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Those Wild Black Ice Boys #3

Personality Cleavage

"Here you go, hon."

Jackie handed the deer with the Dead Kennedy's t-shirt and venomously pink pixie cut her expresso, watching steam rising up from it in little twitching ghost fingers. She grinned tiredly as she accepted it, giving a slow, exhausted blink. "Ah, thanks, Jack. Hey, are you gonna watch us play tomorrow night at E.M.A.? Frankie just got herself a new Gibson and I finally found my sticks...It's gonna be goo-ood!"

Jackie rested his elbows on the counter, trying to hide the flecking cream-dried crust on his pine-green apron; it looked like snot, and if he tried to scratch it away it would only make it worse. "Ooh, I don't know; I'm kind of strapped for cash right now. Any chance on getting a discount at the door?"

"Only for B-cups or bigger."

"Damn." Jackie and his friend laughed, soft midnight chuckle that hummed along the warmly tiled walls. He liked working the night shift at Jitters; it was only the fourth coffee shop in the east side of White Hill but the only one that stayed open until midnight. There was barely anybody here, and the ones that were are cool or weird enough that Jackie didn't mind them. Sally was working with him tonight, banging around in the back, utensil percussion. She had been hired only a week ago and she seemed to take to the job as well as he had when he first started out.

Abby took a sip from her cup, scratching an itch under her denim jacket; Jackie liked the way it made her look hale and rugged, used and lasting.

"It doesn't bother you, though, that the latest news from the current music industry and society in general states that punk is dead?" He said.

She grinned and held up her hand, shaking her head. "Don't give me that shit, Jackie. This is White Hill, man; things die here but they don't get buried."

"Not properly, at least."

Jackie laughed with her and nodded. He liked Abigail, only partly because she was one of the few kids he grew up with in high school that he still stayed in touch with. All the others just faded away after a few years, becoming strangers, forgetful faces in forgetful places. One of the other patrons, an old red squirrel, heard their laughing and looked up from his spot in the corner, offering a polite smile before glancing back down at his newspaper.

Abby stayed long enough for a bit more banter before having to head back out into the October chill. It was nearly midnight, and the few people that remained were now packing up and adjusting their clothes, not wanting to leave the warmth of the coffee house. At five minutes to, Jackie untied his apron and folded it, giving a single massive yawn; it had been a long shift and he needed to get some sleep. He had a couple days off after tonight, but he knew he wouldn't be able to rest; there was always something that needed to be done. He had made progress in his book, but not near enough to give him the slightest sense of accomplishment, and there were chores to do on top of that.

The fox started wiping off the counter, clearing away any pastry crumbs or loose stains. He felt himself jumping back and forth between wakefulness and sleep as he made spirals with his hand, thinking hard on his agenda for tomorrow...or today, he meant. He sniffled, feeling a scratchiness in his throat that wasn't there when he woke up yesterday, knowing that he was coming down with a cold and that he had gotten it from Rob, sometime before his line went dark.

A tingling maggot of worry bored into Jackie's mind; it had been four days since their fiasco at the Premier Theater, four days and he and Rob hadn't exchanged a single word since. Not a single phone call, or email, or text message in four days, and Jackie's lips were already inflamed from having bitten them out of anxiety. He worried whether or not Rob was just off somewhere getting it out of his system or if it was something more serious, something he would rather not think about.

Suddenly, Sally appeared by his side, her hands on her hips and a curious look in her yellow eyes. The rabbit's ears were tied behind her head with a thin blue satin band, making her look like she had been riding a motorcycle without a helmet for miles. "You ready for the weekend, Jack?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Aren't we supposed to use the designated towels to wipe off the tables, though?"

The fox looked down and realized that he had been cleaning the table with his apron. He shook his head, slapping a hand up to his face to wipe away his exhaustion, knowing it was a futile battle. "Oh, man," he muttered.

"Go on, get out of here," Sally said, the metallic studs in her eyebrows glinting like screwheads. "I'll take care of things here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, dude. Go get some sleep."

The fox grinned, taking his watch out of his pocket and putting it around his wrist. He hated wearing it while he was working. "Thanks, Sal," he said as he pulled on his jacket and zipped it up tight, metallic shriek, eager to get home. Opening the door, he was immediately accosted by an autumnal chill, wrapping around him with frigid midnight limbs. It cut through his jacket and he swore bitterly, his shoes crunching loudly as he walked through the paved parking lot.

His footfalls echoed against the one or two cars that remained; when he began his shift there were vehicles all over, so much so that Sylvia had to park around the side by the dumpsters, in the farthest corner under the solitary light of the streetlamp. She was late, which was nothing significant; she always had a piss-poor memory. Jackie kicked at a stone, watching it skitter and hop down the lot. It struck the dumpster with a small but sturdy ringing note and lay still.

He didn't mind the wait, it allowed him the time to think about things, but he couldn't think--that was the damned thing about it. He tried to think, but he kept coming up with Rob and what was wrong with their relationship. Everything else seemed so irrelevant, nonsensical. He had tried calling the wolf and had sent him messages, but each one has so far remained unanswered. It was like he was trying to contact somebody that wasn't there anymore.

He could be hurt. Could be in the hospital, he thought, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Hey."

Jackie stopped, his ears swiveling to the sound, turning his head. A cat was walking out from behind the dumpster; he was tall and broad-shouldered, athletic and sinewy. His fur was a patchwork of black, yellow, and red, covered by torn jeans and deep red shirt. There was a familiar look deep in his spring-green eyes that Jackie didn't like.

He ignored the cat, heading straight to the light of the lamppost. He stopped when he saw a doberman standing tall beside it, looking hard at him. At that moment, the cold wind found a point in his spine and took to seed.

"Does this faggot look familiar to you, Rick?" the cat said. The doberman, his hands lost deep in his jacket pockets, gave him a mean look as he took a few steps forward. He took out a phone, his face underlighted by its bright artificial glow, Halloween luminous. Jackie heard steps behind and saw the cat walking to the side, cutting him off from the front of Jitters.

"Yeah, he does." The dog held up his phone, displaying a picture that made Jackie cringe; it was a photo of him in drag, leaning out the window that night just outside of the Volcano. The flash of the camera created a glaring sheen on his turquoise panties. The dog flipped the screen to the next photo, showing Jackie's face, daring crooked smile, giving the bird to the world. "Well, get a load of this shit. Isn't this the same bitch that told us to suck his balls?"

"I think it is," his compatriot said. Jackie saw their smiles then, like crooked knives in the lamplight.

"Back off, man," Jackie said, ineffectual muttering. He heard the cat laugh behind him, and his fur bristled.

"I think he's gonna cry," the dog said, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. At that moment Jackie took a chance; he turned on the heel of his shoe and bolted, heading for the front door. The cat was already sprinting, cutting him off, arms like spider legs, too long.

"Get 'im! Grab the fuckin' freak!"

Jackie tried to dodge out of the way but he felt a hand clamp down hard on his shoulder, five daggers digging into his skin; it hauled him backward, jerking his head up to the sky, black flash. The cat tried to wrap an arm around his neck but Jackie's arm kept getting in his way. For a moment, the fox's world was little more than a series of grunts and bruising adrenaline, angry smells and threatening muscles.

Jackie threw back his elbow, feeling something soft and warm and wet shift beneath it. "Fuck!" the cat snarled, releasing the fox; he ran for two steps before another pair of arms grabbed him, his feet dragging through the parking lot gravel. He twisted against the dog's chest, kicking outward, trying to push him away but it felt like he was pushing against a brick wall. He had thought to bring up his knee and slam it into his attacker's crotch, but before the thought could translate into action he had a blinking glimpse of a fist, and felt something like furry warm concrete crash against the side of his face.

Jackie staggered, the universe a blur of violence and cold staring stars; he would have fallen backward but the doberman had gripped him by the scruff of his shirt, hearing something tearing in a fabric scream. The suddenness and shock had struck him just as hard as the blow, stunning him into a comatose blank that made every sense hazy and fractionalized.

"Fucker broke my damn nose!" he heard the cat shout from somewhere, muffled behind his hands.

"Pussy boy's got some fight in him," the dog said, and Jackie felt himself being hauled across the pavement, loose gravel growling under his feet. He felt his mouth go scare-dry, cottony and scratchy--he tried to pry the dog's arms off of his chest but it was like grabbing at steel. The doberman jerked him forward, tightening his grip around him and Jackie felt an ache develop on his chest. Tears were welling in his eyes and mixing colors together, distorting outlines, congealing his numb horror. Get off me, he tried to say but couldn't.

Something flew up from the ground; a second later a sharp pain tore at his stomach--it felt like being struck by a rubber mallet, forcing out all of the air in his lungs. He shut his eyes airtight, tears slipping out; from somewhere the cat gave another angry sound, low in his throat and from the deepest part of him. "Stop moving him around, asshole! I'm gonna bust his fuckin' face open!"

"Shut up!"

Jackie tried to scratch for air as he scratched to get loose, but he could make no progress. He was a twig in an avalanche. Suddenly, Jackie felt everything stop; nothing moved for several moments--then, feeling his tail bristle at some terrifying prospect to come, he felt his body hurled backward into the red-brown brick wall of the coffee shop. He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a surprised gasp; his skeleton jolted inside of his skin, organs rocking, and bombs burst bright in his skull as his head struck the wall. His legs crumpled beneath him like cracker columns and he sank to the pavement with the rough hiss of fabric on masonry. Equilibrium faltered and for the longest moment, Jackie couldn't determine what was up or down, where was the sky and the ground. Direction died when the world was a whirlwind of agony, and it seemed somehow worse when everything finally righted itself.

The doberman was staring down at him like a brown-and-black statue, an archetype of masculinity, and there was no expression in his cold eyes.

"Alright, pussy, you listen and you listen good. I've got a very special job for you to do, and you're gonna do it, aren't you?"

The dog leaned down; Jackie pushed back against the wall, wishing it would break or fall and he could get away under the rubble. A giant's hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling back and twisting so the fox's head was facing him. Every root was shrieking and Jackie wanted to join them.

"_Aren't_you, pussy? You gonna be a good little fag now?"

Tears breaking into the streams running down his cheeks, Jackie nodded as best as he could. The doberman let go of his hair, twisting his wrist so the fox was staring at the ground, a blackish blur like charcoal-dusted cotton. He wiped at his eyes, only barely hearing the metallic whisper of a pants zipper falling. He turned his head up but didn't want to look. Instead, he turned his eyes to the side, seeing the mangy cat, holding a red-stained hand over his nose. When their eyes met, the cat took a step toward him and kicked the wall beside Jackie's head. He flinched, letting out a gasp when he saw the black sole rapidly grow like rubber lightning. Bits and pieces of sand and chipping mortar rained down into Jackie's fur.

"Don't you ever look at me, fucker," the cat said, his anger so final, so undiluted that it made his voice quiver. The doberman pushed him away, telling him to fuck off and keep a look out for anyone who might be watching. The cat said "Yeah, whatever," but didn't comply. He just stared, grunting and holding his bloody nose.

The dog dropped his pants to his knees, his red boxers following them down. He stepped forward and grabbed Jackie's hair again, giving him a gentle shake to make him pay attention, as though he hadn't been paying any attention before. "Here's what you're gonna do, bitch. You're gonna--fuckin' look at me!"

He jerked the fox's head back, pulling hard on his hair, sending his eyes up to the darkness of the sky and cold light of the stars. Jackie groaned at the fire that broke out on the top of his head. He heard the dog's voice cutting into his ears like knives. "You're gonna open that pretty mouth of yours and suck _my_balls. What do you think of that, pussy? That sound nice?"

Jackie felt the hand move his head up and down. He could barely see the dog's sneering lips through tear-blurred eyes. The hand painfully adjusted its grip, twisting his hair in its knuckles, and it started to bring him forward, toward the heat and salty scent of manhood. Jackie saw the dog's cock drooping from beneath the tangled nest of black pubic hair, its skin sweaty and glistening under the meager light beyond. His teeth chattered in the cold, and he shook his head.

The dog slapped him hard against the side of his head, dull throbbing blast that made his skull rattle. "Yes, you will, you fucking little cunt," the doberman said, vicious growl hiding behind his voice, "and if you bite, I'm gonna make you wish your mother had a fuckin' abortion. Now open your goddamn mouth."

Jackie felt his jaw tremble as he did as he was told. Terror ran around in his head like an imp, telling him that if he did it they might make him do worse things, but if he refused then they would do things even worse than that. He stared up at the doberman as he willed his mouth to open, exposing tongue, teeth, and throat to the chilly wind. There was a glint of saliva that ran down the dog's lower lip, trailing downward to hang poised like a translucent bomb. With his other hand the dog tilted his cock and grabbed his pendulous balls, holding them out for him; Jackie adjusted his legs so he could press forward, his head shouting in pain. He coughed, smelling man-stink on the wind.

The dog had apparently decided he wasn't moving fast enough--before Jackie could understand what was happening he felt a rush of air as his nose pressed into the doberman's crotch, his testicles passing Jackie's lips and tongue, filling his mouth with that salty groinsweat with which he had become familiar with Rob during hot city nights. The taste was as awful as the smell, unwashed, filthy; Jackie sputtered in surprise and tried to pull away just a little bit, but the dog wasn't giving him any leeway. He slapped Jackie again, his cry wet and muffled as though through a wet dishcloth.

"I said suck, cunt," the doberman growled, and he did. He heard the doberman grunt and mutter appreciatively as his mouth filled with saliva, fusing with sweat. The dog removed his other hand and put it on Jackie's head with the other, fondling his ear before pulling hard on it. The fox winced, tears blurring everything again in a saline window until he shut them. "Yeah, I knew you liked it."

Crack!

Jackie heard with his good ear the sound of something rushing through the air, and then a befuddling sound of something rather like a mattress being struck, followed by a ragged, wheezy gasp. He opened his eyes, not sure what he was seeing or if he wanted to see, but he couldn't look away; he wasn't given any time to blink.

The cat had stumbled to the side, kneeling down on the pavement and clutching at the bottom of his chest, mouth open wide and breathing in rough gasps of air like a stranded fish. There was a flash of black like a churchyard shadow, the rapid-fire stomp of platform boots sounding like grenades on the pavement, another wet _Crack!_He felt the doberman seize up, felt the grip he had on his ear explode in fire until he felt for certain that it was going to be torn off. He cried out, and when the poleaxed body of the dog fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes he took Jackie with him, dragging him painfully to the side. The fox scrabbled, groaning, prying stiff fingers off of his head, and finally got loose. Out of the corner of his salt-stinging eyes he saw the faint signs of a scuffle, hearing it with pained ears, and he crawled backward and away from it to hide in the cool shadow of the dumpster. Away from everything, safe.

He peeked behind the dumpster, eyes wide as he watched Swan, tossing a baseball bat between his hands, the lamplight glinting like lightning off of its polished rosewood surface. The cat had managed to get back on his feet, one hand crossed over his torso and the other cradling a short, serrated knife. It seemed as if to smile in the lamplight, making Jackie's insides twist and tighten though Swan didn't seem at all concerned.

The cat made several jerky movements in an attempt to fake the black fox out, each time taking a tentative step forward. He lunged for Swan, knife held forward like it was a mere extension of his arm, and Jackie almost didn't even notice as Swan stepped swiftly to the side and blocked the blow, pushing the cat's arm up into the air and driving the head of his bat into his stomach. Another raspy breath rattled out of the cat's throat, like a squeaky shoe.

Swan grabbed the cat's arm and twisted it, jerking it roughly until the knife clattered onto the pavement, sounding disgustingly forlorn in Jackie's ears. Then the fox grabbed the cat by the shoulders, steadying him, and brought up his knee, smashing it into the cat's face.

Moments later, Jackie heard the sound of teeth clattering onto the pavement, skittering like spider legs, like loose vinyl. The sound made Jackie want to throw up.

The cat lay prone on the ground, still breathing. Swan dropped the bat onto the ground, thunderous wooden bang echoing off the walls in the night. He leaned down, pressing his knee into the cat's back, grabbing his hair and pulling his head up. Jackie saw his face then, a big splash of red in the center running down his neck, running out of his nose and mouth. He quickly turned away from it, but his stomach was faster; he retched until his lunch was lying beside him in the dark.

As he shakily wiped his mouth, he heard the conversation behind him, Swan's voice cool and filled with concentrated, controlled fury, the cat hissing anger his body couldn't expend.

"I'm sure it's difficult for someone to hear an important speech when your head is just rattling with the solidified fecal matter that your brain consists of, but I just want to get this one thing straight. I don't ever want to see you around here again. If I do manage to spot your sorry ass in this vicinity again, or if I see you trying to assault someone else, you'll be growing frost on your nose."

"Fuck you!"

There was a pause, the smallest pause, before Swan spoke again. The lilt in his voice made it seem to Jackie like he was smiling.

"Fair enough; my fault for thinking only one act of rightful adjudication could make you see the error of your ways."

Another sound bounced off the walls, too hard and too wet and so quick that the red fox wasn't sure he had heard it. But he could smell the blood, and that was enough to make his stomach painfully turn for another round again. He tried to shut his eyes but he couldn't, just stared ahead at the brick wall and breathed heavily, taking long gulps of the night air as the silence surrounded him like a constricting fist.

A hand fell on Jackie's shoulder and he cried out, explosive outburst that bounced off the wall like shrapnel, and Swan recoiled only the tiniest bit, more out of courtesy than surprise. Jackie stared up at him, at the utter concern in his milk chocolate eyes.

"Are you alright?" he said, and Jackie felt himself nod, swallowing his fear and still tasting the doberman on his tongue. Swan put his hand on the fox's shoulder again, and this time he didn't flinch, only shook. "Do you want to go to the hospital, Jack? I think you should get that looked at."

The fox shook his head, sniffling. He didn't know what Swan was talking about, but it didn't matter; his head hurt, and everything below hurt even worse, but he wanted to go home. Yeah, once he was back home, the warm yellow-brown cedar walls all around him and the familiar sweet gardensmell filling his lungs then everything would be okay. What had happened was too much for the day; going to the hospital would be only a prolonging of his discomfiture. When Swan asked if he was sure, Jackie said yes, and that he wanted to go home.

"Do you want me to drive you?"

"My friend was supposed to be here," Jackie said quietly. He allowed Swan to help him up, placing a hand against the frigid brick to steady himself over his shaky bubblegum legs. Realizing that the black fox was waiting for an answer, Jackie nodded slowly. "Yeah, that would be good. Thanks."

"Not a problem. I just have to finish up a few things here, then we can head out. Alright?"

Jackie nodded, feeling like telling Swan to never mind what he had to do and just take him home so he could forget all of this had happened. He wrapped his arms around his waist, feeling as though he might fall apart if he didn't find that safe place and hold tight to it. Swan stepped around the prone bodies lying on the ground, two dark masses hugging pavement; he crouched over them and slipped on a pair of black gloves. His hands moved like lightning into pockets and linings. He was whistling Beethoven's Ode to Joy while he did it.

"Are they..." Jackie said but didn't finish.

"They're unconscious." Swan said it so calmly, like what he had been through and what he was doing was nothing of note. He took out the cat's wallet and removed a wad of bills and credit cards, tossing the lightened slash of faux leather onto the cat's back as though he were a sofa. "I'm pretty sure."

He looted the doberman's pants and coat, pocketing cash and cards like he was a little kid taking candy from a Halloween bowl. When he was finished, he picked up his baseball bat and the cat's knife, sticking that into his pocket. Jackie watched him, feeling a repulsed fascination with the other fox's actions. He shivered when a gust found him and ran its fingers through his fur, tickling the nerves in his spine. After Swan had finished, he stepped back to the dumpster, resting his bat over his shoulders. It looked like he was grinning but Jackie couldn't tell.

"You ready?" he asked, and Jackie said he was. They walked along the lot and across the street; Swan said he worked at the Electric Fetus and that his car was only a few yards away. Jackie only nodded and sniffled, wishing he was home already. He tried to keep a polite distance from Swan but he found himself keeping close to him, almost touching shoulders. It felt to him as though there were dangers in the shadows, hiding in the murk of every corner, all around him. Soon enough, he was sitting in Swan's blue sedan with the A/C blowing a hot breath over his face, warding away some of the chill. Swan asked where Jackie lived, and he told him, mumbling the answer without realizing it.

Polly by Nirvana was playing from the stereo, Cobain's voice soft and tired and soothing in the dark. Jackie listened to it as he watched the buildings and the lights pass by behind the window, kaleidoscopic urbania, taking short, quick breaths. He tried to ground and center, but it was useless--each time he closed his eyes he saw the doberman looking down at him, streamer of spittle hanging from his lower lip like glass. His head hurt, and it felt like the flesh around his left eye was burning; it felt inflamed, bruised.

That happened.

Swan stole a glance at the red fox, seeing his hands shaking in his lap. He tried to hide it by sticking his hands underneath his arms, but Swan had good eyes.

Neither of them talked as they passed through White Hill, entering the rolling fields and tree-topped hills of rural Minnesota. Swan's Nirvana album played through twice and was starting a third cycle when they entered Thunder. Jackie told him where to go, and Swan nodded in acknowledgement, turning left off of the freeway. There was something else Jackie wanted to say, but didn't, couldn't.

It was still early in the morning when Swan tentatively pulled into Jackie's driveway, the sky still deciding whether or not to brighten or stay still in blackness. Clouds had been blowing up from the south as if to cut them off or meet them at Jackie's house, leaving a wake of soft, misting rain that seemed to amplify the brightness of the car's headlights. Both foxes got out of the sedan, trying to ignore the cold wet.

"Are you going to be alright?" Swan asked.

"Yes," Jackie lied. He stayed in front of the headlights, his shadow long and treacherous as it fell over the dirt and along the garage. It ran parallel with Swan's shadow--because of Swan's fur it seemed to meld with him, becoming a single strangely-angled thing of dark.

"Do you want me to come in, or--."

"No. I mean, no, that's okay. I'll be fine."

Swan nodded, his eyes like amber in the light and they seemed to cut right through Jackie's heart. "Okay," he said. He seemed as if to head back into the sedan, but he stopped and turned, taking out a strip of paper and pen. Jackie watched the black fox try to write something under the rain; the red fox was shifting from foot to foot, needing to head back into the house. "Wait a minute, Jack...I think you should have my number. You don't have to keep it, but if you need someone to talk to, you can call me. I'm free any time."

Jackie accepted the little slash of paper and glanced at the number only briefly before stuffing it in his pocket to hide it from the rain. "Thanks," he said. Jackie allowed his eyes to meet Swan's stare, looking into those intense golden-brown orbs.

Before the black fox could turn around, Jackie virtually leapt at him and wrapped his arms around Swan's body, holding him close. He felt Swan stiffen in surprise, taking an apprehensive step back, and for a moment of skin-rippling terror Jackie was worried that the ebon fox would push him away, even get angry, but he didn't; he felt Swan's hands on his back, warm in the angel-piss rain.

"Thanks," Jackie said again, and Swan didn't say anything. Jackie held onto him, smelling cigarette smoke and coconut shampoo in his dreadlocks. As a rule he detested both, but right now they meant something more than what they were.

"Well, I suppose..." Swan muttered, giving the Minnesota equivalent of "I should be leaving." The two foxes parted, eyes staring for the slightest starblinking moment, and before Jackie knew what was going on he was watching Swan's car back up and drive down the path, kicking up rainwater from a divot as it passed through the corridor of pine, out and away. The rear lights gave off a bloodmist in the morning drizzle.

Breathing heavily, Jackie walked into his house quicker than he had intended to, using the main entryway. He switched on each light he came to, only half aware that he was doing it as he walked into the living room. He had hoped that once he came back home he would feel the peace and serenity that always poured over him but that hadn't yet arrived; he still felt there were eyes watching and daring, peering in from the windows. Needing and hungry eyes.

Jackie grabbed his cellphone and dialed Rob's number. He waited pensively, and when the dialtone continued uninterrupted like a song expressing his own fears and insecurities, refusing his wishes, Jackie felt a fresh wave of tears build up and fall from his eyes. He swore and looked at his phone, pressing the text application. He typed in what he wanted to say, wiping at his eyes.

"Rob something happened to me tonight. I really have to talk to you as soon as you can. Please talk to me."

He took a hot shower afterword, the water not reaching the places that needed to be washed. He went to bed, leaving the lights on throughout the house.

---

Jackie sniffed the cool evening air, feeling like he was a part of everything; the setting goldenblood sun, the trees and grass doing a soft-shoe in the wind amongst a thin layer of powder-sugar snow. It was still snowing, the flakes more like intangible, ethereal fragments of memories rather than little frozen tears of precipitation, lighting down and freckling his black, waist-hugging jacket. His necklace felt good around his neck, the amethyst tapping lovingly against his chest; he grabbed and held it in his hand, feeling its warmth. Savoring the air for a moment longer, he straightened out his black ruffled skirt and turned, stooping down and entering the car. One of his striped stockings slid down his knees and he pulled it back up.

His watch said that it was a quarter past seven, but it felt more like it was nine; the days were getting shorter every time the sun went up. He didn't mind, he had always preferred the evening anyway. Noticing that his laces were a little loose on the top of his knee-highs, he bent down and tightened them. Light from the dash speared his amethyst, tossing up bright violet fractal faces on his clothes. He threw on his seatbelt as the A/C heat found him, fearing that his heart would finally break out of his chest.

I'm not going to drink too much this time, he thought, sucking on his upper lip. No hard alcohol, no passing out, no begging for Advil, no bullshit. Vince can whine and pour all he wants, but I'm not doing that again.

Jackie let out a breath, slow and heavy like the guitar section coming from the stereo.

"Wow," Swan said. "You look amazing."

Jackie looked at the black fox, admiring him with his eyes. His dreads flowed over his shoulders like milk chocolate rivers, invading his white shirt. Tight black cargo pants were wrapped around his legs like cotton/nylon pythons, slipping smoothly over big mosh pit boots. He had gloves on, fingerless charcoal grey ones that reflected the blue and green lights on the dash like sweaty skin. Swan's eyes were bright and hard with expectation of the night like Jackie's.

"So do you," the red fox said with a gentle smile. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glanced at it, and put it back after seeing nothing new.

Swan gave a modest smile and began pulling out of the driveway. Jackie turned up the stereo volume just a little bit and sat back to watch the trees and hills pass by, feeling the change from dirt road to paved tarmac. They passed through windblown Thunder and headed onto the highway. A train was passing alongside the car, and Jackie watched as the snapshots of graffiti passed by like a psychedelic sprawl. He smiled softly; it felt like he was filling in a pit inside his chest, pouring in more and more earth with every breath.

"How was work?" Swan asked after a short while on the road.

"It was fine, but I'm happy to be off for a few days."

Swan smiled at him and nodded, and Jackie felt a charge of happiness break out inside when he saw the other fox's grin. He bit his lips and turned to look out the window again, the sun slowly peeling away the sky's orange-violet skin. The clouds were finally breaking apart, exposing the evening.

There was only one small thing that Jackie didn't like about the black fox.

He knew that he was still spiritually young and still relatively inexperienced, but there was something that made him feel uncomfortable around the other vulpine, something immaterial and strange that he couldn't put a finger on. It was just a small feeling that kept flitting in and out of his mind like birds in the night, like beetles dodging the patio lights. It was a shadow that made his skin crawl, but it kept fading away, replaced by something that was bright and good. He didn't know how to feel about it, and his reservations were in conflict with what Swan did for Jackie last week, that night at Jitters, and all the little things afterward.

It scared him, both the shadowy feeling and that he could feel it, but he really liked Swan. He was nice and sympathetic, and he always gave Jackie a wide space whenever he wanted it. He also never withheld information to deceive him or to make Jackie feel better about something; he always said what he wanted to say. Jackie couldn't remember having a friend as great as the black fox behind the wheel.

He looked at his phone again--no new notifications.

They got to Vince's house in White Hill about an hour later; Sepultura was making the chilly air waver and the windows reverberate precariously in their frames. People were walking on the lawns in groups, and Jackie saw that the couch hadn't moved an inch either forward or back into the house since Vince's last revel. There was a policeman wandering around by the porch, his blue suit like a plum in the early night, an unlit flashlight in one hand and a red plastic cup in the other. Swan pulled onto the curb and together they got out, embraced by the night.

"He doesn't pull any punches, does he?" Swan said, and Jackie chuckled, either out of secreted anxiety or appreciation. They both watched a group dancing up on the veranda, leaning dangerously over the railing.

"They're gonna fall," Jackie said.

"Yeah," Swan snickered.

They headed up onto the porch; the policeman--a reedy horse with a pencil-thin moustache--nodded and raised his cup to them, salud. Jackie opened the door first, not bothering to knock; he was surprised that the door was even closed.

Vince was standing in the entryway, conversing and laughing with a group of rattlehead teens and sipping from, of all things, a water bottle. His mahogany shirt was stained wet down the front, spilling down onto his long beige shorts. After catching Jackie's eye at the door, the coyote clapped one of the kids on the shoulder and excused himself, heading over to the fox. He brushed away a lock of his blonde-highlighted brown hair from out of his eyes; he did it with his ring and pinkie fingers together and Jackie thought it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen the coyote do.

"Hey, Jackie! Knowing you, I'd thought you'd show up later. How're things, hermano?"

Jackie returned the hug Vince gave him, now used to the scent of nicotine, beer, food platters, and exotic cologne that wafted throughout his house. "Things are just fine, Vince. Y tu?"

After stepping apart, the coyote angrily slapped the air with his hand. "Ah, some vatos_stole some of my shit at my last party! Eight hundred dollars' worth of _my stuff, damn it. That's why I have to drink this crap, so I can keep an eye on all you filthy people."

Jackie laughed and nodded, stepping aside as Swan pushed forward to avoid a group of people entering the room--he bumped roughly into Jackie's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, and Jackie waved the event away, saying he was fine. He brushed his hand along the black fox's forearm, half by accident and half by intention and they smiled at each other, turning to the coyote.

The eyebrows above Vince's eyes rose in a mild surprise, glancing briefly between the foxes. His stare lingered for a moment longer on Jackie, expecting an answer he wouldn't receive. Jackie knew why, and it didn't bother him. Vince probably saw couples coming into his place with different people all the time, and besides, he and Swan weren't really together. Jackie knew that Vince was the kind of person who if he had a question he would ask it, and if he did, then Jackie would give him an answer.

Instead, Vince offered a slight smile and a nod, refusing to forget his hospitality. He thanked them for coming by and ushered them deeper into the house, toward the music and the drone of voices. They headed into the huge living room, blacklights mounted high on the walls, giving the room a purplish, astral atmosphere, and the stars and galaxies were glinting off the strippers' sequin bikini bottoms.

They sat down on one of the big black-and-white checkerboard couches, all facing the raised onyx dais on which clacked high and sharp heels, the poles like thin columns of gold--Jackie saw spots where the paint was worn down, exposing the aluminum truth beneath. He found the girls mildly attractive, admiring more their general beauty rather than their bare breasts. He looked around, seeing the party in full swing, people mingling and laughing and music roaring, but there was still something that didn't feel right about it, a confusing sliver of _something_permeating the whole affair.

Jackie looked at his phone and after seeing nothing new he slid it back into his skirt pocket.

"Something wrong?" Swan asked. He gave Jackie a curious look, and the red fox had to turn away.

"No, I...I don't know. It's just that Rob and I haven't spoken to each other in two weeks."

"Oh."

Jackie let the pause in the conversation lengthen, unsure if he wanted or if he should talk to Swan about his relationship. In the end, the conflict in his mind had settled. "I mean, I have no idea what he's doing, if he's still angry or not, if he wants to get back together or not...he hasn't answered any of my messages in all this time, though. I don't know if he thinks it's over already or if he's just waiting for something. This hasn't ever happened to me before, Swan; I really have no idea what to do and I'm scared and I j--it--damn it."

Swan shifted in his seat, scratching at his thigh. "Well, Jackie, Rob is just that kind of person. It takes a while for all that steam to cool down. He's a guy--."

"Two weeks?"

"Yeah, maybe longer than that. He's a guy that's used to plans and schematics. He does things his way. When he's eventually faced with something he couldn't foresee, he gets angry and thinks that the world around him is crushing down around his ears, so he sort of retreats into himself for a while, trying to assess the situation from afar."

"He doesn't have to," Jackie said bitterly.

"I know. He's an obstinate prick, I'll give him that. He was like that way back in high school; he's one of those people that just don't change, because change means the downfall of everything, you know? I'm surprised that we've still been in contact all these years. He talks about you all the time."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. I know you guys are going through some roughness right now, but I'm happy for you guys."

Jackie sniffed and shook his head. "Did Rob tell you that I'm a--."

He shut his mouth, jaw snapping closed, turning back to the dancers. He suddenly felt cold inside as memories of what happened the last time he let _that_out of the box flashing like gunfire in his head. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, refusing to finish that statement. Swan sniffed and Jackie saw the cocky grin on his face.

"What, that you're gay? Yeah, I think you're boyfriend told me that."

The red fox tried to hold back the smile, tried and failed when he saw Swan grinning at him, a cocky tooth-lined grin that took away the coldness. Jackie shook his head and scratched at his eyes, sighing and wishing he hadn't said anything.

"You know about his family, right?" Swan said.

Jackie looked down, staring at a point between his knees. "I met his sister when we went to a concert a few months ago. She wasn't very pleasant."

"Yeah, the whole family is like that, Jackie, sour and angry at everything. Rob had to grow up with those people, and he had to put up with the kinds of things that neither of us had thankfully ever experienced, and in doing that he had to develop some survival mechanisms. I can't say those mechanisms aren't hurting him right now, but if I were to throw my hat into a ring, I'd say Rob grew up to be an overall decent person, though he's still got some learning to do. What do you think? You think he turned out alright?"

The red fox watched the dancers as he thought, his eyes following legs and ass and hair as they moved through the air, synchronized with the music like figures in a music box. Rob's face came into his head then, a slideshow of expressions blurring together, displaying anger, bitterness, sadness, anxiety, joy, back to anger. Jackie bit his lip, unsure of what to say.

"I think he's a good guy," he said finally. Swan nudged his shoulder, giving him a smile, and Jackie couldn't help but smile, too.

Suddenly, the black fox clapped his hands on his knees and stood up. "Well, I hate being self-conscious. I'm gonna grab a beer--you want anything?"

"Yeah, a wine cooler, if you can find any."

Swan froze, giving Jackie a perplexed look, and the red fox laughed. He turned back to the strippers, barely hearing Swan's boots stepping away. He reached into his pocket for his phone, saw nothing and put it back.

Swan was right; Rob had gone through a lot with his family, even though he never said anything about them. That was probably a sign, now that Jackie thought about it; in the course of their relationship, Rob had never said anything about his father or his sister, only that he had them. He never allowed his past to interrupt his present, even after Jackie had woken up in the middle of the night to hear Rob crying beside him and would say nothing about it afterward.

He just had to wait until Rob came to his senses and remembered that what they had still existed. Even though he was the one that was really at fault for all of this. If the wolf had at least given the slightest thought to Jackie's personal space, then they wouldn't be in this mess right now.

He had to wait.

But still...two weeks.

Swan came back a few minutes later, a maple-brown glass bottle in one hand and a black cherry wine cooler in the other. He passed the cooler to Jackie and sat down beside him, throwing an arm over the top of the couch and letting himself settle into the checkerboard cushioning with an appreciative grunt. Sepultura finally gave one clattering audio-climax and slipped angrily into some Metallica. Jackie cradled his drink in his lap, twisting off the cap and setting his thump over the mouth. It was nice here in the middle of the party, and he silently relished the sounds, sights, and the smells of the nightbound revelry. He glanced at Swan, his eyes locked on a vixen's fishnet-shaded legs.

"You know," Jackie said after a while, "you're right, Swan. Rob can be an ass sometimes, but he's a good guy. We both have our problems, but I know we can work 'em out together. He just needs a few days or something."

"Yeah." Swan gave Jackie a thoughtful look; Jackie didn't see it but he felt it, eyes boring into the side of his head. By the time he looked at the black fox, he had already looked away. Metallica belted out Until It Sleeps, smooth and heavy from the speakers, and the red fox felt himself bobbing his head to the rhythm as he sipped from his glass and thought about things.

"Hey, Jackie?"

The red fox's lips popped over the rim of the wine cooler. "Yeah?"

"Has Rob ever..."

Swan shut his mouth before continuing, turning his eyes back to the dancers. Jackie could only look at him expectantly, waiting for whatever it was he had to say. Whatever it was, it was causing him some discomfort--Swan looked around the couch for whatever reason, looking back at the dancers, avoiding Jackie.

"Swan, what're--"

"Did Rob ever hit you?"

Jackie stared for a moment, unsure if he had heard the black fox correctly. Swan wouldn't meet his eyes, kept looking forward at shining bikinis and pert breasts, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "What? No...oh, no, that--that's not Rob at all. He would never do that kind of thing, Swan. Never."

"Ah."

Jackie watched Swan as he reached up and took a pull from the bottle, smacking his lips. "Why would you ask that?"

The black fox shook his head in thought, sitting back into the cushions. "I used to work with his father on the railroad. It...I don't know. I'm sorry I said it."

The conversation fell into silence, the open shore being filled in with more Metallica. Both foxes drank to fill in the quiet, each losing themselves to their thoughts.

Jackie brushed his hair out of his eyes; he had decided not to wear a headband this time, instead letting his hair fall wherever it wanted to. Feeling the heat and humidity from the party, he unzipped his jacket, exposing his small grape-colored shirt and the fruity-scented deodorant he wore.

After a while, Swan shook his head, gesturing toward the dancers with his beer. "Awful--these girls have no idea how to dance. They obviously think it's all about the ass."

"Well, isn't it all about the ass?"

"Yeah, but you can't put all of the attention onto it. What they're doing is supposed to be art; you have to utilize every component of your body--your legs, your arms, your chest, your hands, even your hair--to make it into a viable piece of art, otherwise you're just a giant ass."

Jackie had been holding the wine cooler up to his lips; he sputtered as the laugh shot up and out in a fine spray, neon crystals glinting like frost in the lights. He dribbled in his lap as he laughed, wiping hastily wiping at his mouth and his clothes. The black fox grinned and threw a look at him, placing a tentative hand on Jackie's back.

"Sorry," Jackie said, still chuckling and wiping at his shirt until he had calmed down to a degree. Swan still had his hand on his back, and it felt like heated metal against his shirt. Realizing this, he quickly let it fall away to his leg. Jackie coughed again and stared hard at Swan's face, liking the way the light made his eyes a shade yellower, the way his grin tilted up to the right. At that moment, Jackie wanted to throw his arms around him and press his nose into the shadowy space between neck, cheek, and hair.

"I bet you could dance better than any of these girls," the dusky fox said.

Poison by Alice Cooper was beginning to ring out through the stereo speakers, and when Jackie, shaking his head, caught the light in Swan's eye, he felt something inside him snap, or loosen, or give way. It would be much later when Jackie, back at home and drinking his tea in his earthy brown bed robe, would start to wonder if he had been acting purely on impulse or if there was something else driving what he did. He knew it wasn't alcohol, that was for sure.

After taking a long swig from his glass, he got up off the couch and tossed the empty cooler where he had been sitting. He took a step and stood in front of Swan, tilting his head so his jet black hair fell over his eyes. Placing his legs evenly apart, he let his body fall into a rhythm with the drums and the guitars, he started playing with his jacket, pulling it from side to side and opening and closing it tantalizingly. When the opening guitar solo faded away and the Coop's voice started sidling like a python into everyone's ears, he let his jacket fall to the floor around his boots.

"Whoa," Swan said, his eyes going as wide as his smile. He shifted in his seat, caught off his guard, and Jackie loved what he was doing to him.

He started out slow and steady, teasing the black fox by moving his hips to and fro and lowering his skirt just a little bit, letting the hem of his snow-white thong peek out. He had wanted to wear cotton panties, but something, some streak of adventure sparking in the corner of his mind, made him change his decision. He tried to look like he was uninterested with the whole thing, that what he was doing was of no real significance but it was too hard to keep from smiling. His heart was beating like it wanted out of his chest, but he was loving this way too much to stop.

He bent down and placed his hands on Swan's knees, keeping his head low enough to leave no room for where he wanted Swan's imagination to go. He flipped his hair away so he could look at the ebon fox's face.

"You can touch if you want," he said. Swan just gave him an acknowledging sound through his grin, and that was enough of an answer for Jackie. He turned and played with his skirt a little bit more before undoing the button and letting it fall, feeling it brush down his stockings like silk on satin. He knew exactly where Swan's eyes were; he let his tail swish and curl, covering his rear. Kicking his fallen clothes to the side, he leaned backward, placing his hands back on Swan's knees, feeling the heat wash up through his pants. He bit his lip, suddenly feeling the fear and adrenaline behind this, superseded when he realized just how much he needed this--the touch of another being, the heat.

This shit with Rob was too much for Jackie; he needed this.

He bent forward, placing his hands on his knees and lifted his tail, showing Swan everything he wanted to show, keeping his hips in a rhythm. Swan gave an appreciative whistle behind him, but he didn't feel the hands that he needed to feel and where he needed to feel them. Jackie felt his body become a conduit for the music, audio-magick translated into physical movement. With his heart slamming in his ears, he leaned further back, his rear falling slowly into Swan's lap, feeling warm and welcoming heat on his rear. He heard Swan let out a heavy breath as he started massaging the dark fox's lap, enjoying the feel of coarse denim on his ass.

He rubbed himself slowly into Swan's crotch, increasing his speed by increments and alternating between circular movement and gentle back-and-forth thrusts. "Is this alright?" he asked, and he heard Swan make a low sound in his throat before coughing and telling him that this was just great.

Jackie could feel the growing well of heat and hardness beneath him, loving what he was doing to Swan. The fox beneath him was breathing heavily. It wasn't enough--he had to look at Swan's face.

After Jackie was certain that Swan had had enough, he got up off of him and pivoted on his boot heel, trying hard not to look coy or too urgent, too lustful. Throwing his legs over Swan's knees, he pushed himself forward until he was sitting in the fox's lap again, straddling him and staring into a pair of hungry milk-chocolate eyes. He looked down, seeing firsthand what he was doing to him and he couldn't hold back his smile. Behind the couch, groups were still coming in and out and around, milling through the festivities. So far, none of them had turned to look at what he was doing, had not yet noticed.

"I've never done this before," he said, suddenly scared that he was going to mess everything up, uncertainly putting his hands on the fox's shoulders. Swan reached up and put his hands on Jackie's legs, his fingertips tracing the edge of his stockings. For all Jackie knew, they may as well have been little shock batons, coursing passion through his fur and skin.

"You're doing great, Jack," Swan said softly, running his hands up and down Jackie's legs. "Just take it easy. I'm not the one in control here."

The red fox nodded, not sure why his fingers were shaking against Swan's shirt. He ground his hips in a circle, clockwise affection, closing his eyes and trying to shut off everything around him save for the sensations he was feeling, the warmth of the other fox's hands and his groin, the sound of their rough breathing. Swan was looking down at Jackie's erection, the smile on his face soft and genuine and the light in his eyes made Jackie hungry for his lips.

Alice Cooper faded away, replaced by Three Souls in My Mind. Jackie slid off his shirt and let it drop behind him, revealing his small, lacey white bra. He undid the bra and tossed it onto the couch

"You look incredible," Swan said, and Jackie felt the loosening feeling in his chest loosen even more. Swan looked up at him and he realized that he felt far more than a simple friendship with Swan. His breathing became rougher and his legs were starting to hurt, but he didn't care. Swan's hard-on was pressing into his rear and he went after it, grinding himself harder into the fox's lap. He grunted, feeling his knees ache and Swan twitch upward against him.

"Slow down," Swan said, guttural and low.

Without warning, Jackie suddenly shifted backward, higher onto Swan's legs. With his heart still hammering in his ears he reached down and grabbed the zipper on Swan's pants. He looked up only briefly, getting a quick nod and a temporary look of startled awe. He undid the zipper and button and slid them down just a little bit, light grey boxers tenting high. He seemed to Jackie a little bit bigger than Rob, but it might have been the boxers underneath tricking him.

Jackie forced any thoughts of Rob out of his head, focusing. He exchanged a look with Swan, looking into his eyes, and the grin that passed between them was enough of an answer for him. Jackie got off of him, grabbing his bag and rummaging through it; Swan pulled down his boxers and Jackie saw it bounce and tap against his stomach. A nervous smile playing on his lips, the red fox gently sat back down onto his cock. He took a long, ragged breath when he felt the fantastic heat beneath him.

Jackie took out a small bottle of KY liquid, popping the cap and squeezing a dollop onto two fingers. Swan jerked his hips upward in his seat, clearing his throat. Jackie handed the bottle over to Swan, reaching behind his tail, pulling his thong to the side and rubbed his fingers under his tail.

"Are you, uh..."

"Clean? Yeah, I made sure."

Swan poured a little bit of the liquid onto his member, rubbing it along the pink length, looking strangely spectral in the flood of blacklights and stage-lit lasers.

"You okay with this?" Swan asked, and Jackie felt a stab of irritation. He did want this, and Swan's concern for him only heightened the feelings that were tearing at him piece by piece.

"Yeah," Jackie said.

He sat up off of Swan, his hands spreading his ass cheeks apart until he felt the tip of Swan's cock pressing against his backdoor, simultaneously cool, hot, and slick. Gently, nervously, he sat down with a shaky breath and felt Swan enter him. Even with the liquid it had hurt a little; he let out a grunt, mixed discomfort and gratification, and when he felt one of Swan's hands slide up and grab onto his hip he let out a smile as the two feelings fused together. He heard Swan let out a soft moan, feeling its heat on his neck and his pelvis warming his rear.

He rocked himself up and down to his own time, slowly. He loved the feeling; it was like a column of molten metal inside of him, desire coursing from his ass throughout his whole body, lust flooding his bloodstream and the musky smell of manhood furnishing his nostrils.

The satin fabric of his white thong strained taught against his cock, a dab of pre-cum already beading on its soft surface. Jackie groaned as he rose and fell against Swan's body, everything feeling like it was on fire.

"Uh, fuck," Swan said, and Jackie locked his arms around Swan's neck without realizing he was doing it. Their muzzles brushed together, mouths open, as they felt themselves become something beyond themselves.

As he rose and fell into Swan's lap, everything seemed to fall into each other; his lust synchronized with the soft acid rock all around him, his breathing slowing, his eyes closed, and as he entered a trance-like state, his mind slipping upward and out, he felt his body fuse into something that he would later only guess at--desire, lust, passion; mood and nature infusing with his physical body. He breathed, moaning and unaware of everything that excluded the heat all around him.

The waves of the music wove through his body, solid aural power mixing with the heat flowing from Swan's body obliterating and transforming him.

Swan said something, bringing him back down into his body but not removing the want that filled him. The black fox told him he was about to cum, and Jackie continued to pump his rear up and down. His eyes rolled back to stare at his eyelids, his groans sounding like it came from above the waves, far down another road.

"I'm gonna c--."

"I know," Jackie grunted roughly, back now in this solid world, spittle falling down the side of his chin as his fingers dug deep into the couch. He felt Swan jerk upward beneath him, his cock like molten iron inside of him and his own being brushed coarsely by his underwear, damp satin sticking to him like a second skin.

When Swan grunted and Jackie felt liquid flame shoot inside of him, he closed his eyes again and saw himself and Swan in profile, silhouettes against strobing lights, envisioning a bright, bluish-white light filling him, beginning inside his belly and steadily rising and spreading to fill the vulpine shadowshapes. The light increased in volume and luminosity, filling him and everything else.

After Jackie opened his eyes, he was back in Vince's living room, the music different now and still blaring. The party was still in progress, people walking through the room and comingling with broken conversation, yet nobody was looking at him.

He sat back, his hands pressing against the black fox's undulating chest, Swan's cock sliding just a little bit deeper into him. He knew he came along with Swan, didn't have to see the thing strings of milky white staining the Swan's shirt. When he looked down, he saw Swan looking up at him, those eyes like enchantment encased in folds of time, and he could feel, physically_feel_ somewhere deep inside his chest, the affection that filled them.

I love you, Jackie thought, as their laborious panting competed with the music.