Ozzie, half-joking.

Ozzie glanced around, ears perked. According to the texts, Harriet and company were near a few dune hills, sort of orbiting the crowds.

For Anson, it was wonderful to see Ozzie return to life. The sun caught his gray fur and black spots with adoring light, and his green eyes dilated from excitement. His tail held a calm swagger, and his nose flared with puppy-like eagerness. All the pains of work washed out of him, at least for now. If only Anson could give him this moment, preserve this fraction of time forever. He'd do anything tonight to make Ozzie smile.

For now, he retired the thought, and stood close to his boy.

“I think it's this way. . ." said the yeendog, peering towards a few mounds of sand.

Dutifully, Anson followed. He also couldn't help but feel timid tremors of excitement erupt within in. The harsh stench of saltwater mixing with Ozzie's musk-aroma was strangely enchanting, along with the idea of trying something new and strange.

After padding through the sand (Anson elected flops and Ozzie bare-paw) they spied a small collection of four figures huddled in the sand. They surrounded a loose collection of logs and driftwood, unlit, a cooler to the side.

Anson recognized Harriet, the opossum, who appeared to wear a two-piece black bikini. There was a wire of tattoos running across her leg, and her company appeared no less different.

In fact, it was the other girl, “Mari" Anson assumed, that spied the approaching pair.

“Hey. Hey is that Oz!?"

Mari, as Anson saw, was a deer. She had a short sweep of blue dyed hair and had flower tattoos along her arm.

“Oh! Ozzle!"

Harriet's familiar voice chirped, and the other couple also noticed. Two males sat together – though Anson didn't know which was Rex. For the life of him, Anson couldn't pin down the species of one of the males. He carried a gentle frame, lean – much like Ozzie – though his fur was white. Forearms and lower legs were tinted black, as were his long ears. They were pierced, accenting a bush of short hair.

The other was probably the biggest of the lot. Even sitting, he was at least a foot higher than company, and the presence of muscle was visible – even through fur. However, he might have been the 'plainest' of the bunch. His light wheat fur was only accented by his shorts and a series of beads wrapped around wrist. A dog of some kind, Anson decided.

“HEY!" Ozzie shouted back. His muzzle yanked with a big, dumb toothy grin, and his tail assaulted the air with a flurry of wags.

“Oh fuck, there's the boy," said the largest male, who stood at once. Ozzie dashed over to them, meeting Harriet with a hug. The same he gave to the other, and Anson figured the large dog was Rex.

Anson approached the group, but he could see how excited the yeendog was.

“Rexxy, Rexxy, oh my god man, how long as it been man?"

The other two – Mari and the fox, stood as well.

“Too damn long! A year? More? Hah, where you been asshole?" said Rex.

“Right?" Harriet cut in. “Doesn't even come around to get smashed anymore."

Ozzie only offered a sheepish shrug. “Noooo. That's not true. I'm here ain't I? I just got work, you know."

Rex returned a playful snort. “Yeah, yeah."

The yeendog peered at the other male, the fox, and to Mari.

“You can't give me a hard time, I barely even know these two. Rex, you never told me you were dating again!"

Rex snagged the fox and pulled him close, grinning. He gestured as well to the approaching Anson, who came to Ozzie's side.

“No? What about him?" said Rex.

There was an exchange of glances as Anson approached. He gave a nod. “Hi."

“Harriet, it's nice to see you again," Anson added.

A pause. “Uhh, maybe we should try introductions?" the fox spoke up, nudging his partner.

Agreeing, the company got to know each other with relative haste. Anson already knew Harriet, but was introduced to Mari, Rex (whose name was apparently Alexei), and Kacey. After that, they spared a few stories about how they met and how long they were together.

“Yeah, I was actually lost as shit, haha," Mari would say, recounting her first meeting with the opossum.

“I just needed a hotel for the night and saw this cute opossum chick. Asked her for directions. She gave me a beer on the house and then we kinda' hit it off, you know?"

Ozzie spared a grin. “Alcohol is magic."

Kacey's answer was a bit more informal.

“Strip club," the fox had said. “Big boy has a thing for dancers."

Rex had notably blushed, shrugging. “Eh, he ain't kidding. Once I saw him work his ass on stage I was hooked."

After that, Ozzie shared his story. Anson could feel his heart swell with notable warmth; just hearing about him talk about their relationship was enough to make him fall in love all over again.

“Well. We were coworkers and friends for about a year and uh, yeah. We went to a company picnic, I got sloppy ass drunk and my boy fucked me good."

He laughed.

Anson also spared a chuckle. “It was very romantic."

Afterwards, they sat down back in the sand. Harriet yanked open the cooler and started passing out beers, to which Ozzie happily obliged himself, downing half in a minute's time.

Here, formality started to break down. Alcohol loosened mind and tongue as Anson started to get a sense of Ozzie's friends, and the company they kept.

“How'd you guys get to know each other?" Anson asked, referring to Harriet, Rex, and Ozzie.

“Late high school, kinda," Harriet started. “We started to skip out a lot and like, score beer and try to win bets."

“Fuck, that was so hard," Rex added. “Ozzie's mom was a cop."

Oz laughed. “Still is, you know."

“But see, that's how we always found the good shit," Harriet went on, cuddling with her deer partner.

“See like, Oz's mom would tell him about the bad parts or town so we knew where to look."

Anson couldn't help but feel secondhand concern. “Uh. Well shit. Wasn't that dangerous?"

He also couldn't help but feel like the scared kid watching his friends try something risky.

Ozzie waived it off. “Not with him!" he said, pointing to Rex.

Rex gave an amused flex. “Yep. Wasn't a big deal. We just got lots of cheap shitty beer."

Anson was still curious. “And, how did you win bets, exactly?"

Rex and Harriet looked between each other, surprised. Then, back to Ozzie.

“Dude! Did you ever tell him?" said Harriet.

“Oh no," Kacey said, laughing. “Not this. Baby, please don't tell me you brought the knife."

Rex's ears perked, and at once started shuffling in his pocket.

“Well, no, I mean it doesn't come up. We work for a business, remember guys?" said Ozzie.

Now, Anson heard the word 'knife' and felt a twinge of panic run through him. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Dude, DUDE, you have to show him. Rite of passage." Rex said these words with intense pride, yanking out an unassuming object from his pocket, setting it in the sand. It was a switchblade.

“Oh no way," said Mari. “Haha, wow. Is this happening?"

Kacey rolled his eyes. “Rexi, baby, why did you bring that."

Rex was a little too excited, as was Harriet. She pushed it toward Oz, who looked both eager and concerned.

Anson raised his hands. “Excuse me. Uh. What the fuck is happening right now?"

Ozzie sighed, picking up the switchblade, rolling it through his fingers. Rolling it, in such a way, that it was as natural as breathing, with terrifying precision and familiarity.

“Come on come on come on!" Rex chanted. “You gotta' do it! Show him!"

Ozzie shook his head. “Okay stop. Nobody touches my man unless he's okay with it."

Here, Anson saw Ozzie in a strange new light. Here, the sun began to fade and yield to a timid sunset, as if revealing a new world. This was a side of Ozzie he didn't know, one that apparently knew something about a knife.

The yeendog turned to his partner, eyes wide and caring. “Okay, you don't have to do anything man. Don't worry about them."

Anson blinked. “Do what?"

What happened to the drugs and alcohol?

“Finger roulette," said Ozzie. “Heard of it?"

At once, visions of fingers and sharp things coalesced in Anson's mind. Oh. That.

“Oh god," said Anson.

“It's how we won bets. I'd bet a dude I could run it through my fingers. Double or nothing if I did it to him."

Rex laughed. “They always pussied out though. But that's their loss. Ozzie's the fucking man!"

Harriet chimed in too, raising her fingers, wiggling them.

“He's done it to me a bunch of times. It's awesome."

Anson didn't know what to say. “Uhhhh. . ."

Ozzie shook his head. “Okay you two shut up, you're not helping."

He turned back to Anson, rubbing his leg, comforting.

“You don't have to do anything. It's just a game. But I'm preeeetty good at it, and I dunno. I'll put my hand over yours, if you want? If you even want to do it."

Perhaps, some years ago, Anson might've declined immediately. The more conservative, reserved part of him would've bowed out, citing work or safety. That version of him also might've mentioned that Ozzie had a beer in him already, so his judgment was impaired.

But that wasn't him anymore. Fuck it. It was for Ozzie. As far as he was concerned, he could lose a finger and it wouldn't matter.

Anson shook his head. “I trust you. Show me."

Rex growled with enthuse. “Hell YES!"

“Fuck, we don't have a table, fuck, uh," said Harriet, looking around. Then, she spied the cooler, expression brightening.

“Use this!"

And just like that, they had a pseudo table. Ozzie regarded it with a practiced eye, taking Anson's hand and squeezing it, a silent gesture that he wouldn't let anything happen to Anson.

“If he get hurts I'm blaming you," said Kacey, elbowing his boyfriend in the side. Rex shook it off.

“Not gonna' happen, no fucking way. You just watch!"

Ozzie ignored everything. He took Anson's hand and placed it gently on the cooler top, looking at his boy with steady determination.

“Spread your fingers, okay? And don't move."

Anson felt cold panic run through him. Even though it was Ozzie, it was still scary. It didn't help when Ozzie let the switchblade spring to life, the sharp sliver of metal flashing in sunlight. If Ozzie even made the tiniest mistake. . .

The yeendog took up space opposite side of the cooler. “You sure you don't want my hand over yours?"

“I'm sure," said Anson. He was lying.

Taking a breath, his palm rested as securely as he could keep it, spreading digits. It didn't matter. This was for Ozzie. This was for every shitty customer and bad day, for every moment the yeendog felt pain or sadness. He wanted Ozzie to be, and well, this was a part of him. If it risked his hand? Well, he had a spare.

There was a deep, pregnant quiet. Only distant voices of crowds and lapping of waves were audible.

Ozzie took the knife and struck between Anson's fingers. Anson flinched, but refused to move. Then, Ozzie did it again.

With casual precision, he let the momentum of the blade dance between Anson's fingers. Tap tap tap. It was slow at first, and random. Then it quickened. Anson's heart began to race, as his eyes lost track of the blade. Each time it made a dull tap against the cooler plastic, he felt his flesh scream. But he knew, if he budged once, he might see something much worse.

Mari covered her mouth, in shock. “Holy shit!"

Taptaptaptap!

“Jesus CHRIST!"

Anson had to yell. He was watching Ozzie plunge the knife between the space of his digits, and it was terrifying. But exciting. How was this possible?

The yeendog maintained a fast rhythm, like he was listening to a beat no one could hear. Then he got risky. Now the knife was coming near the apex of Anson's digits, where there was less space. Anson's hair could practically feel the flank of metal. Shit. Yet, Ozzie struck with diligent precision – enough that he might as well have been cutting atoms.

Ozzie ignored all distractions, casually dotting the blade, faster and faster, like he was washing dishes or something equally mundane.

Tap.

And just like that it was done.

Ozzie retrieved the blade, flipping it around his hand, and let the switchblade fall back into its apparatus.

Rex erupted in cheers, Mari kept quiet, Harriet grinned, Kacey was stunned and Anson. . .

Well, he looked at Ozzie like there was no one left in the world that mattered. Just him.

“Oh my god, Ozzie. . ." Anson said, shaking with laughter. The yeendog wagged his tail, grinning.

“See?"

Handsome bastard, Anson thought.

With a prideful smirk, Ozzie looked at the others. “You know Rex, not even you gave me your hand first time."

Rex scratched his head, flushing. “Hey! You weren't as good back then!"

Snickering, Ozzie returned to fall into Anson, back against chest. Anson's arms fell over him, and god, he wanted that moment forever. Nothing like bonding over fingers and a knife.

-*-

With the ice utterly shattered, the couples fell into a groove of friendly conversation. Anson didn't have many of his own stories to share, but enjoyed listening to the strange shenanigans they got up to. Kacey, for instance, apparently did webcam shows for money, but decided to take it to clubs where he could earn a lot more. He also, apparently, wanted to study a field in biology.

“No relation to the stripping," he had said.

Mari, on the other hand, moved out to SoCal to help her aunt run a small flower shop. It didn't do so well these days, but they made it work. Mostly because Mari designed them for 'edgier' reasons.

“Really it's because I advertise for her," Harriet said, poking her tongue out.

Then, sunset started to yield to night, and the group lit a small fire. There still lingered the scent of cooked foods, but it didn't interest them. Something else did, however.

Ozzie looked around, then retrieved the haze pens from plastic bag.

“So uh. You guys mind if we get dizzy?" he said, referring to himself, and Anson.

He looked to his partner. “I mean, you still want to?"

Anson was a touch uncertain, but nodded his head. “Of course. Didn't forget."

The others, however, brightened up.

“Oh fuuuuuck, Ozzie with the haze n' shit. Didn't know we were doin' that!" said Rex, his muzzle tugging with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, what! No fair!" said Mari. “I didn't know this was happening!"

Rex waived it off. “No worries girl, I got you. I got my own good shit."

“Yeah, you keep it," said Ozzie. “Anson's a first timer. Nothing crazy."

Kacey blushed. “Heh, uh. You guys know what happens right? We're in public."

“I got a van, no worries," said Harriet. Her voice was low, but. . . sultry. Anson didn't quite understand, figuring public intoxication with substances probably wasn't legal. Or was it?

The mood shifted, however. Rex rushed back to his car, and soon came back with a few pens of his own. Simpler, these, plain and white. Though, likely far harder than what Ozzie was carrying.

“Oh damn, man, is this a four?" said Harriet, taking a pen offered to her.

“Hell yeah it is!" said Rex.

Ozzie, in the meantime, retrieved the two gold haze pens, handing one to Anson. “'Four' is like a tier," he explained.

“Higher the number, harder the stuff hits. It goes up to six now, I think? For us though, it's a one. I'd rather not lose my shit tonight, anyway."

Anson nodded. “Makes sense." He took the object and held it in fingers, rolling it around. Odd and alien, yet so unassuming. He pulled off its top, which revealed a delicate construction for inhaling, where the bottom of the pen had a touch-sensitive surface.

Ozzie smiled. “It should feel pretty good. But, if you feel kinda wigged out man, just, look at me, okay?"

“Why's that?"

A shrug. “Some first timers get paranoid or scared, especially when they're in new places. I'm pretty much the only familiar thing so. If you feel that, just look at me."

“Oh. Well that's easy."

Granted, the prospect of experiencing paranoia wasn't exactly a thrilling concept but, if anyone could keep him safe, it was Ozzie.

The others had already started to sip at their pens. Clouds of vapor puffed in the air, the firelight causing a burst of bizarre hues to erupt over the fog. Rex laughed, grunting with approval, while Harriet and Mari shared, kissing each other between inhales.

“Ready?" said Ozzie.

Ready as I'll ever be, Anson thought.

With a nod, he pressed the pen's butt and saw a sliver of ringed light form. Ozzie did the same, pressing the cylinder in muzzle, taking a deep inhale. After that, he breathed out, colored mist leaving him.

“It takes a few hits, but then. . ." the yeendog's voice was softer now, but only just so.

Well, now or never. Anson pressed the thing in his lips and breathed in. At once, an unusual cloud of something poured into his senses, and he coughed a bit, body resisted the foreign material. It wasn't – to his surprise – as harsh as he expected. Quite easy, really, like watery mist sprinkled into him.

He did it again. This time, a plethora of tingles erupted over him. He did his best to remain aware of what was happening, let his thoughts focus on any changes. Nothing significant yet.

Ozzie leaned into him. Warmth. And then, weight. . .

“Does it take long?" said Anson. Yet then he noticed his words felt a bit weightier, like they were harder to enunciate.

Third breath. Fourth. Then fifth.

“Mmmmm, mhm mhm," Ozzie rumbled, tail thumping the sand. “Relaxing."

Was it?

Was. . .

Oh. OH.

There it was.

Anson chuckled, and he didn't know why. He loved everything, and he didn't know why. Colors were brighter, saturated. He was at peace, heavier, relaxed.

But he could still think. Just a bit slower. Like roaming through a long fog.

He held Ozzie's hand, and it felt incredible. Like the fur had reached some new level of undiscovered softness. Things in his head clicked, made sense. As though he could figure out the rest of his life from here on out.

“This is pretty nice," Anson said.

Ozzie inhaled again. “Mmhm. Mmhm. Not bad right? Not like them."

The yeendog pointed to the couples who were far more “into it." In fact, Mari had taken it upon herself to slip a hand over the opossum, let a hand massage her waist, then sort of dive between her bikini into her legs.

Wait, what?

Anson started to feel. . . something else. Something good.

Apparently, Rex and Kacey were of the same opinion. Kacey was sitting on the dog's lap, tossing his haunches, dancing his bottom against the hound's crotch. And it was. . . fairly easy to see that Rex's pants were tented, his malehood twitching against the fox's motions.

And Anson wasn't appalled. In fact he was kind of. . .

Aroused?

Oh, oh boy. Yes he was. Like the fire crackling in front of him, he could feel his loins spring to life. How much time had passed, exactly? For this to go on?

“Holy shit," Anson muttered. Wow.

Holy fuck I'm horny.

He couldn't stop it. Not that he wanted to, but, his own cock sprang to life and was just angry to get out. But they were in public! Wouldn't someone see?

Let em' see, maybe they'll like it, Anson thought.

Ozzie might've noticed, or maybe he was having similar thoughts. Harriet's quiet moans didn't help, nor did Rex's enticed grunts from his partner's dancing.

“Ugh, Ozzie, holy shit man. . ."

The yeendog looked at his partner with intoxicated intrigue. “Yeaaaaaah?"

This stuff, this haze, it put Anson somewhere. He was still himself, yet a world away. He felt good, and warm, and heavy, and thirsty, and like he wanted to hammer into Ozzie as if the waves were about to take them away.

Struggling against all sense and reason, Anson pulled his loins free. He let his hard, twitching mast meet the beach air, harder than he'd ever been in his life. God. He drowned in lust.

“Ugh, I need you so much, you beautiful handsome bastard. Ozzie, Ozzie, holy shit, suck my cock, please, I'm fuckin' losing it!"

The same spark of arousal flooded through Ozzie, and he was more than happy to oblige.

“Oohoh, listen to you. My man needs his big dick sucked? Need me to worship that perfect prick?"

What were these words? Where were they coming from? Deep and raw and primal. Anson could barely understand himself. Was it even he that was speaking, or some ancient, unhinged animal let loose – caged melted away by the introduction of drugs?

Anson's hand pet through Ozzie's tinted mane, wanting.

“Yes. Yes."

So, Ozzie did.

His soft, practiced canid muzzle came right to the tip and kissed. Warm, invigorated lips pressed against the crown and applied adoring smooches. Ozzie got to all fours, lowering himself prone, so that he might look up to Anson in servile nature while his mouth wrapped around the first inch, little horny, humbled moans emitting from him.

Anson felt hot, like his whole body was fire. The good kind. He squirmed against the yeendog's attentions, taking another hit of the haze, the strange saturation of misty colors creating a spellwork of intoxicating images.

The others were lost in their own drama of arousal. Kacey's pants were now off, and his rump had shoved itself into Rex's muzzle, who took to licking furiously against the hidden pink pucker. Harriet and Mari, on the other hand, had pulled off their tops, letting forms entwine, perky tits rubbing against the other while fingers massaged lower lips.

“W-what about the van?" Kacey shuddered.

“Ndon'tgiveafuckabouthat," Rex replied in between slurps.

No, no one did. The only fucks given were to each other.

Neither did Anson. He groaned, he groaned so loud he thought he might tear the sky apart. He watched Ozzie increase movement, letting his flat tongue roll across the veiny rod, sending waves of warmth throughout the inches.

His nose flared, Ozzie pressing mouth into testes now, serving each stone with a sordid supply of licks, laps, and kisses. His tail wagged, and his own doggish mast was completely erect, bottom wiggling while he worked.

For Ozzie, it was bliss. The high of haze was dancing through his blood, inspiring a voracious, sexual appetite. So, he acted on it.

The muzzle engulfed Anson's mast, slurping the trembling inches into his sloppy oral tunnel. For Anson, the sensation was enhanced like nothing he ever felt. Maybe it was just his brain dizzy from the drugs, but every little bit of him suffocated in pleasured tingles.

“Mmmhmm," murmured Ozzie, as if knowing. His head bounced against the cock, sniffing at Anson's human scent, taste of pre dolloping onto his tongue.

He released with a quiet 'pop,' tapping the thick flesh against his lips, rolling crown against them, against his cheek, everywhere.

Anson's hand ran through the mane of white-tipped hair, another sprawl of hot moans leaving him. It was overwhelming, he couldn't fucking take it.

“Sodamnbeatufiul," he muttered, grunting when the yeendog slapped his flesh against furred check.

Ozzie grinned, allowing the inches to rest on his nose. “Nnhh? Like it? Like your handsome boy with a face full of cock?"

Ugggh. God. Dammit. Ozzie.

The yeendog didn't let his partner respond. Rather, he slurped the needy flesh once more, this time with greater gusto. His sloppy, loud suckles caused saliva to dribble from the grip of mouth, and he hammered the crown deep into his throat – deep as he could get it, at least.

Anson wasn't the only one with flaring desires. Ozzie was on overdrive. The night was so perfect. Back with friends, away from it all, a nice, gentle high filling him with new tiers of lust. He just wanted to bury Anson's flank inside his throat, keep it there. All night, long as he could. Choke on the fucking thing. Anson was his man and he sure as hell was gonna' make him feel good.

Sand be damned, the others were picking up pace too. Somewhere in the mist of their sexual coupling, Anson saw Rex bend Kacey over – sand be damned. That thick dog dong was now finding new residence in the tight, supple foxhole, slapping into the pink pucker, squeaky moans erupting from the todd.

The girls were at it too, Mari curling behind her girl and sending fingers deep inside Harriet's sodden cleft. Her digits wriggled within the suckling folds, other palm massaging perky breast, kissing neck.

The fire danced between the trio pair, and the evening night shielded them from prying eyes. Thank goodness for the terrible acoustics, else crowds might overhear a steady crescendo of fucking and groaning.

“Ozzie, holyshit," Anson said, grumbling again. His cock twitched. He couldn't keep himself to heel for long. At all, in fact.

With a pleasant whimper, Ozzie felt a trail of hot side burst into his mouth, little ropes of white splashing into his throat. The yeendog dared not spare a drop, mumbling while he sucked down every spike of issue available. Hell, he could even hear Anson's testes trembling as they poured their seed into him.

Anson buckled over, the intensity paralyzing him. The kind of physical sensation which forced a moan out of a person.

He shuddered, bucking his loins into the loyal Ozzie, who was happy to let his man use his maw like a soft, sucking fuck toy.

When he finished, Ozzie licked his lips, drunk on haze and Anson's taste.

“Nn, you handsome bitch," muttered Anson. The afterglow was something else. The saturated colors and drug induced calm was so surreal, but welcome. And yet. . .

Ozzie shifted, straddling his partner. “Mmmm, somebody's still hard."

Was he? Holy shit, he was.

Afterglow be damned, his cock would not yield. So, Ozzie pulled down his shorts, enough to expose shapely rump, caressing the malehood between the split of his cheeks.

Anson, so drunk on everything, snagged his partner's face and kissed him. He couldn't help it. He could smell himself and met Ozzie's tongue with his own, like nothing else in the world would ever matter again. He looked into those green eyes, and they shimmered with haze-induced hues, like fires made of emerald.

Ozzie was done sitting around though. His rump fell onto Anson's shaft, his satin pucker spreading with practiced familiarity, sliding the soaked member into his tight tunnel.

He panted with a strained, satisfied moan, gripping Anson's shoulders, beginning to bounce and roll his hips. His muzzle trailed from Anson's face to ear, little eruptions of pleased yelps escaping him.

“Nnnf, Anson. . ."

Ozzie growled, unable to muster the words. How could he? He was shaking, trembling against his man's cock, riding him with smooth, quick hops, exposed rump clapping against bare thighs.

And like that, they were lost in a delirious fog of fucking and holding. All of them were. Kacey was practically whining as his boyfriend hammered shaft into the caressing hole, where Mari and Harriet began grinding their nethers together, a sordid orchestra of drug-induced sexual euphoria filling the air.

Anson didn't remember orgasming again. He only felt Ozzie ride him into the ground, bouncing his boy-hole against the rock-solid cock, draining him of seed. They seemed to fuck until stars stretched into the sky, locked in a moment endless. Or maybe that was just the haze.

For a while his shaft ached with warmth, and exhaled, heart racing faster than ever before. Everything spaced out and felt distant, then close.

Anson shut his eyes. When he opened them again, Ozzie was huddled into him, panting into his neck. He felt his shaft soften (finally), cuddling the yeendog close.

He barely heard the others reach their own peaks. Or, perhaps they already did? The haze had slowed his thoughts, his sense of time. Maybe they were there for hours. Or minutes?

Eventually, the orgy subsided. Rex had abused his boyfriend's hole to the point the pink entrance was absolutely flooded with canine seed, and Mari and Harriet dampened the sand with their own peaks (how they kept sand out of themselves, well, Anson figured best not to ask).

Anson was left to hold Ozzie, drink in his deep aroma of hybrid hyena and cologne. The haze aroused this smell even more, creating a strange, but alluring, perfume. Ambrosia of his partner.

Never before in his life had he felt so in love with Ozzie.

-*-

Time did pass, or so they all figured. As the fire faded the group thought it best to perhaps move, concerned they might attract curious onlookers. Well, 'concerned' more meaning Rex figured someone wanted his stash, so they dragged the cooler farther down the coast.

The group continued to drink the night away, sipping on alcohol and taking hits of haze until they reached a euphoric delirium. Well, except for Anson, who remembered he had to drive home.

Besides, there were still one last thing to take care of.

Eventually though, it was time to call it quits. Harriet and Mari decided to spend the night in her van, at least until they were sober enough, and Rex had rented a Qywk taxi to get to a nearby hotel. It was a bit somber, Ozzie not quite wanting to say goodbye to his friends.

But. . . Anson had a feeling more opportunities like this would come about.

It was probably around three in the morning before Anson started driving the pair back. Ozzie was a little smashed, though the low dose of haze and alcohol hadn't dulled his senses completely.

“Hey, if it's okay, let's spend the night at my place," Anson said, taking a turn towards Thousand Oaks. “Can make you a nice breakfast."

He drove slow. His senses were coming back to him, though just a touch fuzzy. Ozzie, in the meantime, nodded.

“Okay. I like the sound of that."

Then, a hand on Anson's knee.

“Anson. . . man. Thank you. Thank you so much. I really needed that. Really needed it."

The human smiled. “I'm glad, hun, I'm glad. But don't thank me yet. I've got one more thing in store."

“Nnh?"

Anson hoped Ozzie was still aware enough to not fall asleep. But, the wild boy had probably done worse.

They arrived at Anson's place not long after, parking next to Anson's car. Anson made sure Ozzie was okay to get inside, leading him up the steps, until they entered their home once again.

There, on the living room table was the package Anson had so carefully set out for his boy. It was unassuming, simple, and Ozzie didn't seem to notice it.

“Okay. Ozzie. I have something for you."

He took his partner by the hand and lead him to the couch.

“Seeing you hurt this week was too much, Oz. I didn't know work had gotten so bad. And, I don't want you to be sad anymore. So I got you a little pick me up and, well, something else."

The 'something else' was to come. As for Ozzie, he sniffed at the box, looking between Anson and the object.

“What is it?" he asked, voice soft.

Anson shrugged. “Just some things."

With curious delight, Ozzie opened it and began padding through its contents. His breath shortened, however, as he began to pull free the objects.

First came the clothes, the designer shirt and pants associated with his favorite brand.

“Holy fuck," Ozzie murmured. “Anson. . . these are recent releases!"

The human nodded. “They are."

Then, the jewelry came next, a slick band of platinum interwoven with a custom pattern of silver. It was at this point Ozzie's eyes started to mist, and his muzzle stretched with a smile, growing ever bigger.

Then, came the conditioners. Then the vinyl.

And then came the tears.

Ozzie sniffed. “Anson, haha. Fuck, man. Why? Hahahah! This is. . . I don't know. You sweet bastard! Why?"

Anson sat next to his boy, a bit confused from the gentle crying, hand over the yeendog's own.

“I love you, that's why."

Ozzie's expression became a mess of watery eyes and bright cheeks. He fell into Anson, holding him close, close as reality allowed.

“Nnng, fuck, man! Thank you! I don't know what to say! I. . . I love you Anson! Ffuuuck!"

That was it. That was everything Anson needed. Just this. Just his boy happy again, forgetting the job, the world. He'd trade it all to preserve this feeling forever.

“Ugh, I don't know why I'm crying," said Ozzie, laughing. “Haha, ahaha! I love you so much it hurts."

Anson held him for a while, kissing muzzle. One last thing. . .

“I don't want you to feel trapped anymore, Ozzie. So."

He considered his words. Then:

“Quit your job. If it's not making you happy anymore, just, I don't know. Leave it."

This blindsided Ozzie. He pulled back from Anson, staring at the human, bewildered. Anson reached to wipe away tears, still smiling.

“What?"

“You can look for something else. Or try to. And. . . I can take care of us. Might be a little hard, but. No more of this for you. I can't see you sad like this anymore."

Ozzie sniffed again, calming. “I think the haze hit you a little hard tonight, Ans."

Anson shook his head. “I'm serious."

A pregnant pause drifted between the two, Ozzie's tail thumping against the couch in slow beats. Anson let him think it over.

Instead of an acknowledgement, however, Ozzie offered a weak smile.

“It's okay. It really is, Anson. It's been a bad week. Maybe one of the worst. And maybe, just maybe, if we didn't go out, I would've left. But, Anson. You're there with me and, that's all the reason I need. I can't do that to us, just because I'm a little bummed out, man. That's not fair to you."

Ozzie chirped with laughter. “Fft, I can always get high again, I guess."

He pushed his muzzle forward, kissing his human partner. “I do appreciate it, babe. I do. So much. I know you wanna' protect me n' shit but, I can get through it."

Anson was certainly surprised, but, didn't challenge his boy. “Are you sure?"

A steady nod. “With you, I always am."

“Mmf," continued Ozzie. “I'm tired man. Will you carry me to bed?"

Anson chuckled. “Uhhhhhh, I can try?"

A smirk. “Nah man, just kidding. Let's sleep. I'm trashed."

-*-

Ozzie is strong, that's what I've learned. And the funny thing is, for all the bravado I put on about making him feel better, about protecting him, well, it's him that protects me. He makes sure I'm safe, he introduces me to new and strange things, so I'm okay, so I enjoy myself. I can learn a lot from him.

I have discovered a new pain, but not from sadness. It's an agony we both share now, the agony of bliss. When you love so much it almost hurts.

And I'm okay with that.