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Football was, in a word, tiring. Many would consider the sport just a game, but when one took into account all of the work that went into learning the game--the rules, the plays, not to mention actually playing the game and becoming good enough to play professionally, it became hard work in no short span of time. In similar ways to how running a sixty-six-yard pass reception could be considered tiring, even for a jaguar, Ken Canales considered the ensuing post-game conference, not even fifteen minutes later, just the same.

Ken handled the interview as rookies and veterans alike were taught, responding humbly with a now-weary smile that showed off his gleaming teeth and regaling interviewers with polite (but not untrue) responses on how it was thanks to everyone's effort that he could accomplish such a task, such as how he'd worked hard with Jusset to better his catches, or how it could just as easily been one of the receivers' catch and it was thanks to their coach that it'd been his. It was nice and good to be recognized, as recognition could make or break a career in the pros, but Ken was getting hungry, and despite the well-conditioned air of the room, it could only do so much with so many people of differing species in one room. Journalists and interviewers talked over one another excitedly and as Ken didn't often have much to do with the press, he had no objections to allowing Coach Baker to pick from the crowd. This was doubly true when he signaled the final question, and Ken even felt a buzz of excitement when a pretty black leopard (what kind of jaguar would he be if he couldn't tell panthers apart?) stepped forward to the microphone.

"I would like to direct the final question of the evening to Mr. Kenneth Canales," she said with an expectant smile.

Ken couldn't help but smile back at her as he leaned into the podium's microphone. "I accept."

"My name is Beatrice Blake, and I represent an independent outlet." The leopard's voice was calm, and Ken was caught off guard by the mischievous glint that her gaze took on as she continued. She was smartly dressed in a pale blue polo tucked into her well-fitting denim jeans. "And I'm here to inquire as to the authenticity of the rumors regarding your sexuality. To put it plainly, sir, is it true that you're homosexual?"

The question was so far from left field that the crowd of journalists reacted before even Ken could, bursting into a cacophony of murmuring. His tail began to lash behind him as he gazed over the eager crowd with his mind buzzing just as much as they were themselves. From behind him, though he didn't dare look away from Beatrice, one of his teammates whispered, "No way he's a fag," which prompted his hackles to raise.

Ken blinked incredulously at the leopard in the sea of journalists and reporters whose wry smile made her seem quite pleased with the low buzz that had overtaken the room. On one paw, Ken had to be thankful for the brief disturbance saving him from answering. On the other, he realized, he could practically hear the people at home listening for his response once it ended.

Eventually, though, Ken had to answer, and he cleared his throat as he leaned into the mic. "No, Ms. Blake, I am not homosexual."

Earlier

Seconds passed in a slow creep as the Sabers offense broke huddle and ambled to the scrimmage line, assuming their positions on the worn and fragrant turf. At fourth and long with thirteen seconds on the clock and the home team up 21-20, the fans were roaring, especially the ocean of blue and gold that had come out to cheer on the Thunderbolts. Ken used to be unnerved by that, the dread of being in a stadium far from home where the only ones rooting for your team were the most dedicated specks of orange and green amongst the crowd, moments away from being disappointed.

Ken's focus narrowed and the crowd quieted minutely as Haynes began the snap count from two men ahead. He knew his routes and he knew his job. Blocking wasn't the most complicated thing to understand in football, especially if you knew what you were supposed to. Fuck up and let a man through to your quarterback, or lose your man and he gets the receiver, and you could find yourself benched for the season, a possibility that could cost a second-string player like Ken his career.

The jaguar wasn't a rookie anymore though, and while energy had been low during the timeout, after a quick survey of the bouncing legs and lashing tails around him he knew that the rest of his team was as determined as he was to finish the game on the right terms. Thankfully, Ken had long grown used to Jusset's habit of caressing his full back's ankles with his ropy leopard's tail and was now able to ignore it

Haynes's snap cut through the tension like a cord and both teams crashed together like the well-tuned machines they strove to be. Ken sprang to the left around Jusset as the leopard hopped backwards with the ball in paw, and rushed through the hole left for him by the guard and tackle. He charged through the defensive line, confident in his team's ability to hold the Thunderbolts line and once past them, found himself running beside Candra, his roommate and the team's Bengal fox second-string running back.

On a normal play, any running play of Ken's year-and-a-half career while a second-string full back for the Sabers, Ken would be blocking while Candra ran the ball. The fox was six inches shorter and much faster than him, and the jaguar's size and strength were better suited for blocking, something any opposing team would see and adapt to. That's why when Candra instead took the outside linebacker, a buck wearing the number 63, and Ken continued on, stretching his thick black-spotted arms to tug the soaring ball out of the air, there was no one between him and the endzone but the safeties, one of whom was already on the far right of the field following the receivers' fake. Any danger the remaining safety posed to Ken's progress was quickly avoided with what his sister might call an 'acrobatic fucking pirouette' as Ken spun out of the big wolf's reach just as the distance between them diminished to mere feet before darting past him. A grin split his muzzle as the field opened before him.

The late November air sliced through Ken's fur and he grit his teeth as the crowd erupted around him. Though he wasn't the fastest runner on the Sabers by far, he was full of stamina (perks of playing backup) and his legs were strong, and they pushed him determinedly towards the endzone with his tail a stream of waving gold and black behind him.

Sixty-six yards were quickly devoured and overtaken, and Ken Canales only stopped in his restless pacing after walking the length of the endzone with the football still nestled securely in the crook of his arm. His teammates soon joined him, crowding around and beginning to chant, the cacophony blending with the cheering crowd. Ken's grin hadn't yet left his face, and his muscles were beginning to ache, but seeing the 21-26 displayed on the scoreboard made him smile even wider.

Later

"Kenneth, my dear. Are you upset?"

"No, Mamá, I am going to be fine," Ken sighed. The fingers of the paw unoccupied with holding his cell phone drummed against the table, and his tail lashed about behind him. "It was just a rough interview."

"I saw the interview, Kenneth, I am aware that it was rough." His mother's voice was clear through the phone, her Spanish comforting and familiar, though not enough alone to calm him. "And I know you, my son. Tell me what you are thinking."

Fher Olvera crooned quietly about his wounded heart on the stereo behind Ken as he sighed once more. Despite the team's victory, the jaguar had opted against going out to celebrate with the rest of the team. He did feel bad about it, he'd been the one to make the winning score after all, but he was in no mood for cavorting, and doubly so when a number of his teammates seemed glad to keep the distance. If nothing else, Ken at least didn't need to worry about his Bengal fox roommate being bothered by his choice in music.

He took a sip from the beer he'd opened just before picking up the phone and let its bitter taste wash over his tongue. "I have a lot on my mind, Mamá."

The older jaguar sighed, but waited for Ken to continue; he could hear her shuffle about and could imagine that, even three hours ahead of him and most of a country away, a mother had duties to attend to.

"My love, I can only help you if you'll tell me what's bothering you."

"I know, Mamá," Ken replied quietly. "I don't know, I need a moment to think."

His mother began to hum quietly to a tune he didn't recognize; whether it was meant for to distract herself or comfort him, he didn't know, and he said nothing. Chill air from the conditioning unit blew out over his thighs and Ken stood, beginning to pace about the hotel room. His stomach growled loudly and reminded him that he still needed to order food.

He breathed slowly through his nose, in tune with his mother's humming. Even though he knew what was wrong, his tongue felt thick and he couldn't form the words to articulate his feelings. He spent several minutes pacing before finding a place to begin, and dropped sideways across his bed with his legs and tail draped over the side.

Ken's free paw balled in the blanket, and he was careful not to let his claws pierce it. "I loved Jackson, Mamá."

"I know. I do remember how you spoke of him before the accident. Have you talked to Alicia?"

Ken's breathing hitched, even though he wasn't really surprised she'd known--Jackson had stayed with them the Christmas after he'd come out. It took him another moment to calm his breathing, but his mother didn't push him to answer.

"Not since before the funeral. I didn't approach her during it," he answered slowly.

"It's almost been three years, then. You don't want to?"

Ken stared up at the bare canvas-colored ceiling. "No. Jackson was the reason we were close."

"Close." His mother repeated, a purring laugh on her voice as she emphasized the connection of what Ken had admitted to her and the relationship between Kenneth, Alicia, and Jackson. "And you have not pursued another relationship? Loss is a good reason to take a break, but you are young..."

"It's not just that," Ken blurted, sitting up as suddenly, finally, the words tumbled out of his mouth. "I shouldn't have to give a damn what others think about who I sleep with! It's none of their business, and it's not fair that I have to live up to their shitty expectations."

It took longer than usual for his mother to respond, and were it not for the clinking of silverware on her side of the line, Ken would have thought the call had been dropped. Olvera and Santana's song came to an end within seconds the infamous opening of "Livin' la Vida Loca" began. The jaguar sat up on the bed, turning away from the radio on its nightstand between the beds.

"You don't have to live up to anyone's_expectations, my dear."_

"Mamá?" The humor had left his mother's voice, and the tip of Ken's tail twitched nervously.

"Those expectations, however, are going to continue so long as you pursue a career in which eyes follow your every move. Are you going to throw away your hard work because of prying eyes and insulting words?"

???

_ _

Opening the hotel-room door to be blasted by "Despacito" wasn't key in my strategy to getting laid after an evening of partying, but the slim cheetah on my arm laughed a high-ringing chuckle as I led her inside.

"I wouldn't have pegged you a fan of Daddy Yankee," she said, hazel eyes looking past me and into the main room. This wasn't hard for her to do since she was half a head taller than me, but whether she was curious or eager, I didn't know, and my excitement kept me from caring too much.

I shook my head. "Absolutely not. Roommate."

"You did say you had one!" She laughed again, and I led her out of the entryway and into the main room where we were beholden with a large jaguar in his underwear spread out on his back across one of the beds.

"Fuck you," my roommate greeted me; thanks to the phone several inches from his face, he hadn't noticed the cheetah coming up on my heels. ""Despacito" is good."

"About as good as your running statistics."

"Candra, you--" The jaguar set the phone aside to glare at me and his furrowed brows relaxed into a dumbfounded stare when he noticed the cheetah that still patiently waited behind me. He sat up quickly so that his groin wasn't so obviously displaying in his white boxer-briefs, but he didn't really cover himself, either.

"Oh, uh, hello?"

I smirked as I stepped aside, moving over to my side of the room. "Canales, this is Marcia. Marcia, Canales."

"Kenneth. Ken," the jaguar reiterated, enunciating his name carefully. I'd noticed on several occasions that he was apparently rather self-conscious about the oddly midwestern twang that made his Hispanic accent semi-impenetrable no matter how carefully he spoke: either you understood him easily or missed every other word he spoke. "It's nice to meet you."

Marcia waved daintily and moved to join me as I took a seat on my bed. Canales nodded, turning an inquiring glance to me. I ignored him and wrapped my fluffy tail around the cheetah's waist; she didn't acknowledge the intimate gesture beyond moving her own black-spotted tail to rest across my lap. She might have felt my cock pulse beneath it.

I didn't usually take the time to remember the name of one particular woman in any particular city--who knew if I'd ever see one of them again--and most of the time, they didn't actually recognize that I was an up-and-coming running back for the Arida Sabers. I also didn't usually mind this; getting laid wasn't my primary reason for playing football (it wasn't anyone's, though no one would deny its benefits to attracting busty companions) and recognition would come once I was a starting player; people would know who Hasyim Candra was, eventually.

All of that in mind, though, Marcia was different. Marcia, a waitress at the club, had seemed far more interested in the monetary tips the group might bestow upon her than any of the ones attached to our bodies, and I'd respected that; I was used to being unrecognized, but ignored altogether was new and interesting. Making plain conversation while neglecting to brag about my achievements, followed by offering to buy her a glass of water towards the end of her shift had been enough to get her to chuckle, and despite her apparent disinterest in football, here she was.

"Despacito" was winding down and I was getting ready to take off my pants and get on with the night when Marcia spoke up.

"You looked very good during your interview, Kenneth."

Minor surprise pulled my eyes down from the ceiling to watch her, and past her I could see that Canales was staring the cheetah down as well.

"You saw the interview?"

"I'm a waitress at a club," she explained, busying herself with the removal of her jacket. "It was airing all evening. You were very confident." The interest was plain in Marcia's voice; I narrowed my eyes even though she wasn't looking at anything in particular, perhaps intentionally keeping her gaze away from my mostly-nude roommate.

Despite being stressed enough to decline coming out with the rest of the team to deal with the aftermath of the interview, which I assumed to involve a lot of shitty calls from his agent, Canales nodded easily. "We have media training," he explained simply.

He was an idiot. I lay back on the bed with my arms over my head to grasp the stiff hotel-standard pillow, losing interest in the conversation about as quickly as Marcia's seemed to grow. The cheetah glanced back at me before gently laying a dainty paw on my soft belly fur that peeked from my uplifted shirt; my muscles flexed instinctively which wound up giving her a feel of my abs. The sensation worked a low rumble out of me and she continued even after I relaxed; as if she'd flipped a switch, I was pressing hard at the zipper of my jeans, apparently having poked through the flap of my boxer shorts.

Nobody spoke for another long moment and the only sound aside from the AC's whooshing was some slow Latin ballad. Due to my position laying back on the bed, most of what I could see of Marcia was her back, though I could see across the room to Canales easily. I'd never spent much intimate time around multiple felines, and observing how these two seemed to speak so measuredly, I couldn't really figure out how they ever got anything across. Marcia's long, lithe tail waved about languidly and occasionally obscuring my field of vision, even once or twice stopping to lay across my long muzzle; on the other bed, Canales's tail was stretched out behind him from where he sat on the far edge of the bed, and its tip slowly thumped against the edge of the mattress it hung over.

"Canales, I'm a bit jealous that I brought this fine lady here for myself but she's been making eyes at you for the past five minutes," I breathed into the silence. Marcia's tail, now stilled, had been dancing ever closer to my muzzle and her lightly spiced scent was drowning me. Not for the first time, I cursed my powerful fox nose.

"I don't mean to interrupt this riveting conversation, but I was wondering if you'd mind heading out for a bit?"

Neither feline spoke for a moment, and Marcia turned to look down at me, folding her legs underneath her. Her roaming paw had stilled when I broke the silence but now, she pushed it further up my shirt to find my nipple, and I shivered. "Actually, Hasyim, I was going to ask if you'd mind if I invited Kenneth to join us."

She leaned in close before I could answer her and her lips met mine, short-circuiting my brain. I shut my eyes as our tongues mingled for a long moment, and when she pulled away my tail thumped heavily beside me. When I blinked my eyes open, she licked her lips.

"Is that a yes?" She asked with a wry smile, her head angled watch to my waving tail.

I turned my head to where Canales was quietly watching us from his bed. With his body angled away from me, I couldn't see whether or not he was as hard as I was, but the intensity with which his green eyes watched me and the cheetah leaning over me told me he was at least interested.

"Get over here, pervert." I stuck out my tongue as I released the pillow above my head and sat up to pull my shirt over my head; doing so required Marcia to move her paw, and she chose to rest it on the still-clothed acknowledgement to the power she held over me.

"You heard the lady. She has requested, and it's our duty to provide." At my snark, the cheetah squeezed my length through my jeans and oh, if she asked me to blow my roommate in that moment, I'd probably be on my knees before I realized what I was doing.

Canales didn't really seem to need much by way of persuasion, as he flipped his legs over the bed and scooted across it so that he was soon kneeling on the bed on Marcia's right side. Here, now, I could indeed see how his underwear bulged.

The two felines began to kiss as he loomed over Marcia's shoulder, turning her to face him. It was a loud and wet smacking of lips and tongues that spoke of a carnality that I rarely witnessed as a third person outside of porn, and I began to oddly feel as if the jaguar had been the one to bring Marcia back with him. The voyeuristic feeling continued as Canales's large paws ran down her sides before dipping underneath her shirt and mimicking the same gentle massaging that she'd been giving me minutes ago.

With a huff, I lifted my rump and pushed down my jeans. My cock sprang forth, but I ignored it as I pushed myself onto my knees and shuffled closer to Marcia and Canales. The three of us barely inches apart, my fingers found the buttons of her jeans and tugged them down her hips so that her baby blue panties were exposed. Heady arousal filled the air as she finally broke the kiss to watch me as I slipped my fingers below her waistband and slowly explored in search of her bean and cleft.

I mostly ignored Canales, but his eyes were intense on me as I found my first target, grazing my middle finger over her protruding flesh and eliciting a sharp gasp from the cheetah. I watched as his paw roamed higher under Marcia's shirt and found her breast; he stuck his tongue out at me as I heard him unclasp her bra with his free paw.

One of Marcia's paws found my cock and she gripped my length, pulling me flush against her--her other paw made quick work of fishing my sack out of my boxers, too. We held gazes as my dick pulsed at the sensation of being pressed against her waist fur; I pressed her clit between my index and middle fingers, working her over as my mouth stretched into a tongue-out grin.

Canales had removed Marcia's bra and tossed it aside while I busied myself with a game of "who'd squirm first" with the cheetah. I realized that he was probably growing bored at the lack of attention he was getting, and he voiced as much shortly after the thought crossed my mind.

"Hey, um, would you guys mind if we got to it?" His voice was quiet, and if not for my large vulpine ears and practice at parsing his accent, I probably wouldn't have understood him.

I opened my mouth to give a snarky reply, but Marcia pushed me just as I did, releasing my dick so that it waved about as I fell back. I watched as she climbed off the bed to undress, the only one of the three of us who was still wearing all their clothes, and on my left Canales dropped his underwear too.

His erection bobbed into vision about the same time as Marcia's breasts were freed from her work shirt as she pulled it over her head. I was fairly unbothered by his nudity nor his arousal: a locker room full of naked men was a fact of my life. If what the jaguar had said at the interview had been true, he wasn't gay anyway, so there was nothing for me to worry about, especially if his eager handsy-ness with Marcia meant anything.

I scooted back towards the headboard, not really bothering to get out of my underwear, and Marcia was soon climbing up to approach me. She stopped in a crouch just a bit away from my open legs, taking in my every detail. The bed dipped as Canales kneeled on it behind her, and we were all quiet as we waited for her to make the first move.

We didn't have to wait long as she unceremoniously stood and inched towards me; her nethers filled my vision for a solid second before she crouched again to straddle me. Her slender fingers held my erection and angled me for penetration as she lowered herself. Behind her, I heard Canales pop the cap of what I soon smelled to be a fruit-scented lubricant; where he'd gotten it, I didn't know, but my attention was pulled away the moment my dick pushed inside her.

Marcia and I groaned in unison as she descended upon me, her heat and moistness surrounding me, even though she stopped before reaching halfway down my length. I clenched my eyes shut and gripped the sheets on either side of me as I fought from thrusting inside her. Further depressions of the mattress heralded Canales's approach, and I opened my eyes to see the much larger feline on his knees looming over Marcia's shoulder. He winked an emerald eye at me as he pushed closer.

"I'm going to press in when you take him again," Canales whispered.

Marcia nodded her understanding, and I briefly wondered if she'd be able to take us both after not even a full go at me. This worry was pushed aside though when she raised her hips once again and Canales pressed against her so close that I could feel his shaft against mine. To distract myself, I lifted a paw and cupped her breast, and I was happy to find her nipple hard beneath my palm.

When Marcia eased her way down, she took his cock first though mine was inside her and flush against his within moments. Marcia shut her eyes tight and released a breathless moan at the friction inside her--this time I couldn't restrain myself from bucking further inside the slender cheetah.

We allowed Marcia to set the rhythm and I was able to keep myself on a tight leash for her comfort. Whenever she paused to breathe, Canales or I would slowly grind up to keep things going. Because of this relentless pace, it didn't take long for me to cum, and I grit my teeth hard as I spurt inside her.

"Sweet fuck... Fucking intense," I mumbled, shivering as I looked down to watch the action after I slipped myself free.

Canales seemed to have much more stamina than I did, as he didn't cum for several minutes, even after Marcia herself had released a high-pitched keen and let loose a torrent onto my lap that soaked my underwear and softening cock. The big jaguar paused while she came, but went back to business almost immediately.

He shuddered long and hard as he pumped inside Marcia when he finally finished, who clenched my shoulders tight as she moaned. The jaguar slumped against her, and their combined weight oddly comforting against me, though I doubted being folded in half and smothered was very comfortable for Marcia.

Eventually, the jaguar pushed himself up, and Marcia groaned, straightening her legs and laying back on the bed. There was a short moment of relaxation before it was agreed that showers were in order before the night went on.

Canales and I sat quietly while Marcia showered; the jaguar had returned to sitting on the edge of his bed whilst fiddling around on his phone. Having to avoid the wet spot on the bed where my shoulder blades would be if I lay down, I wound up sitting on the edge of mine watching him.

Under any other circumstance, I supposed that I'd be a little bit put off by the events of the last fifteen minutes--I chalked this surprising sense of calm up to post-nut tranquility. Sitting naked with my roommate wasn't so bad on its own, but having just shared a girl, whilst completely sober, was new territory. It was awkward, yeah, but not weird or embarrassing. His black-spotted tail thrashed against the bed, betraying his anxiety; my own flowed languidly on the bed behind me. I was the definition of chill.

Canales changed playlists about a minute before the shower stopped, and I made my way past the damp-furred Marcia and into the bathroom shortly after the fur-dryer stopped.

Beneath the cascade of water, my cool melted away and twin gold-and-black feline forms danced behind my eyelids. It was easy for me to imagine that Marcia and Canales were returning to action--I'd fucked cats before, so I knew about their refractory periods--so I made my shower quick: a breakdown on how I felt about sexing a girl with my roommate was best kept to when said roommate wasn't waiting a room away.

After my tenure under the fur dryer (being a Bengal fox had its cosmetic perks against other foxes, but my pelt was still thicker than either of my feline companions) I returned to the main room clad in a fresh pair of boxer shorts to find Canales, still naked, with his paws behind his head.

"Marcia left," he said, his emerald gaze following me across the room. "She said she had to work early tomorrow."

I sat on my bed, remembered the wet spot, and stood up again. "Yeah. I guess I'm not surprised."

Canales stood and stretched; I looked away from the white fur that spanned his lower chest to his inner thighs and saw that the alarm clock read twelve-thirty-two a.m. We'd be waking up for our flight back home in just less than six hours.

"I'm going to shower," Canales meowed quietly. I nodded, and as he left, took a seat on his bed.

I shut my eyes and lay back, ears twitching as the shower began to run. The events of the night filled my nostrils, and my cock began to stir again as black and gold blended together in my head. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes.

Maybe Marcia knew how to play _her_game. Perhaps ironically, the singer now crooning lowly on the stereo was wondering about his good girl gone.

It didn't take long for Canales to finish his shower, and even when dryer stopped, I made no hassle of removing myself from his bed. When the bathroom door opened, I cracked open an eye to find the jaguar standing at the foot of the bed in a pair of teal formfitting boxer briefs.

"We need to sleep." The jaguar dropped onto the bed and lowered the volume of the stereo. At my grunt of acknowledgement, he clicked off the lamp and swung his legs up onto the bed beside me.

Canales and I were quiet, and I rolled onto my side to face the wall: even in the dark I could make out the textured wallpaper. A million things were sweeping through my mind, but it all came to a halt when the jaguar spoke.

"I'm not gay, Hasyim." His awkward statement blew against the fur on the top of my head.

"I feel like that's obvious, Ken." I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose. "Marcia was fucking hot, right?"

The jaguar chuckled, setting my ears atwitch. Again, the song changed. "I'm bi, Hasyim."

I shrugged awkwardly as I lie on my side, though I swallowed hard against the flashes of jaguar and cheetah that had been haunting me for fifteen minutes, much longer than any one-on-one hook-up I'd ever had. Suddenly, I was full of options to consider, the textbook definition of an epiphany.

When I fell asleep, the jaguar's arm was beneath my pillow and though he wasn't holding me, there was only a hair's breadth between us.