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The office was tidier than he'd expected it to be, which still wasn't saying much considering that it was regularly inhabited by, of all things, a rat.

A few stacks of neatly organized paperwork- much like what the aforementioned rat labored over now- were laid out across the large, scuffed desk which occupied the first half of the narrow room. Dusty cabinets here and there, labeled with promising terms such as 'Condoms', 'Free First Aid', and 'Spare DVDs', took up what little space remained. Neatly framed posters lined the blotchy walls where space was available between printed schedules and thumb-tack memos, arranged in orderly galleries complete with boldly printed headings. Layne's wide, brown eyes flicked casually from one poster to the next, reading over the titles while he waited for the rat to finish looking over his resumé.

'In Deep: 12 Rounds with a Mole'.

'King of the Jungle: Lion 4 x 4'.

'A Squirrel and His Nuts: Rodent Rumble II'.

The buck's right ear gave a sudden twitch as he looked up at the time-worn prints in all their immoral glory, betraying that nervous tick which had stubbornly persisted since his childhood. Frowning, he turned away from the posters and the scantily-clad beasts which occupied them. He had insisted to himself that there was no reason to be nervous. Across the desk from him, situated atop the large, leathery throne of his oversized office chair, the rat spoke without looking up from his paperwork.

"Hhmm. Now it says here that you served two tours abroad. You're in good company, you know. We've got a few veterans here already, as it turns out. I hope you don't mind my asking, but was there any particular reason you got out?"

In his efforts to ignore the posters lurking about the room, Layne had forgotten where he was for a moment. He gathered himself, straightening up as best as he could in his seat. The only other chair in the room had been a small, rickety, metal stool, and his long, well-muscled body had put forth a considerable- if futile- effort into making his seating situation somewhat more comfortable.

"Education," he said at length, further adjusting himself on his seat. "The Army gave me some benefits, so I plan to use them. Two tours were enough for me to see what I wanted to see, prove what I wanted to prove. I never planned to go career, sir."

The rat chuckled dryly, a deep, throaty sound. He was large for his species- big for a rodent, as far as things go- and the confidence his size gave him showed in his every word and idle movement.

"There's no need for that 'sir' business here," he said, flipping over to the next page of the resumé. "It's just Coach, or King. That's what everyone else calls me."

"King?"

"Oh, it's a long story. You'll hear it soon enough, I'm sure."

The buck shot a quick glance back up at the posters. There- preserved in a gilded frame and positioned at a prominent space on the wall behind the desk- a faded print depicted a large, black rat standing in the ringside, his sable fur glossy with the sweat of his exertion. A lopsided crown sat upon the rodent's proud head, his thickly-muscled arms thrown up in victory, pointing to the title of the poster, in bold. ' King'. Layne tried not to stare at the rest of the poster; the rat was nude, and he had no real intention of becoming too familiar with that aspect of his new employer's figure.

"So, education," King went on. "And what's the plan there?"

Layne drew his attention back to the burly rat across the desk, who was now looking level at him.

"Uh, communications," the buck said, catching himself. "I got some training back while I was deployed, and I figured that I'd make the most out of it, maybe try for a career. I'm enrolling in the spring at the college down the street."

King grinned, his massive incisors displaying an uncanny shade of off-white. There was something inherently greasy about the rodent's smile, but then again, perhaps that was to be expected considering the business he was in. It was apparent in everything about the office, from the half-hidden bottle of lube sticking out of the first aid cabinet, to the not-so-subtle scent of sex that lingered on the furniture. The buck was sure- although he was in no hurry to discover for himself- that most of the surfaces in the room would be sticky with that unknowable, eldritch substance which so often graces establishments of ill repute.

"Right. College. So, let me get this straight. You're fresh off the armed forces, going to school, working on the long-term... and you decide to apply here?" The rat leaned back in his chair, causing the leather to groan in protest as his hefty, black bulk settled. He eyed the buck incredulously, that greasy smile fading as he tapped his claws on the arms of his chair. The buck wasn't sure how to respond.

"Is that so strange?" he finally said.

"Oh, it's not like it's unheard of. I get a lot of college kids in here, just starting out in the business, looking to try new things," the coach said, shrugging. "I'm just curious. What's it for? A few greenbacks to tide you over till your classes start?"

King leaned forward suddenly, a knowing look on his face, all sharp incisors and insinuation. The buck's ear flicked on its own accord, and he found himself leaning away despite his best efforts.

"Or... are you one of the thrill seekers? Trying to prove something, scratch some itch the Army couldn't get at?"

Layne felt somehow that he should be offended, but he feigned innocence nonetheless. Donning a nonchalant face, he shrugged back.

"I don't know what you mean."

The rat didn't seem convinced.

"You do know what we do here, right?" he continued. "This isn't some 'one-and-done' porn shop. I ain't one of those dime-a-dozen smut peddlers, handing out limp cash to cocksure punks off the street so that they can sell a cam-job while some bitch gets a facial. This is the real deal, kid. This is the business."

He pointed a blunt claw up at the posters surrounding the office, gesturing to all the myriad displays of erotic pageantry.

"Take a good, long look at those. You get a foot in the door here, and you're gonna see yourself up on the wall, and it might not be pretty. A lot of folks are going to see you... all of you, and that's a promise."

He leaned back in his chair, waiting. Expectant.

"So, I'm just trying to make sure that we're both on the same page here. Is this what you want?"

Layne didn't bother to look back at the posters. He'd certainly stared at them long enough over the past hour while he'd waited on the rat. He knew what to expect out of this job. Hell, he'd known full well before he ever set a hoof in the office. The proud buck had done his homework; why, he'd even taken the liberty of renting a few of those overpriced DVDs to see it for himself.

Fuck-fighting, his old bunkmate had called it. Sure enough, Layne knew what went on here. He wasn't afraid.

"Mister, uh... King?" he finally said, trying his hardest to keep his errant ear from flicking about. "With all due respect, I don't imagine that I'd be able to justifiably call myself a soldier if I thought that a camera was going to scare me, and in all honesty, I don't think there's anyone you can throw at me in the ring that'll do worse than what I've seen in the field."

He smiled, summoning confidence born from years of being told how tough an Army veteran should act. "I think I know what I'm signing up for. You don't have to give me a speech."

For a moment King simply stared, shrewd eyes boring into the buck, who did his best not to shrink further onto the cramped little stool he had been allocated. At last the rat tossed up his paws and nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Well said, I suppose. Just don't expect me to treat you like a kid then, Mr. B. Layne. I only got one more question for you, if you don't mind, and then we can wrap this all up."

"Shoot."

The rat picked at his incisors casually, pointing his other claw at the buck's chest. "The ring," he said, his mouth half-full of paw as he worked out something from between a tooth. "That's not going to be any issue, is it?"

For a moment the buck was confused. Then he remembered, ashamed of himself, and his hand came up mechanically to clutch at the silver ring he'd always kept on a chain around his neck.

He'd forgotten again.

"Oh, this?" he said, blushing. "No. No issue. It's just an old keepsake, from high school."

King frowned, whiskers falling south as he pulled his paw free and wiped it off on the arm of his chair.

"I'm not going to have some crazy wife coming in here and throwing a fit, right? You're not married, are you?"

"No," Layne said shaking his horns. "No chance of that, I assure you."

"Hm." The rat waved off the issue. "Alright. Good enough for me. Now there's just the last of the paperwork to settle... and where'd I put that fucker?"

Combing through the papers on his desk, the big rodent searched about for a moment before at last producing a large sheaf of documents from under the clutter of forms, slapping them down in front of the deer. Layne's wayward ear- ever eager to display the buck's thoughts- flicked incredulously as he looked at the thing. He'd never been fond of paperwork; it'd been half the reason why he joined the Army rather than taking a desk job somewhere.

"What's this?" he asked, doubtful.

"That," King said, leaning back into his chair with a contented sigh. "That is the tightest, cleanest, surest, and most certifiably un-fuckable legal document ever conceived on this good Earth, let me assure you."

The buck squinted, unconvinced, and so King continued, gesturing.

"You see, the top part's just your standard legal contract, accounting for all the regular bullshit you might find working at, say, your local grocer. Standard labor rights, insurance claims, contact information... stuff you've already filled out a thousand times before, I'm sure."

With that same sullied claw, he lifted the top sheets, revealing a mass of cluttered documents below. "Underneath all that crap is my pride and joy. The waiver."

"Waiver?"

"Yeah, just a little courtesy, really. The kind of stuff we do around here... eh, tends to work best when no one's worried about getting sued. Makes everyone just a little less tense, you understand?"

Layne tentatively reached over and flipped through the first few sheets, staring down at the complex pages of legal jargon, one after another. He wasn't any man's fool, but still he couldn't help and admit that the document went a bit over his horns. He wasn't a damned lawyer, after all. The buck glanced back up at the rat, who was still leaning back in his chair, waiting. His dark, beady rodent eyes were unreadable.

King seemed to sense his unspoken question. "Look, in a word, all it says there is that you can't press charges against myself, my employees, the company, my producers, the League establishment...et cetera and so on, for anything that may or may not happen to you here while you're on the clock. But, you're a big, strong guy, served in the Army... I don't see what you have to worry about, right?"

Although he didn't say so aloud, a part of Layne agreed. It was the same big-horned, cocksure stag part of his brain that had decided to sign up at a League studio in the first place. Under its influence- and ignoring the anxious flutter in his gut and the usual accompaniment of his nervous ear- the buck signed the waiver and the documents which accompanied it, a process which took far longer than was reasonable. Throughout it all, he couldn't help it if his ear kept on its worried course, even if it was just a little flick every other page or so. It was just a tick, he told himself.

After all was signed, King stuck his greasy paw out over the desk, an offering which Layne hesitantly accepted. He gave his best smile back to the coach as they shook.

"Welcome to the League, Mr. B. Layne. I'm sure you're gonna give us one hell of a show."

After all of the tedious paperwork had been signed- every asinine i dotted, and every bullshit q curled- King took the liberty of showing his new employee around the premises of the studio. Of course, 'studio' wasn't quite the correct word for the place; the production company operated out of an old, refurnished boxing gym, which handily provided all of the facilities a League operation needed for their business. Showers, lockers, training rooms, the dank little office they had just been squatting in, and of course, the ring.

"The business," King went on as he pointed the old boxing ring out to Layne, "is sales. DVD sales, if we're being precise. We film most of the bouts right here in this ring, and we make all of our videos on-site, from pre-production to advertising and sales. It's the whole package deal."

The big rat led him over to the side of the ring, slapping the heavy mat base and gesturing up to the time-worn ropes. "You see, in this modern day and age just about anyone can get their fix off the internet. Doesn't matter what your kink is, you can find it online."

King winked, drawing a surprised snort and a blush from the cervine quite against his will. He looked aside reservedly, wondering to himself if the rat was some sort of queer. He resigned the thought almost immediately. It wasn't any of his business who his new boss fucked.

"I'm sure you know well enough what I mean," the rat continued. "But with that said, hard-copy pornographic material is becoming increasingly difficult to sell nowadays. Folks just don't go to the store to buy porn anymore. That's why we don't make that stuff here."

He turned to make a grand gesture towards the ring, his money-maker.

"I don't sell porn. I sell an experience. I sell the thrill of League competition, the majesty of athleticism, the rush of dominance. Male, female, strong, weak, dominant, submissive... it all comes down to what they can bring to the ring, and what they can give to the audience at home. That's what we do here, Layne. That's what you signed up for."

Layne nodded absently, observing the ring dubiously as he half-listened to the rat's practiced monologue. The arena was a musty old thing, worn from years of use, and it stank appropriately. The buck's nostrils flared as he took in the smell of sweat, semen, and god-knew-what else; he tried his best to ignore the ominous stains here and there upon the mat. To him, this was just porn, and a dirty kind at that, but he'd keep such thoughts to himself. Clearly the old rat was invested in the business to an unhealthy degree.

"I agree," he lied, looking back to his new employer. "If you don't mind me saying so, that's the primary reason why I thought this job would work well for me. I like it... the competitive aspect, I mean. There's a lot of admirable athletes in the League at the moment... some of them even mainstream, and I'd never say no to a chance to prove myself, on any field of battle. And as for the sex, well... who doesn't?"

The coach nodded in agreement, taking Layne by his lean shoulder.

"Now that's the industrious spirit I like to hear from my guys. You're going to do well here. C'mon, I'll show you the rest of the place."

For the next few minutes, the coach led his new stag along on a merry tour of the gym's facilities, and Layne was given an intimate view of the world behind those infamous videos. There- that stain upon the carpet by the weight rack- was where they'd filmed the notorious 'Geyser Giraffe' special, a real gold standard video for porn in the early 90's, according to King. And there, in that doorway by the busted water fountain, they'd shot the first scene of 'King's Kingdom: Year of the Rat', which won the coach an AVN award for 'Best Renting Title of the Year'.

"Of course," the burly rodent said, patting the ample belly beneath his shirt. "I'm mostly retired now, but I still find the time to make cameos here and there. Got to keep my fans happy, you know."

Layne said nothing, only offering the occasional sympathetic nod. A part of him warranted that it might be useful to listen to every bit of advice and insight the old rat offered about the business, but the other part of him- the same headstrong stag which ignored the coach even as he was talking- didn't want to listen to another male drone on about how good he was at fucking.

Nevertheless, Layne allowed himself to be led around like a good employee as King brought him past the showers and through the outdated weight-rooms. The coach was about to introduce him to his locker when they crossed paths with another pair, two females wearing baggy workout clothes. Their fur was still damp and musty from their exertions, and Layne tried not to imagine what those might have been. He'd seen enough League-sponsored videos to guess.

"Oh, lucky us," King said, chuckling dryly as the pair approached. "Crit, Nyla, this here is B. Layne. He just signed the waiver, and he's looking to get in on the action. I'm showing him around the facilities first."

Layne thought he recognized the rat- Crit- from a poster in King's office. Sure enough, her baggy attire did little to hide that same fierce expression and lean, whippish form which the print had so luridly displayed. The rodent looked Layne up and down as they were introduced, clearly nonplussed, and the buck abruptly got the impression that she was a bitch.

Perhaps that was harsh of him.

"Which team he fightin' for?" she asked abruptly.

The coach looked to Layne expectantly, and Layne realized far too late that he was supposed to answer for himself.

"Oh, the pair teams, sorry," he finally muttered. "Male and female. So, I suppose you'll be my opponents at some point. It's nice to meet you."

The little rat snorted disdainfully, all attitude for no reason apparent to the buck. "Yeah whatever, it's a real pleasure. I'm sure it'll be fun getting' paid to kick your horned ass around the ring for a few minutes a day."

Layne frowned. It seemed that he was correct in his earlier assumption.

"Manners, Crit," the coach said darkly, crossing his arms across his burly chest.

Now, Layne had never considered himself a paragon of social aptness, but it was immediately apparent from the way the smaller, dusty-colored rat squared up to the coach that there was some form of long-standing disagreement between the two rodents. He did his best to appear smaller as the rats scowled at each other. As before, perhaps it would be better if he simply stayed quiet.

"Manners?" Crit spat out. "The fuck you mean? S'just another punk-ass buck, thinking he's gonna score some easy tail here. And since when did you start treating the new bloods so nice? Let me guess, you ain't told him about the tryouts, huh?"

The coach opened his mouth to speak, slick whiskers twitching, but then he seemingly thought better of the idea. He turned towards the lioness, Nyla, who until that point had remained silent.

"Nyla, I'm going to have a kind word with Crit in my office. Until then, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Layne around?"

The lioness wasn't given time to answer, for with no further ceremony the coach proceeded to grab the smaller rat by her hand and drag her- protesting and clawing all the way- out of the hall, presumably back to that musty hole he called a workplace. Layne watched, too stunned at the scene to speak or move until they were well out of sight.

When at last the slam of the coach's office door echoed down the hall, Nyla turned expectantly to him, seemingly unfazed by the show. She was brawny for a lioness, with muscles that would look respectable on any male- let alone on a creature of the fairer sex- and if her scowling face was anything to judge by, she wasn't any friendlier than the rat.

"If you're worried about Crit, that's only because you don't know her. Don't spare it any thought, new blood. The Coach has a thing with her... with most of us girls, in fact." She stuck out her paw. "The name's Nyla, by the way, if you didn't catch it from King."

Layne took the paw's offer. The lioness was no dainty thing, and he did his best to hide his surprise at the crushing strength of her grip. Turning aside from the wincing buck, she nodded towards the lockers down the hall, and Layne followed her lead. In a business such as this, Layne supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised by how ferocious the females were.

"I'll show you to the lockers," she said as she walked ahead of him. "Just don't expect the grand tour. I've got shit to do."

The locker room, as it turned out, was no more impressive than the rest of the establishment, but Layne hadn't been expecting much in the first place. It was a porn production company after all, not a fitness center. Still, the lockers were large and functional, and they'd certainly serve their purpose. Nyla showed him to his own and helped him with his code; his storage space was conveniently close to her own, and Layne wondered at that.

"Is there any particular reason that the Coach put you in the men's locker room?" he asked.

Nyla smirked wryly.

"We only have the one locker room here. Considering what we do, there's no point in the modesty of separating the sexes... believe me, we'll all see your business one way or another."

"Ah. I understand."

The lioness seemed to catch something in the tone of his voice. She looked at him curiously, leaning back against the lockers as the buck tried and tested his code for memory's sake.

"You uh... ever do this sort of thing before, new blood? It's not exactly your average day-job, you know."

The buck nodded, realized that the action might be misconstrued, and then shook his head.

"No. Not like this, I mean... I know how it works. I've seen enough, I mean. I know the rules."

The lioness's toothy smirk dropped.

"I'm sure."

Then her predatory eyes narrowed in on the ring hanging against his chest.

"You engaged or something?"

For the second time that day the buck regretted wearing the thing, despite his promises. He thought about just tucking the piece into his shirt, but he didn't want to seem self-conscious in front of what was very likely a future competitor. He opened and closed his locker, satisfied, and turned away.

"No. It's just... a gift from an old fling."

Nyla shrugged, what little curiosity she had as a cat sated. Beckoning him with a finger, she led him around the rest of the gym, introducing him to different members of the crew whenever they happened upon them. He met the other females- none as dainty or submissive as he had come to expect from mainstream porn- and the males, who ran the gamut of body types and generally ignored him. From the way they stared and jeered however, he got the sense that they knew something he didn't. Some 'new blood' thing, for sure.

The buck stayed quiet as much as he could while still remaining polite. He was just trying to take the place in at his own pace, making observations where they mattered. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that he would likely be fucking at least some of the folks he was meeting. It was a strange thought, more discomforting and alien then he had expected. The Army stag in him told him to get over it.

After a time, the lioness started leading Layne back to the main hall of the gym.

"The coach is probably done with Crit by now, so I guess you can head back to the ring, or wherever the fuck he wanted you," she said. "I think you've met just about everyone here except-"

Whatever it was that Nyla was about to say escaped the buck, for just as she was about to say it, they rounded the corner of the gym's hall, and Layne found himself unexpectedly bumping snout-first into the stubborn, immobile face of a wall. Or at least... that's what it seemed like to him in that moment.

Recoiling back and rubbing his tender nose, he looked up and realized that it wasn't any wall that he had bumped into after all. It was, of all the impossible things, nothing more than a rabbit.

"Oh," Nyla said, hardly as surprised as the buck. "There you are, Ben. This is the new blood, Layne. Thinks he's good for the male-female division."

Layne looked up, staring dumbly at the beastly lapine in front of him. At first it was impossible to believe that the creature was even a rabbit at all, but sure enough there were those large, attentive ears, that gently-twitching nose, and those ponderous feet. Of course, it was just downright confusing that all of this was put on a creature of that size.

The monstrous rabbit- she'd called him Ben, now that he thought about it- looked back down at the shorter buck with a curiously sensitive expression, ignoring Nyla completely. His soft, golden eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts. It was a look, Layne thought with some apprehension, that no reasonable man should give to another. There was almost something... pitying... about the way he looked down at him.

All of this occurred in the span of a moment. Nyla looked between them both and smirked at the buck's astonished expression.

"Oh, I get it. You've never seen a Flemish Giant before, huh?" She reached over, giving Ben a friendly smack on his ample gut, which at that moment was covered in an ill-fitting workout shirt.

"Yeah, Big Ben here is one of the mainstays for the male-male team," Nyla continued, oblivious to the buck's concerned countenance. "I'm sure you'll both get real well acquainted."

It was at this point that Layne had gathered himself enough to be able to speak. It was bad enough form to have been caught so surprised, but he certainly wasn't going to act meek in front of another male, and from the queer team no less.

"I-It's a pleasure, Ben," he said, stuttering despite himself. "I'm looking forward to working with you."

The Flemish blinked, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his long whiskers.

" Oh ," he sighed. The low tenor of his voice was soft and rich, concerned. " That's just precious."

Layne realized then, late as usual, that the larger male was looking at his ring, nestled as it was against the soft, creamy fur along his collarbone. He clutched at it instinctively, playing back that last word in his head.

Precious?

The buck's ear twitched violently at the sheer revulsion that the response suddenly generated in him. He opened his mouth to say something back- a challenge of some sort- but the Flemish was already moving past him, already dismissing him, and Nyla too was walking away. No one had noticed his offense; the words died in his throat.

For a moment he simply stood there, stunned, but then he followed, doing his best to put the strange beast from his mind. It was better that no one know how great an effect so little a comment had made on him, and from a queer bunny, no less.

Layne followed Nyla- sulking all the way- back to the main area of the gym, where he found the coach and Crit lounging about by the ring. Since they had seen him last, the larger rat was now without his shirt, and the expansive range of his chest and large, fuzzy belly were now exposed. If the posters in his office were anything to judge by, he had clearly let himself go.

Nyla grinned cheekily at Crit as she led the buck back to them. "So, who won?"

King waved a paw in exasperation. "Call it a draw."

The lioness cast an incredulous eye on the larger rat, who sat back against the mat, panting lightly and covered in a slick sheen of sweat.

"A draw? You getting old or something, King?"

"I _got_her, you sass, but she messed up all the papers on my desk in the process."

"_I_messed up your papers?" Crit spat, dubious. Upon further inspection she too had shed a few layers of clothing, as she was now currently wearing only a pair of oversized workout shorts and a top. The label 'KING' was printed in bold across the front of the shirt, soaked in sweat.

"Fuck that," she said. "You threw me on the desk. It ain't my fault your office is all fucked up now."

The banter continued between the two, and all the while a slight, rosy tinge began to show on Layne's furry cheeks. He realized, far too late, what it was that the two had been doing in the coach's office. Of course, he hadn't forgotten what business he had gotten himself into, but nevertheless, there was something so... unprofessional about it. He realized that he had a lot to learn about this place, and he stared at the pair of rats with a new, somewhat sullied understanding.

The coach waved off Crit's protests, looking back to Layne. "So, now that you've got a look around, what do you think?"

Layne tried his hardest to look indifferent. "It's a nice gym, I suppose, and you've got an... interesting crew here too. I'm sure it's going to be different than what I'm used to, but nothing I've seen so far has really made me regret coming here."

The coach gave him a buck-toothed grin and nodded. "Well that's good to hear. I try to keep the place nice. It looks better on me when the other League teams come here for matches."

Standing up with a tired groan, he pointed to the old, stained ring behind him.

"Nothing left to it then, except to see what you can do in the ropes. Get on up there and strip down to the bare."

Layne's blush returned in full force, sadly too apparent along the fair fur of his muzzle. He was, not for the first time since arriving at the gym, at a loss for words. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, what did you expect, new blood? You were going to have to do it sooner or later. Now, get on up there."

Receiving only silence and a desperate look from his new employee, King gave the buck a skeptical look. "What, don't tell me you get stage fright?"

Layne straightened himself out as best he could, feeling the eyes of the other two females upon him, as well as those of the few others loitering about in the gym's main room. He was no coward, after all, and that small, prideful part within compelled Layne to harden himself when called out.

"No. I... I suppose I just didn't expect to be given a test run so quickly. I mean-"

"Good to hear!" the coach said gruffly, cutting him off. "You said it yourself, after all. You like the competition. So, get up in there and show us what you've got. Don't be shy now, we've seen it all before."

There were too many expectant eyes watching the buck for him to fold now. His nervous ear flicked wildly, once, twice, and then he got over himself. Pushing aside the coach, he hopped up onto the ring, pulling himself through the ropes. Standing inside, he realized that he'd never been in a boxing ring before. It was very much like the movies, he supposed, only dirtier.

Sighing, he began to strip.

I'll be fine, he thought to himself as he pulled his shirt over his tawny, lean body, throwing it off and out of the ring. I know how to fight, probably better than any of these civilians. I've had enough training to handle anything they can throw at me. This is an easy paycheck.

He struggled a bit with his belt, but then that came off too, followed swiftly by his jeans. It was at this point, with a dozen pairs of eyes watching him, that the reality of his situation finally came crashing into him. He was going to fuck someone up here, on this dirty mat, while being watched by others. His face felt flush; he had never had the issue before, but he suddenly doubted that he would be able to get hard.

Acting purely on a mechanical basis, Layne dutifully shed the last layers of his clothes and tossed his socks and boxers off and out of the ring to join the rest. The only other article he still had on was his ring, heavy and loose on the chain necklace which hung about his neck. He felt the stares on his body now, on places only one other had ever looked before, now with nothing between them and him.

It was one thing to be naked in the showers with all of the other men back in the Army, or at the gym in high school, but this was another matter entirely. He tried not to look at the faces of the others down below, focusing his wide eyes on the ropes as he casually laid against one side of the ring.

"Well?" he asked, his voice cutting the quiet of the room. He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

Down below, the coach nodded in approval.

"Fair enough. You're a bit short for a buck, but you've got a nice form on you. Some real muscle definition, but still versatile-looking. Damn fine pair of hangers, too. Those'll make for good posters."

The buck took the compliment as it was, even though it came from another male. He was in no way ashamed of his body, after all. He was thin but well-muscled, tall and gracefully proportioned as any buck should be, and it had been his pride to maintain such a form throughout his service. His dappled coat was clean and well brushed, the pale, soft fur on his belly and the insides of his thighs sporting a creamy color much like the mat of the ring. Instinctually, the buck knew that he was a prime specimen of his species, and he carried himself accordingly.

As for the other details, well... Layne had never consciously compared his assets to those of other men, though he'd seen more than his fair share. He knew without boasting that he was impressive enough in those departments which would be of service in this industry, although he was far too modest to ever admit as much out loud. Admittedly, he was still nervous, and so far as things went down in his sheath, he hadn't so much as stirred in inch. It'd been years since he'd done anything with a woman, the ring weighing down on his neck for so long.

Perhaps it'll be easier when my opponent comes in the ring, he thought, just as the coach whispered something to Crit back on the floor. The little rat scurried off to the locker rooms at once, grinning devilishly, no doubt to go fetch his opposite. He wondered what she would look like.

Would she be a lithe, scrappy rat like Crit? Maybe a tawny lioness, muscular and fierce, like Nyla? Or something else perhaps, a gentle doe or a stately, long-maned mare.

At last he felt himself harden at such thoughts. Surely, he thought, it wouldn't be so bad. He began to imagine the scenarios now, opening himself up to one idea after another. It was while these thoughts of tempting females danced through his head that Crit returned, leading in tow the very last creature that Layne could have expected.

What little blood he had pumped down to his sheath went cold at the sight of him. It was that rabbit.

Big Ben.

The coach looked over at the new arrival and pointed brusquely up to the stage.

"Ben, I presume that you've met Mr. Layne by now. He's new. Give him five minutes of your time. I want to see how he moves."

The big rabbit said nothing, but he had already begun discarding his clothes, and by the time Layne had regained control of his dumbfounded faculties the larger male was already pulling his towering bulk up and into the ring. The buck stammered.

"Uhm, Mr. King, I mean... Coach? I thought I'd made it somewhat clear, in that my preferences... I mean, this isn't what-"

"This isn't what you expected?" the coach responded wryly, his tone glazed with just a hint of ridicule.

"Boy, don't get cute with me. If you're a former soldier, then you're the last person I'm gonna go soft on. Now, I don't mean to offend your _delicate_sexuality, but Ben here is just gonna test your moves. That's all. If you're fast, then you'll have nothing to worry about."

The Flemish Giant had by now made his way into the ring, the ropes snapping back into place loudly as he removed his lumbering weight from the cords. Casually, lazily, he made to remove his shorts, and Layne at once tore his gaze from the admittedly impressive sight. The rabbit had gone commando.

That image- that thick, compact sheath and the ponderous, fuzzy sack swaying beneath them- was unfortunately still burned into his retina even as the smaller cervine looked away.

"But," Layne continued, in no sense eager to continue. "If I'm going into the male-female team, wouldn't it make more sense to test me against a female?"

The coach said something aside to Nyla, who rolled her eyes and pushed her way back into his office.

"No, it wouldn't. You see, I've been running the show here for some time, and I've learned that nothing brings out the hustle in straight boys like Big Ben here. If I put one of my gals in there, you'd probably be prone to get romantic, take your time, show off. No worries of that with Ben. He'll sort out what you've got in no time at all."

"Or," he said, turning to face Nyla as she left his office, and taking the camcorder she had brought out for him. "In five minutes, I should say. Shit, I forgot the timer. Get that, too."

By now the other occupants in the gym had begun to crowd excitedly about the ring, sensing the onset of some unexpected action. Their voices rang out in unison, discussing predictions or making witty comments about one contestant's body or the other's. Layne, seeing no refuge in the coach, instead turned to face Ben. It seemed that he had misunderstood what this whole business would be like. That confidant buck part of him was nowhere to be seen, now, when it was needed most.

The rabbit had taken up the whole corner of the ring across from Layne. He stood informally against the rope post, leaning back in an almost casual, idle manner and regarding Layne with that soft, curious expression. There it was again, Layne realized. It was the same look that Ben had given him in the hallway earlier. Those bright, heavy-lidded eyes peered out at him, that lazy smile plastered across his lips. It both infuriated and terrified Layne in equal extents, and he realized- dully, but with increasing alarm- that this giant rabbit probably intended to fuck him.

Beneath the ring, the coach had finally managed to get his trusty camcorder running. Flipping open the screen, he pulled his own bulk up to the ropes to get a better view and regard the two contenders.

"December tryouts. Take one, running title open" he said, loudly and clearly as he panned the camcorder between them. In the background, a few of the more eager observers waived and cheered for the camera; Layne could only stand against the ropes and try to not look as horrified as he felt.

"At the bell, you have five minutes," King announced. "I don't want to see any illegal holds, and let's keep the blows to a minimum. Standard League rules for the new blood."

"Ben," he shouted, facing the rabbit. "Let's skip the foreplay. You're just here to keep him moving and see how long he can last against a bigger opponent. Don't get carried away."

The giant just smiled, never taking his eyes off of Layne.

" Of course."

The confidence that the other male demonstrated was simply offensive, and the buck angled his head down without thinking, horns facing the rabbit in an instinctual defensive gesture. He had no intention of letting either the coach or the rabbit have their way. This just wasn't his kind of thing.

"No offense, Ben," he said pointedly, eyeing his opponent from across the ring.

"But this isn't really what I had in mind when I signed up. Don't get any funny ideas, alright? Let's just keep things nice and professional."

The lapine's soft, golden eyes sparkled merrily at the words, and some unreadable emotion played across his face. Meanwhile, with his speech concluded, the coach hopped off the ring to make his way to the bell. Layne couldn't help but overhear what the others in the audience were saying at this point.

"Poor new blood. He's on the male-female team too? That's a tough break."

"I know, right? I guess the coach wants him to learn how to lose gracefully first."

"Check out those horns. Ben better be careful. He could lose an eye if the rookie makes a wrong move."

"Fuck that rack, look at the low-hangers on that guy! Man, bucks have all the luck."

Layne tried to tune the voices out, focusing all of his thoughts on his opponent. He'd been in fights before, sure. He told himself that he knew what he was doing. After all, he'd done his homework.

The goal of a League bout was to fuck, or to avoid being fucked. At least, that was the rule with the male-female division DVDs he'd watched as preparation. The male-only competitions though? His best guess was that he'd just wrestle with the big rabbit and keep him at bay until the five minutes were done. Ben had to know that he was straight... there was no way he'd cross that line, right?

He swept his eyes over Ben's colossal form, striving for one last observation that might make the difference in a fight. The Flemish Giant, for his part, didn't seem to mind being looked over.

What was there to say? Ben was tall; impossibly so for a rabbit, and accordingly he had a fair height and reach advantage over any deer. His natural bulk, emphasized by a large, bountiful gut, also demonstrated in equally-demoralizing terms the weight advantage that Ben had on him.

But he wasn't really muscular, not in the same sense that Layne was. Layne even doubted that the rabbit spent much time, if any, working out. The slack thickness of his chest and his heavy midriff, the obvious swell of the bunched muscles along his calves- typical of any rabbit- and yes, the fierce readiness apparent even in that laid-back posture; this was Ben, au naturel.

This was going to be tough, but not impossible.

To his side, the coach reached for the bell. Layne tensed. There was no more time for thought.

"Clang!"

The bell rung- the clarion sound echoing out over the room- and faster than Layne could follow the larger male had already crossed the ring towards him.

Too fast, Layne thought, panicking. Fuck, I forget that he's a rabbit.

Layne dodged off and to the side, honing every instinct he could muster just to keep out of the larger male's reach. He tucked off to the edge of the ring just as the rabbit's huge paw grazed his side, but he had no time to recover. Ben was already on top of him again, grabbing, his reach wider than Layne could have ever anticipated. The buck backpedaled rapidly, until he felt the ropes against his back.

No.

Before he could move again Ben slammed into him from the front, a wall of fur and meaty flesh that took the wind out of the buck's lungs. By the time the stars had left his eyes, he was already grappled, and another ragged gasp drawn out of his chest as Ben slammed him against the mat. Around the ring, there were mixed sounds of sympathy and encouragement as his horns clattered against the unyielding floor.

No.Not yet, he told himself.

More on instinct than anything else, he recognized the hold that he was being put in. The rabbit was trying to get on top of him, trying to place him on his back, but he wasn't there just yet. Twisting, Layne set his knee between them, pushing against the rabbit's chest to make some distance. He looked up at Ben's face, panting, and he saw those same eyes again. Pity. For the briefest of moments he stopped struggling, a deer caught in the headlights.

The voices to the sides of the ring were animated now, yelling, cheering, but he still heard the rabbit's voice above it all. Soft and rich. Pleasant. Almost encouraging.

" Don't stop now ," he said. " You were doing so well."

Rather than try and push his knee away as Layne had expected, the Flemish grabbed his calf and lifted swiftly, placing the buck's hoof over his shoulder as he leaned over. As the rabbit's full weight fell over him at last, Layne remembered where he was, what he was doing. He put his hands up, supple muscles trembling as he pushed back against the bulk of Ben's mass. His hands wedged up against the soft fur of the rabbit's solid, unyielding belly. It was no use.

Ben fell over on top of him, stretching muscles in his rear and thighs that he didn't even know he had as his knee was brought nearly to his own muzzle. He gasped, the crowd cheered, and somewhere below him, Layne felt the unmistakable warmth of the rabbit's heavy balls as they draped over his own. He felt their weight, acknowledged it, but still couldn't accept it. There was no way another male was doing that to him.

This was supposed to go differently, he thought, striving to keep from panic. Above him, Ben smiled softly, almost sympathetically.

" I thought you should know ," he said quietly, a low, confiding whisper as Layne struggled against him. " I appreciate this opportunity you've given me. I assure you, I won't waste what you're offering."

"Fuck you," Layne responded, and he meant it.

The buck pushed with everything he had. He twisted, squirmed, and put every ounce of the muscles and training that he had built over the years into the sole task of escaping Ben's indomitable form. Throughout it all Ben merely watched, occasionally frowning in concentration here and there when the buck's struggles became difficult to control. But he knew this game. Layne admitted, halfway through the fight- and long before his body gave up- that the rabbit was simply stronger and far more experienced with grappling.

It was almost like art.

Somewhere in basic training, he'd been told that it was one thing to know how to kill another creature. It was another to know how to control them. There, in the ring, pinned beneath a horny rabbit that twice his size, B. Layne admitted to himself that he had made a mistake when he signed that waiver. The two minute mark passed, and Ben got to work on his opponent.

Layne felt the shift in the rabbit's dense body before he saw it. The slight give of his thick muscles, bunching up deep in his fleshy gut as he began to slide his knees closer to the buck's exposed rear. Layne knew- although he didn't dare look down to see it- the threat of the weight currently resting atop his own package. He could feel Ben in the most intimate way possible, a way one buck wasn't meant to feel another, and for the first time in a long span of years he felt a cold fear wash over him. He redoubled his efforts, panting out excuses and pleas. These were quiet; he didn't want to seem like a coward in front of the others.

"Look, okay," he said, stuttering. He knew he was blushing.

"You win. You've got me pinned. You don't need to prove anything else. J-just, get off me, oh God, just let me go now."

All the while Ben simply looked down at him, occasionally smiling, always maneuvering himself closer. Every new twist or push might have bought Layne another inch of space, but not for long, and he was getting tired. At this point the rabbit was practically laying down over the buck, his full weight keeping the buck pinned with that long leg up against his scrawny chest. Confidant that the buck wasn't going anywhere, Ben removed one of his hands, brought it lower between them. He gently stroked the buck's soft fur on his way down, tracing a line between his pecs, south to his navel and beyond.

A hand grasped his sheath- still completely flaccid- and gave it a few delicate caresses. Layne looked away, eyes closed, but he could still feel it. The hand moved down to his balls, cupping, appraising their weight and the fine, delicate fur which covered them. Above him, Ben smiled.

Then the hand left him.

"Oh God, no," Layne whispered, mostly to himself, as he felt Ben positioning his cock. Unlike the buck, Ben had found no difficulty in getting hard for the show. Layne knew the movement, as he'd done it himself before, long before he'd been given the ring. Ben was getting ready to push in. Somewhere in the panicked corner of his mind, Layne distantly remembered everything that he'd heard about what this act meant between two males.

Wasn't it supposed to feel good sometimes? It couldn't be so bad, right?

Desperate not to find out, he put out another burst of struggle, to which Ben merely frowned.

" Hmm... three minutes already ," the giant sighed.

He leaned in close, closer than any other male had ever been, and grabbing the ring around the buck's neck he pulled the smaller male close. Layne's eyes widened fearfully as the larger rabbit planted his heavy, warm lips upon his muzzle. Another male was kissing him, touching his lips with his tongue, exploring his taste, and there was nothing he could do. As he was prone to doing in unexpected situations, Layne simply froze, and the rabbit took the opportune moment to act.

There was a short, hard thrust, a gasp as Layne cried out softly into Ben's mouth, and that was the whole of the matter. Around them, the crowd cheered loudly.

"We really should get another recorder," the coach said, somewhere aside them in the crowd. "I could have gotten that shot from a much better angle. Maybe we can do something about it in post-production."

Layne recoiled as he felt the rabbit push himself inside, just an inch or so, but God, it hurt. It hurt in a way that he'd never imagined. And it kept coming. Another short push, and a soft sigh from Ben. Then another, each time unexpected and unwanted, with Ben on top of him looking down with worry in his eyes. Layne hated him for it.

" Your first time ," the rabbit said softly.

It wasn't a question. He thrust again, watching Layne gasp out, and then again, feeling the full weight of his hips settle against the soft, well-muscled curve of the buck's upturned rear. Layne's short, diamond-shaped tail wagged furiously, gently patting the rabbit's heavy sack on each upswing. Ben was fully inside him.

Some selfish, fulsome part of him might have felt proud, in other circumstances,

" You needn't be ashamed ," Ben continued, releasing the buck's leg gently and letting it fall to settle on his hips, joining the other one and completing that classic missionary pose. He held himself low over Layne's prone body, looking down at him. Smiling.

" You did very well. Three minutes is nothing to be ashamed of."

Despite the rabbit's words, Layne was nevertheless ashamed. There were a dozen people crowding around the stage, cheering, taunting, one of them filming, and he had let another male inside of him. Everything about the situation was deeply humiliating. How dare Ben act as though it wasn't.

" Don't worry about them ," Ben said, smiling, noting his obvious mortification. He gave the buck another deep, cruel thrust, delicately stroked the curve of his jaw, and reached up to grasp his horns for leverage before forcing him into another kiss. He broke away as the buck bit at his lip, laughing.

" We still have some time, so let's get the most out of it, shall we?"

Ben hunkered down over the buck- who in turn had begun resolutely staring at some point at the ceiling, willing himself away- and he got back to work. Ben was a rabbit, and despite his size he went at it in much the same fashion as you'd expect any rabbit to perform. He bred the buck, hard and fast.

"Pat,pat, pat".

Layne's ears, red with embarrassment, couldn't help but hear the sound of the rabbit's hips connecting with his upturned ass, again and again. He couldn't help but feel the gentle, weighty taps of another male's balls slapping up against the base of his tail. And he most certainly couldn't help but feel the rabbit's heaviness, all around him, holding him there in an almost gentle, cradling way. He wondered if this is what it felt like to be a female.

In and out. It almost didn't hurt any more. There was another feeling there now, strange, and deep inside of him in a place that he didn't want to acknowledge, that made the situation almost enjoyable. But of course, it was impossible to pay attention to that small feeling with all of the other, varyingly horrible stimuli going on around his body. He pushed up weakly with his hands, shoved his fists into the rabbit's hefty bulk, but felt his blows slip on his slick sweat and the roundness of his belly.

Somewhere, he heard one of the spectators shout out the four-minute mark.

Four minutes. Somehow, it had only been four minutes.

Above him, Ben seemed to notice the passage of time as well. Grunting, he lifted the bulk of his body up and turned Layne over onto all fours.

Layne wasn't a small thing- he was a fully grown and well-muscled buck- and no one had ever picked him up and moved him like that before, not since he was a fawn. The noise that escaped his muzzle as he was repositioned wasn't at all masculine, and he couldn't help but cry out again as Benny flopped back on top of him. He hadn't noticed when the rabbit had slid out, but he certainly felt it when it came back in. All of that slick length, so much longer than his own.

He gasped as Ben resumed those rapid, merciless thrusts, louder than he would have liked, but he was getting used to it now. The cervine gritted his blunt teeth, snorting defiantly, still uselessly proud. He wasn't afraid. There was just one minute left, and he had nothing left to lose to Ben now.

Ben leaned over the buck's back, clutching Layne closer with both of those massive hands and gripping his narrow waist tightly. His strong hips pummeled into him, breeding him, again and again, fast and heavy, leaving Layne breathless. God, this new angle hit that spot inside of him, and it hit him hard. He felt his sheath stirring, although he couldn't believe it was happening.

He wasn't so naive; he knew what the rabbit was hitting inside of him.

The lapine giant continued on, panting over the buck's shoulder as he reamed the buck's sensitive, virgin prostate over and over again. The loud 'smack' of their bodies rang out, loud and carnal, as Ben collided into him. Layne just stared ahead, counting the seconds. How much longer could it be? Below him, his necklace rattled against the floor of the mat, the ring bouncing with each thrust. He vaguely recalled the tender promises exchanged with the ring, and how many of them he'd broken since he'd stepped in the arena; admittedly, he'd been a fool for thinking anything less would occur.

Ben leaned forward, nibbling on that errant, betraying ear and earning a pitiful bleat from his victim.

" Not much longer now, I'm afraid. It always ends too soon." He reached down and gave the buck's swollen sheath a long, tender stroke, earning a shudder. " You won't mind if I finish up? The coach is expecting our best, after all."

Layne was about to respond with the wittiest thing his well-fucked mind could come up with, when the rabbit raised himself slightly on his knees and dove down at a steeper angle. The new position hit him where right it mattered, and Layne's voice was cut off with a weak, disgraceful gasp as the rabbit's long, pink cock thrust right against his tender little deer nut. His own shaft, halfway out of its fuzzy sheath, spat out a thin dribble of precum, quite against the buck's own will.

"Fuck," Layne managed to stutter, before another thrust took the wind from his lungs. Somewhere far away, the spectators were counting down.

Twenty... thrust, thrust... nineteen... thrust... eighteen... two rapid thrusts that made his insides sing.

This was supposed to be painful, he thought. At the very least, it shouldn't have felt so good. Below him, his cock had now fully emerged from the confines of its musky sheath, and each pinpoint thrust was rewarded with another line of thick, shiny pre, drooling out in neat order. Layne wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes had gone crossed at some point.

Eleven... thrust... ten... thrust...

Ben's resolute body, heavy and solid, hammered into him again and again. He felt the rabbit's labored breath on the back of his neck, the occasional kiss and nibble of buckteeth on his twitching ear, the pound of that gut slamming into his ass, and God, the weight of the other male's sack as it flung forward, tapping against his own with a regular rhythm. Something inside of him lurched, deep and wonderful and so wrong, and he cried out again.

Six... a deep_thrust... five... _deeper... Ben held it in and throbbed...

Above him, Ben sighed- a great, gusting sound- and then Layne felt it. The heat. He screamed, he couldn't help it, and below, untouched, his long, thin cock surged as rope after rope of buck-seed was flung out onto the matt. Ben didn't stop, and by force alone the rabbit tore an orgasm from his body. The crowd erupted into cheer around them as Benny held himself in deep, occasionally giving another mighty pump here or there, pushing his load in deeper.

2... he felt it throb inside of him again. The count struck one, and the coach was already telling someone to get in there and pull Ben off.

But the pressure never abated. Ben kept pushing, kept sighing and stroking what was already hyper-sensitive, playing him like an over-tuned instrument, and kept him held him close as he leaned over and covered his form with his massive body. The bigger male gave another powerful drive with his hips, and Layne wondered how deep the rabbit's seed had gone. Too deep, he decided meekly. He was already damp with another male's sweat, and had another male's cock balls-deep inside of him, still pumping weakly.

Some cynical part of him doubted that they ever intended to let him join the male-female team.

Someone hopped onto the ring, and Layne felt two, three pairs of paws trying without much success to get Ben off of him. Ben only then seemed to notice that their time was up, the bell was ringing, and he gave one last, potent thrust into his opponent's battered prostate before allowing himself to be taken away. Layne buckled, whimpered, and felt himself shoot off another weak spurt as the buck slipped out of him.

God, he could feel how big the fucker was when he pulled out.

As the Flemish was led away, the coach pulled his face up to the ropes in front of Layne. Limp, sprawled out on the mat, the buck merely gave him the best attempt at a glare he could produce. The big, black rat smiled back cheekily.

"That was a damn fine tryout, Mr. B. Layne. I can see the title now: "Buck on Buck, Straight Army Stag Takes It All!"

Layne frowned. It certainly wasn't a flattering name for his first DVD. Years from now, when some other new blood had joined the League, would the coach point at his stain on the mat and proudly recount what had just happened to him? King seemed to notice his displeasure.

"Hey, don't look at me like that. It was a good test run. You've got some nice moves, after all. Maybe once you're all rested up we can let you have a shot at Ruby, or Nyla. Hey, I mean it. You did good."

He turned away from the ring, heading back to his office. "No go and get showered. You stink like a rabbit in heat."

Layne nodded limply as the coach walked off. For the moment, at least, he was just focused on breathing. It had been an unceremonious affair, his first paid fuck. He clutched weakly at his ring, felt the dampness on it, and realized that at some point he'd gotten cum on it. He sighed.

Now he knew why they had the damned waiver.

Sometime later the buck peeled himself off of the mat, ignoring the stain he had made upon the floor of the ring. His ass hurt.

Gingerly, he'd stepped out of the arena. There was no one else about to see his awkward post-fuck waddle, as the spectators had mostly moved on to the training rooms. The coach was in his office. Alone, Layne picked up his clothes and made his way to the showers which had been shown to him earlier.

Unusual for an old gym such as this, the showers were each comprised of independent stalls. They were cheap, but at least they provided some semblance of privacy, which Layne felt deeply in need of now. As he set his clothes aside and stepped inside, he argued with himself over what had just happened. What he'd allowed to happen.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped fighting, he realized. He turned the hot water on and let it fall over his sweaty form, lowering his horns against the wall and letting the warmth fall across his shoulders.

It wasn't like I was raped, he told himself. _I mean, I signed the waiver. I knew what would happen, and I stayed in the ring. It's no one's fault but mine._Inside, a part of him jeered.

He made you cum.

Did that mean he was gay? No. Nothing about him had changed in that sense. It had felt good, when it didn't hurt. That was all. Now that the coach had seen what he could do, they'd let him compete with the females.

His confidence soared again, as much as it could. This had just been the trial. He wouldn't have to worry about it again, he was sure. The buck washed himself, and he explored the wonders of removing that which the rabbit had ungracefully deposited inside him. He was a mess, but with soap and warm water, he could almost make himself right again. He reached to turn the water off, but he knew he still smelled like that damn rabbit, like Big Ben.

Exhaling, he turned to step out of the shower.

Ben was there.

The rabbit's immense bulk surprised him so much that he jumped, stumbling back into the stall with an unmanly sound. The rabbit smiled, following, and closed the stall behind him as he towered over the trembling, straight buck.

" There you are ," Ben said, softly, his deep voice echoing in the small stall. " You know, I've always thought that the five minute timer was a bit small."

Layne gulped, his right ear twitching madly as he looked down at the rabbit's body, at the part of him which had been inside his ass not ten minutes earlier.

The Flemish Giant stepped closer. " Five minutes is enough to see what you can do... sure... but it's not nearly enough for us to get creative, now is it? And no worries now... we're not on camera anymore."

It seemed that Ben was looking to make the most of that waiver, but Layne remembered that it had felt good, at times. He clung to the thought as the rabbit closed the distance between them.