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Dude, It's Huge!

Almost another old Friday afternoon.

And yet the showers were running when they weren't supposed to, at least according to Bruce. The beagle somehow deduced that the locker rooms were to be empty when school was out and no practices were in session. Besides, it was the start of the weekend. An extended one thanks to some teacher development thing on Monday. The other dogs in his gym class, many of which were on the same football team, had already skedaddled with their girlfriends and cars for whatever weekend shenanigans in store for them. A couple of his close friends got roped into a family camping trip. Bruce should've been home by now, but he somehow left his keys in the locker. Wasted time boogieing by his car like an uncoordinated jock, pawing at his pockets, digging through his backpack for something that wasn't there.

Steam laced with the scent of wet fur roiled into the adjacent locker area, making the beagle's nose twitch. Faded dog scents still clung to everything, but the smell from the shower came from no dog.

Cat. More specifically, caracal.

Undeniably so. (Thanks in part to a scenting class--the only easy A he had ever earned beyond gym.)

And this mattered because almost everyone in his gym class was canine. Except for one loner who always kept to himself. Bruce remembered greeting him once, but when all the caracal did was snub his nose at him, the jock thought it best to just leave him alone and tend to his own friends.

Forgetting his keys, Bruce peeked around the corner. His nose was true. In the corner, the caracal stood under a stream of hot water, his back turned. Bruce grinned, his eyes following as the stream of water splayed through the charcoal-gray fur. The dude was tiny--skinny guy, although he had a nice bubble butt and a playful tail that could tickle his ankles.

But then the beagle frowned.

The caracal attended the same gym class. But one thing dawned on Bruce: the cat not once showered with any of them. So why was he showering now?

Bruce tilted his head curiously: "Why not shower with the rest of the guys?"

The caracal's fur bristled. Who the hell? All semester long he'd had his fifteen minutes of privacy _after_class to shower. Alone--as he preferred everything. But the hot water pounding against his naked body brought no comfort at this moment, and for a moment he wanted to be nothing more than what swirled down the drain.

He didn't reply. Didn't turn around. Perhaps this peeping dog would go away.

Bruce didn't. Instead, he assumed the cat didn't hear him and repeated himself, then added, "You shy or something?" Bruce thought over the last several weeks. The caracal indeed never showered after class. Never lifted weights with any of them either, instead opting for a couple light dumbbells and a corner of the weight room--just enough to keep their gym teacher off his back. Surprisingly when running the mile, the cat would dash into first place. But perhaps that gave him more solitude than it did in the back of the line with some of the chunksters who couldn't squeeze in a mile under fifteen minutes even if the front runners were a bunch of milkshakes on wheels. Bruce would know, being stuck in the back with them despite his athletic build. Running was not his forte.

The cat glanced over his shoulder and finally said something: "Just... wanted a little privacy."

Bruce felt his floppy ears turn. "Privacy? What for?"

The caracal glanced down silently, but squeezed his eyes shut as if this would make the horrible thing go away.

"Oh, that's nothing to be shy about!" the beagle said warmly. "We all got one. Turn around."

"What?" the caracal spat. He dared not open his eyes. "Please, just go away. I just want to be alone."

"Dude, relax!" the beagle said, not unfriendly. "I was a little shy initially, too. Here, I can show you mine first if you'd like."

"You... you will?" One eye squinted open and glanced over his shoulder.

"Sure!" Bruce shirked off his backpack with a big grin splattered across his face. He unzipped his fly. "No big deal."

And out came the wiener. Yep, right through his boxer's button fly.

It wasn't fair. It didn't help that that beagle was built more like a pit bull. Probably why his strong chest was practically spilling through his varsity jacket, which was splayed open. Bruce never had it buttoned shut, he was too muscular. And that dumb grin smeared across his handsome face felt like the water spraying from the showerhead, a spreading warmth that felt good and relaxing. And Bruce had those big floppy ears, those big green puppy dog eyes that could probably convince the most hardened teacher to give the dumb jock a passing grade...

And to top things off! A meaty dick hung heavily from his crotch by at least five inches. And that was flaccid.

The caracal turned away. But it was too late. He realized his heart was racing, blood forcing its way to his own malehood, making him grow long and thick and, worst of all, very, very hard. There was no point in covering it up, so he covered his face instead. At least from this angle, the dog couldn't see--he hoped.

"All right," Bruce said. "Your turn, kitty boy. I saw you peeking at mine. Fair is fair!"

The cat couldn't believe how hard his dick ached, couldn't believe he got this excited from the short glance at someone else's junk--and one attached to a popular jock, no less! But something told him to just turn around. To just get it over with, like a Band-Aid. And when he turned around, the silence that hung in the air like the smell of dog frightened him worse than the exclamation he was expecting to emit. What did Bruce think? Was this some prank? Perhaps the whole classroom was there now, ready to laugh at him.

But there was only silence. That kind that eats at you until you face it.

The cat uncovered his face. Bruce's jaw hung open as wide as those green, green eyes that told him that the dog very much liked, for better or worse, what he saw.

* * *

Just the beginnings of autumn--when the afternoons were cool, but the summer green still clung to every tree. Sunlight spilled through the clouds like milk, and the caracal was wondering if he should cry over what had just happened. It was so fast. And somehow he found himself slipping into the passenger seat of Bruce's hot-red Camaro, the beagle chattering about how excited he was for the extended weekend. So casual, as if the two hadn't just seen each other's junk.

After the cat had finished his shower, the sound of a thumping tail first greeted him. He found the bright-eyed beagle waiting on the bench between the towering rows of lockers, doing little to hide his excitement. Offered absolutely no privacy while the cat changed into fresh clothes, but since the beagle had seen everything already, the cat decided not to make a fuss and was quick about changing. The towel around his waist allowed him to sneak on his boxer briefs anyhow. As he dressed, Bruce invited him to his place. Hang out like they were already good buds. But when the cat hesitated, Bruce promised they could do homework together. The cat could show off his tutoring skills. Help the dog ace his book report for English. An honors class, no less, which evoked a yip of happiness when the dog remembered the cat attended it with him.

Some hard rock band roared to life as Bruce kicked the ignition. Unfortunately, he lowered the volume. Ken tried to clutter the silence with small talk--anything to fill that void between two practical strangers. First, he mentioned the nice weather--the easy starter topic--and how he savored the long walks to school. He didn't know anything about cars, but next he mentioned how this particular model looked nice. Bruce lamented. It was his brother's baby girl. Didn't trust leaving it in the crowded parking lots of an otherwise prestigious university upstate.

"By the way, dude," the beagle said. "What's your name? God, I don't even know it. I never see you speak to anyone in gym or English class. Sometimes I spot you all alone at lunch, or in the hallway buried in a book."

"It's Kenlo."

"Lemme guess," Bruce said, grinning wide as if he'd thought of the cleverest thing in existence, "your friends call you Ken for short."

"No," was the response, "they don't."

A head tilt: "Why not?"

The cat watched a lone flinch flutter in the distance before diving into the safety of a giant oak. "I don't have any."

"Well, ain't this your lucky day," Bruce announced, patting the caracal on the shoulder as he sped out of their high school parking lot, cat claws threatening to puncture new holes in the seats, before finishing his sentence: "Ken."

* * *

Okay, so the dog's house was huge. He knew that going in when the cat went all wide-eyed with admiration. Perhaps he was intimidated, he didn't know. But Bruce knew people loved the idea of giant, accommodating homes. Helped that his parents were both lawyers or whatever--careers that had something to do with the dusty language of the law. When they weren't out of the office dealing with filing briefs and tending to court cases, his mother and father were both locked up in their offices upstairs. Both had their own, believe it or not. It was a miracle that dinners existed to force working parents to actually see each other. Hold a conversation, perhaps.

Ken said nothing as they ambled inside, and Bruce felt himself jabbering on and on about the place. However, the cat's tufty ears betrayed his interest. They swiveled back and forth as if the house murmured its own stories from every creak of the hardwood floor, from the various nooks and crannies the cleaners ensured were free from dust bunnies....

"Well, dust creatures," Bruce quickly corrected. "One of our helpers is a rabbit. Didn't like that term, no siree! I really don't mean to offend, though." Bruce laughed nervously when the caracal followed along as silently as those dust creatures, all the way to his basement bedroom.

Their backpacks slumped onto the floor by the wall, and Bruce ensured the door's lock snapped shut before diving for his bed. Bunched at the end of it was a comforter with a repeating cartoon dog bone design. Beyond the strong canine scent that marked the room as Bruce's, various doodads decorating the area snagged the cat's attention.

"What do you think of my digs?"

Bruce had all the typical embellishments of a senior high schooler: posters of hard rock bands and video games, a messy desk with a desktop computer and too many soda cans that needed recycling, a television in the corner with the latest Xbox attached, a collection of sports memorabilia of a favorite team, clothes scattered about. The caracal noticed a stack of fitness magazines on the dresser, handsome furs flexing and showing off their so-called "Mad Gainz!"

But Bruce already knew the ins and outs of his messy bedroom. He found his eyes focused on Ken while he looked around. The dog's eyes, unsurprisingly, drifted south to the pair of baggy shorts that hid what he knew the cat was now packing.

And dammit, the thought of it sent a drive through him. A desire coursing down his spine, into his groin, and through his hardening cock. But he didn't want to hide himself like the cat did. And as he grew thicker and longer, the bulge growing and growing with every thump of his heartbeat, Bruce knew it would be obvious what he wanted. Jeans didn't come with their own built-in tent.

As soon as the cat noticed, the beagle grinning that awful handsome grin, he spun to the desk. The cat tried to avoid a stutter, but it couldn't be helped: "P-perhaps we can get that paper of yours out of the way. I can help you clean your desk."

Drats.

Disappointment produced a tiny frown at first, but the cat was right: "Good idea! Work before play, am I right?" He winked, and the cat gulped as he started collecting soda cans. The beagle hopped in to help, then added with that unfaltering smile, "Then we'd have the rest of the weekend for a little fun."

* * *

Well damn.

Not only did the cat help clean off his desk, but he also offered to tidy up the rest of the room. Dirty clothes found their way into a hamper, clean ones into drawers and the closet. Random shit--candy wrappers, old receipts, tissues with god-knows-what balled inside, you name it--got tossed in the garbage that soon threatened to overflow. Bruce noticed the cat looking over the covers of his fitness magazines before straightening them into a neat stack before tackling the random collection of CDs that music apps have made obsolete. Tiny sparks of embarrassment warned that guests shouldn't feel the need to clean up after him. Hell, Bruce wouldn't even allow the cleaners to touch his room. But the gesture was nice, and he found himself giving Ken a big bear hug from behind after they finished making his bed.

"Bro... I heard cats were clean freaks, but you didn't have to help with my mess."

The caracal frowned. "First dust bunnies, now you're upholding a parochial stereotype of us felines? Let me guess--when you hugged me just now, you were thinking of a particular ursine reference, too."

Bruce didn't know what words like parochial_meant, but _stereotype hinted that it was safe to assume he'd made a muck of things again. And terms like bear hugs were a no-go too now? The wagging tail drooped like a frown, and the dog released the hug.

"Kidding, big guy," the cat said with a chuckle, which wound up the dog's tail into a fury of swipes. The dog squeezed the life out of him again. Such enthusiastic hugs. (Regular non-ursine ones, just to be safe.) With another warm chuckle as Ken squirmed in his grip: "Cats_are_ clean freaks, even with ourselves."

Bruce returned the cat to the floor, not realizing his feet had been dangling like Bruce's floppy ears.

The cat smoothed out his clothes with a chuckle and said, "But don't expect me to cough up hairballs any time soon. We've moved on from the stone age of licking. We believe in regular showers, you know."

"Is there a reason why you decided to shower after class? What's wrong with getting clean with the rest of us boys. I know this is a canine school and all, but we don't bite." The beagle gave this last statement some additional thought, his head tilting. "Some of us at least."

Ken glanced away with a quiet but noticeable sigh, and Bruce worried he'd said something dumb. He remembered getting the same reaction when he once asked an old math tutor to explain the quadratic equation again for the fourth or fifth time. The same when a former _inamorato_had to explain what that word meant over and over again, as if Bruce was supposed to be a walking dictionary. Relationships, perhaps, were a lot like math problems and big words. Nearly impossible to understand the first few go arounds.

"How about that paper now?" Ken said, pulling up a chair. "Now that your desk is clutter-free, it'll be easier to focus."

The urge to apologize for whatever he had said twisted his guts, but Bruce decided it was safer to keep his muzzle shut and simply booted up his desktop. He unearthed the file that contained nothing except an opening paragraph. Hardly a book report. Wrote it just yesterday before calling it quits and moving on to jerking off and video games.

They discussed the book. Bruce had read it--well, most of it before taking a shortcut down Movie Adaptation Lane (and, to be honest, he fell asleep during the movie at just the point where he'd stopped reading the book, so there was that)--but he wasn't sure of what to make of the material: something about greasers and Socs and the narrator, some teenaged colt, whose two older brothers were named after milk and Coke products for some reason. How was he supposed to turn this into a paper?

Convincing the cat to just write the damn thing for him might work, but Bruce knew that probably wouldn't fly for a nerd who likely did all his own work, including the extra credit. But Ken encouraged him to think of a good thesis, to distill some of the book's major characters, plot points, and, most importantly, themes into a cohesive analysis. Ken was gracious enough to describe what happened in the end, at least, and after a couple hours, they seemed to have a working paper!

"We'll go through all the grammar errors later, I think," Ken offered, stretching his arms so wide that his shirt pulled up, revealing a trim, furry belly.

"Oh, that's easy!" Bruce slammed the grammar check option in the word processor and accepted every suggested edit. "Presto!"

Ken blinked without a word.

"Our teachers seriously need to brush up on how to English, I swear," Bruce added with a chuckle. "I still get dinged even though I always perform the grammar check."

Incredulous headshakes ensued. "Bruce, the program isn't perfect. Sometimes it misunderstands or misinterprets the grammar rules, especially with more complex sentences. You gotta investigate every error first."

"But there were so many! Dozens! Don't tell me you go through every single one yourself?"

"Well, I only get a few flags," Ken explained. "Sometimes it's a simple typo. Most of the time the program's just wrong."

Thunk, thunk, thunk. Paw meet forehead. "Shit, really? Just a few? And how do you know if the program's wrong?"

"It... takes time and practice. Lots of reading. You can probably throw a football a lot better than I can. Were you able to throw one correctly the first few times?"

"I was pretty good at it, but I wasn't perfect at first. Takes practice... I get it."

Bruce understood... and yet, his body slumped over, his tail now immobile as stone. Ken wasn't sure what to say, and guilt eroded his conscience. He had to say something comforting. Anything.

"School's tough."

"Easy for you to say," Bruce mumbled. "I see how much you read and study. Bet you have a perfect GPA."

Ken nodded. "Lucky for me, that's because grades for gym class are based on effort."

Bruce looked over with a flick of his tail and a grin. Ken opened his mouth to speak again--

Three heavy knocks at the door. Ken nearly jumped out of his fur.

"Whatcha doin' there?" the voice boomed. The doorknob jangled. "Unlock this door now!"

Bruce's ears perked up--as much as those floppy ears could, at least. Ken felt his hackles raise, unsure of what was going on. Bruce worked the door open but stumbled back onto his bed from the attack. Ken flung to his feet, witnessing the ordeal: another dog atop Bruce, pummeling him in the face.

When laughter erupted, Ken realized he had misinterpreted.

After begging him to stop tickling his neck, Bruce shoved off the miniature version of himself. Another beagle, about a head shorter. His younger brother, Ken first deduced. Except he was dressed in that smart casual getup. So hip. So refined. Ken almost rolled his eyes. Definitely an older brother, despite the size difference.

"What are you doing here, Benny?" Bruce said accusatorily, rubbing his neck free of residual tickles. "Sick of college yet?"

"Senioritis is kicking my butt. You can probably relate. Just thought I'd pay your sorry ass a little visit." The smaller beagle shot a glance Ken's way, which made the cat feel like this scrap of attention was a generous act in and of itself. "Who's the lynx? Mom order you a new tutor?"

"Caracal," Bruce corrected. "And he's, well..."

"A friend from school," Ken added. "Just giving him a couple pointers on his English paper, is all."

"So," Benny quipped, "a free_tutor then. Hope he doesn't scare you off like the last one--and _he was getting paid!"

Bruce gave an unsure chuckle as Benny feinted with a stomach jab, then prattled on about his semester upstate as the trio soared upstairs. They practically crash landed into the huge, fully decked-out kitchen. Both dogs burrowed through the fridge and pantry for snacks and drinks as the cat pulled up a stool at the island in the center. Turning down a soda, juice, ginger ale, and a joking beer, Ken settled for water from the tap.

From their conversation in which Benny was the majority shareholder, Ken gleaned a few tasty tidbits. Benny was completing his penultimate semester studying business and legal studies; he was 100% sure he would graduate with a 4.0 GPA; he was studying for the LSAT this November, for which he was 100% certain he'd score at least the 170 he needed to get into a proper Ivy League school; he was 100% about them tight bitches at his college who could barely handle his D; and Ken was 100% sure that Bruce's brother was less dog and more a conceited ass.

Benny's head nearly exploded when he mentioned all his scholarship awards, paying his way through school without help from their rich lawyer parents. Helped that he was active in the debate team, earning a few wins and connections. Even started a business ethics club that later earned a prestigious award for the meaningful community-based learning experience it provided. Dreams of becoming a bigshot corporate lawyer were just around the corner.

Ken sat there silently, sipping his glass of filtered, reverse osmosis water. His tail felt stiff as a pin as Benny listed off his accomplishments and goals. From Bruce's blank face, Ken could tell he already heard this spiel. Perhaps Benny was finding a friendly, indirect way to inform their visitor of one simple fact: The big dog was in the house.

"What about you, Bruce?" Benny asked as he snarfed down a pawful of mixed nuts. "What are your plans for getting through college? Think football will carry you?"

Bruce shrugged, taking a cautious sip of apple juice. "I don't know..."

"You don't know? Gonna make Mom and Dad foot the bill?"

"You're the one who went to a private school."

Benny grinned. "How's your public education treating ya?"

"Just fine, thanks," Bruce replied, eyerolls and defiant flicks of his tail included. He gestured towards Ken. "Met this smart cat as a result. He's got perfect grades like you."

Without bothering to look at Ken: "And that helps you how?"

"Plenty more than you've ever helped me." Bruce killed the rest of his apple juice, the glass clinking into the sink. "Speaking of which, I got a paper I need to finish writing. Mom and Dad should be home in an hour, if they aren't held up at the office again."

"Enjoy having a cat write your paper for you," Benny joked with a crude laugh, then added: "No offense, kitty boy. Another reason why the math tutor quit was the ethical dilemma Bruce here placed on him. Hopefully you're worth more than an extra twenty bucks."

Trudging down the stairs, Bruce didn't reply when Benny called after them. Something about needing his keys back for tomorrow. Once they had slunk back into the basement, Ken couldn't hide his accusing tone. "You tried bribing your old tutor?"

"I know, I know... that was dumb. But to be fair, I didn't try bribing you."

Ken wanted to say something like, Yeah, but you tried bribing me with something else! Yep, Bruce's prominent bulge from earlier popped into mind, but he didn't want to bring that up. Bruce clicked the lock shut and slumped onto the desk chair. Ken stood by the door like an unsure sentry.

Bruce continued: "It just... sucks, okay? Words and numbers and endless hours of studying--that shit's hard. Heck, I'm really not much of a sports guy either. It's just... easier for me. Tossing a ball, getting rough with the guys, scoring points. That's fun. That keeps my mind off of..."

"Off of having to follow in your brother's footsteps."

Bruce let out a sigh that betrayed the truth. "Mom and Dad want me to get into a good career. They say it doesn't have to be law. In fact, they told me they already know it's not for me. Even if by some miracle I pass the LSAT, I'm too agreeable. Can you believe that? Agreeable, of all things! But they also don't want their baby boy coasting by through sports alone. They want... more from me."

"What do you want to do with your life then?"

Bruce smiled. It was semi-forced, Ken could tell. There was no light to the eyes, no wag of the tail. Dogs could be so obvious. And yet--

With a few mouse clicks, the book report was saved and closed, and the computer was lulled into sleep mode. Bruce snatched up his wallet and keys.

"Let's finish this paper later and go for some shakes."

* * *

The car ride to the shake shop was full of Bruce's laughter and idle chitchat. Ken figured the topic had officially been changed, so he just sat and listened to Bruce talk about everything that popped through his mind, like the coolness factor of Hercules beetles. When they drove by a park with a baseball field, he noted how he'd once smashed the ball so hard, it punched a hole through a neighbor's window.

"Luckily, the guy was more impressed than mad. But there went my allowance for a few months!"

Bruce went on about the shenanigans with his sports buddies. Hanging out at the mall, which apparently was still a thing these days, although he never joined in the catcalling when a few cute girls from school would saunter past.

"Oh, shit... didn't mean to use that word. Sorry!"

"_Cat-_calling?" Ken grinned. "You get so worked up over these things."

"Just... don't want to offend," Bruce said, smiling sheepishly as he turned into the mall's underground parking lot, a place so dark and crowded it felt more like a sardine can.

"Have you considered," Ken started, eyes skimming for an empty spot to park, "the possible offense of assuming someone would be so easily offended?"

"Oh, god... that's a good point. I should just shut my mouth. I swear, it only causes trouble!"

Ken burst out laughing then, and Bruce joined in a little, although he wasn't sure what was so funny. When Ken saw the quizzical look on the beagle's face, he wiped away a tear that started to form.

"You are totally not a jock, I swear," the cat said, amused. "At my old school, all the jocks there couldn't care less what anyone thought of their language. And you, my big man, stop to apologize over every little PC infraction you commit."

"I'm torn," Bruce said as he squeezed the Camaro into a parking spot. "I feel like I should apologize for that as well."

The two of them burst into a fit of giggles before making their way to the mall's main floor. The place was beautiful. Upper scale. One of those open-air shopping centers. Wounding through it: a cute creek with fish and smooth, colorful stones. People, mostly dog-folks, ambled over bridges, took their selfies and group photos, admired the rustically ornate fountain that gushed with clean, bubbling water.

Ken wouldn't shop at any of the surrounding shops--most were chic clothing stores featuring overpriced getups and so-called sales that were still quadruple the price of their box store brand equivalent. Bruce pointed at a few places he liked, but he admitted that he was a fan of keeping things simple with a white undershirt, a pair of nice jeans, and his varsity jacket.

They eventually crossed a glass-walled skybridge that overlooked Main Street and its collection of office buildings, hotels, and residential apartments. Light rail tracks crawled through the median, and a lazy tram coasted into its station where people waited to board. Cozy benches lined the bridge, and a few couples sat to overlook the city, holding hands, resting a head on the other's shoulder, savoring a moment in quietude.

Cutesy couple stuff.

The food court roared to life. People went about stuffing their faces or ambling back to their cars with full bellies. Most restaurants were nicer dine-in joints with fancy words like bistro_affixed to the ends of their names. However, the shake shop sat on the corner adjacent to the street where it would get maximum pedestrian exposure--where those who couldn't even afford any of these shops and other restaurants--Ken excused himself: _bistro, he meant--could at least afford a shake.

Bruce opened the door for Ken like a true gentleman, and the pair were quickly greeted by the attendant, a golden retriever who wore a clean black apron to match the sanitary smile. Then the eyes lit up, provoking a genuine one. "Oh, hey, Bruce!"

Bruce greeted Darla back, and the two played a quick catchup on things. They were classmates last year, taking an honors biology course together and winding up as partners for the dissection of various amphibious things. Grossed her the hell out while Bruce thought it was cooler than the time a bat boy did his science fair project on the sustainable aspects of guano.

"What flavor you like? I'm buying. As a thank you for helping me with the paper and... for sticking around. And I'm not trying to bribe you with food to get you to finish my paper for me."

"No, no... I get it. Thank you."

Honestly, the myriad of flavor options was overwhelming. This wasn't no ordinary shake shop. Flavors were imported from all across the globe, some familiar, some new. Shame nipped at him when he simply requested a plain ol' vanilla shake.

"Only vanilla? I take you to a shop like this and that's all you want?"

Ken's ears flattened. "At least it's a flavor I know I'll like..."

"We're getting you outta your comfort zone. Let's both try a new one together, shall we?"

Well, the dog was buying after all, so the cat agreed. Bruce pointed at the ube shake and asked what that was. Before the cashier could answer, Ken explained: purple yam. Never tried it, though. Bruce ordered that in the monster size and paid. It didn't hit Ken until they got it: Bruce only ordered the one shake. They sat at a nearby booth. Bruce stabbed two straws into the vibrant purple drink, which was topped generously with whipped cream and a cherry.

"W-we're sharing?" Ken said.

Bruce grinned. "Why not? Dogs are supposed to have really clean mouths. I won't pass anything to you." He winked.

"I think that's a myth actually... in fact--"

But the dog slid the shake over, and Ken didn't want to be a stick in the mud or, in this case, an unused straw in the shake, so he took a sip and was relieved to find that the purple yam flavor imparted a nice vanilla-like sweetness. Just as he was taking the next gulp, Bruce leaned in to suck on the other straw, grinning all the while.

Ken felt himself blush to high heavens. But... something told him to keep drinking, to keep staring at those friendly green eyes as they both relished in a new experience. A wide-eyed Bruce said, "This is good!" and Ken couldn't help but think that yes, yes it was.

"So..." Ken started, trying to make conversation. "You took an honors biology class last semester."

"Yes... the tests were so hard." He frowned dramatically.

"You're also in our honors English class."

"Yeah... I bet you're thinking it's weird I'd take honors courses after bitching about school."

"It's your parents."

There went the soft, unsure smile again. "Enough about my problems, Ken. I've been going on and on all day about me. Tell me more about you. I don't remember you from previous semesters even though I've seen you around plenty this year. You mentioned your old school earlier. You a transfer student?"

"Yeah. From a poorer district nearby. My dad found a decent job here, so we moved. Still can't afford to shop at a place like this mall."

"Sorry to say, I'm a bit spoiled having two lawyers for parents. Lemme tell you, it was always like a court case growing up with Benny whenever we fought, which was pretty much all the damn time. They're never around, though, now that we're old enough to watch ourselves." Bruce smiled so big his eyes squeezed shut. "Dang it, it's back to me now, huh? Go on. Keep going about you. What's your family like?"

"Oh," Ken said, looking away. "Honestly, I feel like I'm in the same boat as you in a way."

Bruce cocked his head curiously like a pup, and Ken couldn't help but think he looked so c--

"It's..." Ken shook his head, took another sip of shake, then sighed. "I'm the only kid, so I don't understand what it's like having a brother like you do."

"You're lucky!"

"But my parents... they don't want me growing up poor like they did. There's a lot of pressure for me to do well in school, attend a decent enough college off the back of some scholarships--find a good career. Start a family. Give them grandkids. The whole nine yards. They want to live vicariously through me."

Bruce uttered the word _vicariously_under his tongue, as if sampling it before taking the plunge to eat it. "I may not be great at school stuff, but I can tell from your tone that this isn't what you're wanting."

"Maybe. I don't know. I just turned eighteen. I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. And to make things worse, there's the whole..."

Images of Bruce on his bed popping a huge boner that Ken turned down sprung to mind.

"The whole what?" Bruce asked, again with the curious puppy-dog look.

Ken's ears flattened. He turned away. "I just... want to be left alone. I mean, the only reason why you're hanging out with me is because of my big--" Bruce didn't respond to that. Ken didn't even bother to look over. Just sighed. Wanted some giant, disembodied hand to just yank him out of there, by the tail if it must. "I was lucky enough no one ever saw me at my old school. We had individual showers, and I always hung my clothes with my towel and got changed in there instead of at the lockers with the others. Got teased and taunted. Everyone called me a chary caracal. And at this new school of ours, there's communal showers, so it's worse!"

"Why not shower at home?"

"Like I've said, I'm a cat and we like clean," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But I'm also tired of the constant reminders of what my folks want from my life. They never ask me what I want from it. It's better if I tell them I'm busy with after-school clubs and stuff. They know that sorta thing looks good on scholarship applications. Gives me time to just sit and read a good book. In peace."

Bruce fidgeted, but then his face lit up.

"We have plenty of places that would be great if you're wanting a little quiet time! In fact, we have a huge park nearby with lots of little places to read."

Ken smirked. He had to admit, the beagle's energy was almost infectious. "I'm one step ahead of you, big guy. I had already scoped out the park near our school."

"You should take me," Bruce said, to which Ken nodded warmly. "And speaking of big guy, about your... you know..."

Ken didn't want to spoil the evening. Summoning a bit of levity, he said, "Let's just finish this shake and go."

And so, they both sucked down the rest of the monster-sized shake until brain freeze left them wincing with laughter. Just a little bit left, though--

Ken nearly choked mid-suck when two dogs--a blue-nosed pit bull with a look that could pierce glass, and a Dogo Argentino who was so ripped, his own fur was almost fully white with fear--barged through the store and shouted for the beagle. Bruce's face lit up. Jumped to his feet to exchange back pats with his two friends who Ken recognized from gym class: Petey, the pit bull, and Duardo, the Dogo Argentino--thank God for alliteration to help keep names straight. All were also on the football team. Three big boys who weren't unfamiliar with a regular rumpus on the field.

"Who's the kitty boy with the giant shake?" The pit bull jabbed a thumb over.

Ken thanked his lucky stars he said_shake_ and not a certain something else.

"Dudes, he's in our gym class. He's my new friend."

"He's like the only cat in the whole school, bro," Duardo remarked, then he cast his gaze on Ken. "How'd a thing like you get in the good graces of this guy? You two dating or something?"

Ken smiled sheepishly, unsure of what to say. Bruce kicked in with a laugh, "Good one, guys."

Petey and Duardo snagged a couple shakes and seated themselves at the booth. Ken found himself sandwiched between the wall and the buff beagle, while Bruce's two muscular friends stared Ken down from the other side of the table. Thankfully, the conversation quickly diverted to school and girls and the long weekend ahead of them. Duardo earned a couple high fives after announcing he had totally smashed some puss after class today. Ken nearly sighed in relief when the Dogo skipped over him for a feline fiver. Petey begged for some tips on picking up a gal. Blue balls were killing him. Bruce said he should smile more--that pit bull glare scared all the chicks off. As the conversation moved on to less sexual topics, Ken noticed the pit bull eying the empty milkshake glass with its two straws. In the midst of a heated conversation between Duardo and Bruce over which football team was better, Petey jabbed through with an inquiry, nodding at the evidence: "You two were sharing that?"

Bruce and Duardo were in too deep, so the pit bull affixed his glare onto the cat who wanted to look anywhere else possible. He checked his cellphone and noticed a missed text. Mom. Before he could check the message, the pit bull sniped the question at Ken this time. Images of getting pummeled by some homophobic pit bull flashed into mind, and as Ken was about to stammer an excuse, the beagle wrapped an arm around the caracal and pulled him into a friendly hug.

"Hell yeah, we shared!" Bruce grinned. "I ain't afraid of no cat germs, am I right, Ken?"

Bruce released the squeeze and gave a friendly elbow jab.

Petey gave his shake a sip until the remnants of it gurgled at the bottom of the glass. When he finished, he said, "Just wondering is all." He noticed Duardo's half-drunk shake and snatched it, giving it a sip from the same straw. Duardo roared in fake anger and socked Petey in the shoulder before snatching back his shake, eliciting a laugh.

Bruce turned to Ken and smiled, as if to reassure him that everything's gonna be okay. But when Ken felt a paw land on his thigh from under the table, he jumped. Smacked against the table. The shake glasses shimmied. The skin beneath his fur went redder than maraschino cherries.

"You okay, cat?" Duardo pressed.

Bruce only smiled. His paw didn't leave Ken's thigh. And, god, it had to be the thigh that Ken's dick rested against, right down the leg of his boxer briefs. Bruce rubbed. Just a little. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Except Ken, whose hands balled into fists, claws pinching his palms. Hackles threatened to shred the back of his shirt.

"What's wrong with your cat friend there?" Petey now.

"Go easy on him, guys," Bruce said warmly. "He's had a rough semester, transferring to a new school and all."

"Y-yeah..." Ken uttered because he knew he needed to say something, anything, or things would just be more awkward. Didn't help that his dick was now pulsing with each heartbeat, getting harder, and thicker, and longer... stretching down his leg, plumping up against his loose-fitting shorts. Bruce's paw just centimeters away... the claws of his fingers sending zips of sensation up Ken's leg.

Then, thankfully, Bruce released him. Duardo shrugged his shoulders, then directed a challenge at Bruce: an arm-wrestling match. And Ken, with the attention no longer on him, let out a sigh, although he wasn't sure it was of relief. But when the beagle shirked off his varsity jacket, showing off those big muscles that bulged beneath a white shirt perhaps a size too tight for him, Ken felt himself tense up within an inch of an aneurysm.

Bruce lifted a thick arm to the table, and the two dogs locked paws and matching cocky grins before Petey, the acting ref, gave the go-ahead. Duardo looked strong in his own right, but Ken's eyes roamed the mound of vascular bicep Bruce was packing as both dogs strained against the other. For that moment, both represented their breeds. Honor and glory--both on the line. Duardo came from a pedigree known for their strong working bodies, but Bruce birthed from smaller stock, a breed known for their strong noses than their show of strength. And Ken couldn't believe how hard he was blushing, how hard he was getting. Bruce grunted, muscles tightening everywhere as he gained a few inches on Duardo whose eyes blew wider than their bicep bulges at the sight of an impending loss.

Bruce didn't let up. Summoned all his strength... and with one last big grunt, Duardo's paw went crashing down. Leftover shake swamped the table as his glass tumbled over. The few other diners all turned their heads. Bruce guffawed, gave a victory flex, then challenged Petey to a match, announcing his infinite energy reserves. Plenty of strength left to take out the pit.

"All right, meatheads," came Darla with a damp bar towel, "take your toxic masculinity outta my store."

"Raincheck," Bruce promised, staring down the pit bull with a confident grin. His expression softened as Darla pulled up with more oomph in her hips than a mother dog whose rowdy pup just talked back to her. "Let me get that, Darla."

Darla gave him a playful smack with the towel before handing it over, then bent in to collect the three shake glasses, giving Ken a wink. As Bruce cleaned up the mess on the table, Duardo promised to win next time. He and Petey got up, preparing to leave, but suggested that Bruce come hang out with him, although neither mentioned that Ken could come along.

"Raincheck on that as well, boys," Bruce said, pulling Ken in again for another half-hug. "Promised to hang out with this quiet fella."

Duardo and Petey exchanged looks, and Ken felt the beginnings of embarrassment again, unsure of what they were thinking. But he relaxed when they said their goodbyes and disappeared back into the late-afternoon foot traffic.

Bruce handed back the soiled bar towel to a thankful Darla. She said her own goodbyes before turning to Ken. "Don't let this meathead fool you with those eyes of his. He's no puppy, believe me. Just a mischief maker."

"I'll remember that," Ken said, feeling like a damn Telltale game.

As soon as both stepped back outside, another guy from school sauntered past, a handsome Alsatian with a cheerleader clutching his arm. He swatted Bruce in the rear before sending him a friendly wave. Bruce waved back.

"You're a popular guy," Ken said flatly. "Booty swats and everything."

"Just another dude from the football team," Bruce chuckled. "Honestly, it's more annoying when they try to set me up with one of the cheerleaders." Suggestive elbowing ensued, but then he dug out his phone when it began to buzz. This reminded Ken of his mother's text, so he retrieved his own phone to check: hi ken where are you?

He responded: Did some tutoring after school.

Mom: okay please come home for dinner and make sure to do your homework

Ken: Hanging out with a new friend, too.

Mom: thats nice dear. but you need to come home. your dad wants to make sure your homeworks done

He wasn't sure where the night was headed. Perhaps this was his out. No more bumping into Bruce's friends and family and those awkward conversations. A few hours were plenty for one day.

"Okay, Bruce, I think it's time--"

"All right, it's settled," Bruce said as he shoved his phone into a pocket. "You're coming over for dinner. Mom's actually cooking tonight."

* * *

Part of him wanted to say no. True, he didn't enjoy hanging out with his own folks, but at least it was familiar. Sitting to dinner with Bruce's family? The thought made a giant hairball form in the pit of his stomach. But curiosity coaxed him into seeing where the night may lead (although he hoped it wouldn't kill this particular cat, as the old adage promised). Despite his penchant for solitude, he couldn't deny that it was nice that someone wanted his company... and there was a part of him deep down, squashed beneath that mighty hairball, that yearned to see if the night would lead to a certain something else... a part of him that he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge.

But he did it.

Ken had texted his mom during the car ride back that he was just invited for dinner. When the next text dinged angrily, prompting him to come home instead and finish his homework, he did what he used to do back in his old town: turned his phone off.

Punishment was an unexpired coupon he'd redeem later.

Thankfully, the initial introduction was quick. Both of Bruce's parents busied themselves in the kitchen, so all Ken had to do was acknowledge them back with a quiet wave before they were sent downstairs until dinner was ready.

"You're taller than both your parents," Ken observed as Bruce locked the bedroom door behind them.

"I got my granddad's good genes." Bruce tossed his jacket on the back of the chair. "Helps that I work out as well, so it makes me look even bigger than I really am."

Then as if he needed to prove his claim, he lifted his shirt over his head, perhaps a little too slowly, showcasing a collection of neatly rowed abs beneath a surface coat of white fur, then the firm chest, nipples pert as collar studs. Big ears flopped back into place. Bruce flashed his pearly whites.

"Much better," he said, tossing the shirt onto his bed. "What do you think?" He gave a turn, showing off how his jeans hugged his ass nicely, the hare-pied fur coloring on his back: black-tipped fur along a field of tan in a spotting formation typical of his breed. Back muscles bulged underneath, and the tail wagged happily, as if encouraging him to come closer. "Thoughts?"

"How about we get back to your home--"

"No, no, Mr. Caracal," the beagle said, turning around and wagging a finger. It took everything for Ken to lift his eyes from those pecs. "Homework can come later. What do you think? Like what you see?"

Ken started to feel woozy. "You... you look great, Bruce. You really do work out a lot. Your dedication shows."

Bruce smiled so wide, his eyes closed. "Wanna feel?"

"W-what?"

"You can feel me up--I don't mind." He flexed a bicep, just like at the shake shop. "Pick your poison. Could be my arms, my chest... maybe something else?"

"I... I think I'm good," Ken said, turning around to hide his growing arousal. He sat at the desk. "If we finish your homework before dinner, you'll have the rest of the weekend free."

Something in the room went dim, and it wasn't the lights. The beagle let a soft sigh escape and his tail went still as a flatline. Ken could see from the corner of his eyes the dog rummaging through his closet for a loose-fitting shirt, which he threw on. It was like the baggy pants Ken wore to hide himself. And even though the dog agreed to focus on his paper again, booting up the desktop and opening the file, the smile he gave felt forced. And in those eyes Ken saw a look that made him, for some reason, feel guilty. A dejection. He needed to set things straight with Bruce--talk in the open about whatever it was between them. But he said nothing. Only helped explain run-on sentences and comma splices and the difference between dependent and independent clauses. Didn't once address the growing ellipsis between them. And for the first time in his life, fixing grammar errors--something he was good at--became a chore, and he was thankful to hear Bruce's brother bang on the door just as they finished proofreading the paper.

Dinner was ready.

* * *

Four. Point. Zero.

Announcing that number sparked a cannonade of conversation. Ken shot a look at Bruce who sat across from him, and all guilt from earlier dissipated, especially as the beagle seemed to return to his usual boisterous, tail-wagging self, at least initially. His parents managed to seem simultaneously impressed and unimpressed by Ken's achievement. They already had an older son who managed the same GPA in both high school and college. Worse, they used Ken's grades to lock and load against their younger one for not reaching the standard that "even a cat could achieve."

Ken dropped his eyes to an artillery of fine cutlery. The dining room was gorgeous, and the hardwood table had an ornate design that screamed expensive. Ken was afraid that taking a sip from the glassware would depreciate their value. He missed the scuffed collapsible table his family had gotten from a secondhand shop, and the reusable plastic cups garnered from a local pizza shop back in his old town. Stuff he wasn't afraid to use.

"With a GPA like that," Bruce's mother said, returning the conversation to Ken as she took a bite of meatloaf, "you must have some top-notch schools willing to throw a scholarship or two your way." Sounded just like his mother, sans the meatloaf.

"I might transition into a low-cost community college," Ken said, not wanting an awkward silence, "and give me a couple years to find myself as I complete my generals."

"Well," she smiled, giving Bruce a pointed look, "at least that's better than no plan at all."

"I'll think of something, Mom," Bruce whined. "Ain't college supposed to help me discover what I want to do with the rest of my life?"

"Must have a plan, son," came his father this time, who had been scrolling through various news articles on his phone. "School isn't cheap, and time is a non-renewable resource. Bad enough that we moved you to a public school of all places."

"Come on, Bruce," Benny said between snarfs of meatloaf and mashed potatoes before being reminded of his manners. "You can't go in blind. Football's only gonna do so much for you. Hell, you're barely keeping your grades up enough to stay on the football team. Think it gets any easier at a university?"

Ken was expecting Bruce to explode, his parents throwing counter yells and dish slams like they do in the movies, all those tense family dinner scenes--a common occurrence with his own folks. But Bruce simply snarfed down his food and rolled his eyes.

"Those ear tufts of yours are unique," Bruce's mother observed, continuing the conversation as proper etiquette dictated. "Where are you from?"

"Mom," Bruce said, "don't ask him that."

"Oh, I'm just curious, dearie. Are you a lynx? One works with us back at the office, isn't that right?" She glanced at her husband for confirmation. "Has the same ear tufts as Kenlo, here."

He finished a sip of wine. "Yes, the bilingual legal assistant."

She nodded, seemingly delighted with herself for guessing correctly. "Yes, so please. Enlighten us with your heritage. What brings a young lynx to such a canine-run city like this?"

Bruce served himself another slice of meatloaf. "He's a caracal, Mom."

"Oh, a caracal?" she responded, a lilt of bemusement in her voice.

"So exotic!" Benny teased.

Ken could hear Bruce stamp him in the foot from which Benny recoiled with a chuckle.

Ken cleared his throat, Bruce's mother waiting for the details. "Well, to answer your question, my parents immigrated to a small town just north of here just before I was born. Really, I grew up here. Don't have my parents' accent or anything. Just a regular ol' cat, really, with weird ear tufts that can be seen above a crowd. Kids would tease me sometimes."

"Oh, that's lovely, dearie," she said, although Ken didn't know what was so lovely about getting cornered at the playground as a kid, getting his ears twisted and yanked for having something as simple as a couple tufts that the other kids did not. "How do your parents like it here?"

Ken forked at the meatloaf. "From what my parents have told me, they escaped an impoverished farm life for something a little better. We've got an okay apartment, I guess--nothing as big or fancy as your home--but my parents say it's much better than what they grew up with. My dad finally got a nicer job here after so long, hence why I'm finishing up my senior year with Bruce."

"Your parents must be proud of you."

Ken snickered. "Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"See that, Bruce," went his father, not bothering to look up from his phone. "We give you tutors, a comfortable upbringing, and Ken here was able to knock out perfect grades on his own."

"I think there's more to life than grades." This surprised Ken as he said this, all things considered.

"Of course, dearie," said their mother. "No one said that's all there is to success. Extra curriculars, research projects, community service. All of those can also help."

"Yes," added her husband. "And don't forget the power of networking and internships. Sometimes who you know can help a great deal."

"And do you know your son?" Ken pressed, although still finding his voice. "He's always smiling and he's friendly to everyone, at least when he's not being constantly reminded of his failures."

Benny chortled tauntingly to that. "Seems like you got your own personal cheerleader, Bruce!"

"At least someone's on my side," Bruce spat, "unlike my own flesh and blood."

Ken's heart raced having spoken up like this. He thought he was going to be invited to leave if he didn't like the family dynamics. Instead, Benny guffawed heartily, and their mother waved away Bruce's criticism: "Of course we're on your side!" Then the topic of conversation sank into happenings at the office and how awesome their little Benny was in college and how excited they were to have him join the ranks of lawyerdom soon. Bruce casually forked himself a third helping of meatloaf, offering to get Ken another while he was at it.

This must've been an everyday thing.

Watching these conversations, it was crazy to see how big the beagle was compared to everyone else, and yet so small in a way--as if he knew his place among the pecking order. Another detail became obvious, something physical this time: the nose. Benny and their parents had solid-black ones. While the outer rim was dark, Bruce's nose looked as if a pink butterfly had affixed itself in the middle. Bruce licked some sauce off his muzzle and smiled when he noticed Ken's observant gaze. His fur stiffened like fork tines when Ken felt a foot brush up against his. Bruce's grin flexed even wider.

When dinner concluded, Ken offered to help with the dishes, but their mother said that he'd done enough helping Bruce with his homework. And, yes, she brought up the previous tutor that had quit instead of showing patience this caracal had. As Ken and Bruce headed back down the stairs, Ken was ready to ask Bruce if he could just take him home, but the dog looked ready to test a slingshot on a nightingale for singing past curfew.

He slumped onto the edge of his bed, this time not bothering to lock the door behind them, then said, "Look, I'm sorry about my folks. And especially my brother."

Ken fidgeted by the door. "Don't worry about it. I'd rather they ask about my funny ears and not yank on them like when I was a kid. Had to wear hats all through primary school just to stop it, although teachers always made me take it off."

"Let me know if anyone still does that," he sank a fist into his other paw. "I'll pummel them. Not to mention..." Bruce looked away.

"Not to mention what?"

"Well... those ear tufts _are_kinda cute. Don't want anyone messing them up!"

When things get awkward, cue the reciprocation. "Your nose is cute too," Ken blurted--and there came the raging embarrassment.

"Oh? You think my butterfly snoot's a little cute, huh?" Bruce chuckled, but then his face sank into a muted pensiveness. "It's kinda served as the mark that I'm the odd one out in this family."

"I'm surprised you didn't say 'black sheep.'"

Bruce rolled his eyes as Ken chuckled to himself. "In this case, it's kinda the opposite. All my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents--all have solid-black noses. And all of them were successful in their own right--lawyers, doctors, you name it." Gesturing at the tip of his snout, which Ken suspected meant to represent the whole beagle: "Not sure what happened here."

What words could be of any help here? Ken wasn't sure. But sometimes spoken words weren't the answer if his penchant for solitude had taught him anything. Sometimes people needed silence, a reprieve that made way for a comforting touch. And so, Ken reached out and placed a paw upon a broad shoulder, gave a light squeeze.

"I should apologize for my behavior, too," Bruce said, much to Ken's surprise. "I've been getting ahead of myself the whole day."

Ken could guess, but: "What do you mean?"

Bruce smiled. "Let's just hang out like buds, all right? Darla wasn't kidding when she said I was pretty much a handful. Honest to god, I'm just a big doofus is all." Ken nodded to this. "And thank you for helping me with my paper. You really didn't have to help."

"It's no problem."

"And, seriously... thanks for sticking up for me at dinner. You really think I'm all sunshine and rainbows?" Bruce batted his eyelashes.

"You're certainly... something," Ken said with a joshing smile.

Bruce chuckled to this. "I'll take it. Now how about we rock some video games. Maybe you can spend the night?"

This seemed like a reasonable and, more importantly, a sincere request, and perhaps Ken was being too standoffish, too much like a cat. Yes, Bruce was forward and a little pushy like any excitable dog, but he meant well. Right? But Ken couldn't just ignore the clattering bells of his conscience that warned how spending the night with this guy was a bad idea. They had not once shared a word with each other until today. Jocks belonged at the gym, nerds in their books.

Perhaps he could find an excuse to bail. Sleepovers can happen another day once they got to know each other better. Ken said he'd just need to check in with his folks, his phone blinking back on. Several messages had gathered like dirt piles during dinner, a few from his mom, yes, but several from his dad. When he checked his father's messages, many of which promising to ground him until fire rained from the heavens for not coming straight home, he sat his phone screen-side down by the desktop. His intention level for looking at it the rest of the night?

Zero.

"Bust out the popcorn, rom-coms, and juicy gossip," Ken announced, earning a tail wag from Bruce. "We're having ourselves a sleepover."

* * *

Explosions and gunfire and Bruce shouting and laughing and barking orders spilled into the late evening. Ken sucked at first-persons shooters, usually opting for slower-paced puzzlers when the gaming mood struck, but he found himself enjoying Bruce yipping in excitement, getting angry over pretty much every single death, and celebrating with back pats and high fives when they managed to destroy another team.

Tossing the controller aside when it started getting late, Bruce suggested they do something else. "Why not show me a book you like?"

"Bruce, no offense," Ken said with a big, luxurious stretch, "but the most you read are fitness mags. I haven't seen a single novel in your room. I helped clean it, remember?"

"That doesn't mean I can't start reading for fun now!" Bruce extended his palm haughtily. "Now I insist. One of your books in my paw. Now."

Ken chuckled, then dug through his backpack. Exhumed a wizard firing lightning bolts at a mighty dragon. Yes, a fantasy book. Something to take his mind off the real world.

Bruce gulped at the book in his paw. "It's so thick."

That was ripe for a pun, but Ken resisted. "Want me to tell you about it? I'm on round three."

"How about I read it." Bruce flipped through the book, eyes wide with intimidation... but also resoluteness. "Can I borrow it?"

"Why don't we start with something easy, like a Percy Jackson novel?"

"Dude, if I can beat my knucklehead friends at arm wrestling, I can tackle this monster." Bruce flipped back to the first page and started reading feverishly.

Ken laughed. "How about you read that on your own time? For now, how about--"

Bruce tossed the book on his bedside table. "Movie time!"

They ended up busting out the popcorn after all, but instead of a romantic comedy, they put on a horror film. Some dumb slasher where everyone fucked, got high, then split up as soon as shit hit the fan. At that point, the killer picked them off one by one. Bruce loved those films. They were dumb no-brainers. Ken admitted he typically enjoyed more cerebral films, but a night not having to think about anything was just the ticket. The two ended up sharing a blanket, a bowl of steaming popcorn topped with melted butter and salt, and a couple cold bottles of water to wash it down.

Bruce jerked at every jump scare. Even buried his face into Ken's shoulder during a tense scene where the killer was nowhere to be found, the last surviving girl traversing an abandoned house, armed with nothing but her dead boyfriend's baseball bat. Bruce swore at the top of his lungs when the killer burst through a dilapidated wall. Squeezed Ken close, knocking over the bowl and scattering unpopped kernels everywhere. When the movie ended, the last girl standing triumphantly over the killer's dead body (but, come on, not really dead--gotta have those infinite sequels), Ken helped Bruce tackle the mess.

"Love those films," Bruce said, kernels clattering back into the bowl. "Imagine us getting chased by some whacko killer who'd escaped the nuthouse."

"I'd be dead first, I swear," Ken admitted, picking up individual kernels one my one.

"Nah." Bruce sat the bowl safely aside once they finished. "I'd protect you. You'd be the last girl standing. Well, dude. You know what I mean--the main girl never dies!"

For some reason, Ken didn't know what to say. Instead, he did what he always did best and blushed.

"Okay!" Bruce nodded emphatically like some anime character finding their confidence. "Now we watch one of your movies. I'd offer to play a puzzle game... but let's be real. My mind would burst like popcorn."

"I don't think one of my movies will be any better, to be honest..."

"I'm gonna get us more water." Bruce stood, undeterred, before hopping up the stairs with the bowl. "Pick a movie, buddy!"

Ken flipped through the streaming app until he found an old Hitchcock film he thought Bruce might appreciate. The beagle returned with the waters, and Ken started the movie. Bruce scootched in close, asking about the film. Eyes glued to the screen once it opened up with two guys having just strangled a third person. Hid the body inside a chest in the room. Party guests arrived at the apartment while the dead guy remained tucked away right under their noses.

"Those two guys friends or something else, eh?" Bruce chided.

"There's a little subtext there," Ken admitted.

But as the movie progressed, Ken could see Bruce nodding off. Much of it was conversation. Little action. One of the killers was nervous they'd be found out, while the other was confident--cocky even. To him, they had committed the perfect murder and would soon get away with it. Ken found his own eyes growing heavy, and by the time the movie ended, he had unwittingly joined Bruce on the floor. Soft snores unwound by the light of the television, which glowed silently. After a quiet hour, the entire gaming system, as if by choice instead of programming, would join the couple in their sleep, draping the entire room in darkness.

* * *

Bruce woke first.

All that water from earlier wanted out. The early morning spilled its warm-blue light through the window, enough that he could stumble to the bathroom without flipping the light switch. His back ached while relieving himself, as if the floor had been gnawing on him. When he returned, he saw Ken splayed out on his back, the blanket covering him. About to slump onto his bed to squeeze out another couple hours, Bruce did a double take.

At first, he thought it must've been a knee extended upward. But he saw both knees bowed out from either side of the blanket, which meant whatever was tenting up the blanket right in the middle was...

Bruce bit his lower lip.

Sliding the blanket off with pinched toes revealed what he was suspecting: some serious, massive morning wood. Bigger than the ones Bruce would pop. But those pesky baggy shorts were still in the way. Yes, Bruce had caught a glimpse of the real thing yesterday, but he was clear on the far end of the showers. And he barely saw anything when he watched the cat change--just a waist-wrapped towel and some feline butt. Now here Ken was right up close, snoring softly, peacefully.

Bruce bit his lower lip harder.

The temptation to cop a feel was intense, the way he couldn't resist peeking at a few Christmas presents as a kid. But the cat was asleep, and he'd probably done too much already having moved the blanket.

But... but...

Extending a paw, the mound of hardened flesh was just in reach. Excitement stirred in Bruce's loins. Less than a flea's hop away and... Bruce stopped himself. Sighed. Moved the blanket back on top of the sleeping cat, then quietly tucked himself into his bed.

Ken opened his eyes, his heart still hammering, his pulse beating so strong he could feel blood rocking through his aching hardon. He'd awoken when the blanket slid off him. Immediately figured out what was going on. Conflicting thoughts buzzed through his mind. To let him touch or not to touch. That was the question, right? What would he have done if Bruce had? Why not just wake up and say, "You know what, Bruce? Let's get this over with!"

Ken held still as stone, his mind bursting with thoughts like the coming morning sun. Ken's erection deflated as soon as he heard Bruce's deep, steady breathing. Sleep had claimed him again. And that's when Ken stood, grabbed his phone and other belongings, shouldered his backpack, and snuck out of that house and into a brand-new Saturday he wished and wished would end soon.

* * *

By the time Bruce woke again, dawn had broken in the sky completely. He stretched. Scratched and adjusted his balls. Took a squeeze of his strong morning wood, which then triggered the memory from earlier. He feared the worst when he saw an empty blanket on the floor and all of Ken's stuff gone. He checked the bathroom, which was empty. Stumbled into the kitchen where his brother greeted him between the last bites of buttered toast and scrambled eggs.

"Didja see Ken around?"

"Nope!" Benny chugged the rest of his coffee, setting the cup in the sink afterward. "Another case of tutor flight?"

Bruce ignored the jab and flew back downstairs for his keys. Things were going so well last night, and he had to go ahead and fuck things up. Ken was probably awake when he was about to feel him up. Why just disappear? A sick feeling bubbled in his stomach. When he snatched for his keys where he kept them on the table last night, his paw turned up empty. Where were they? He had kept them right by...

The book.

Ken's book.

A grizzled feline wizard fought off a dragon on the cover. Bruce snatched it up, threw on his varsity jacket, and hopped back upstairs to see if he'd misplaced the keys there. But there stood Benny by the front door, keys jangling in his paw.

"Looking for these?"

Benny had snuck in his room without permission! Putting that aside for now, he pleaded to use his car.

"Nope!" Benny sneered. "Gonna catch up with a couple old friends in town. Don't feel like rolling up in an Uber."

"Could you at least drop me off somewhere?"

"No can do!" Benny said as he slipped out the door to the Camaro. "Perhaps you can ask your friend for a ride? Like you said, he's more important than your flesh and blood."

"That's not what I said!" But that didn't matter. Benny was already peeling out of driveway, his laughter fading into the distance down the quiet street of their neighborhood. Bruce paused only to give the huge brick of a novel under his arm a resolute nod. Then without stopping once, whether for stop signs or traffic, he booked it down the street on foot.

* * *

He swore. Swore again. Loud enough that a pair of canine joggers glanced his way, although they couldn't see the source of such colorful language. Around the cat, the alcove within a stand of shuddering aspens brought little comfort. What seemed private and tranquil now felt almost claustrophobic. The cacophony of children at the nearby playground didn't help, and even the babbling melody from the park's wandering stream felt invasive.

Ken had upended his backpack earlier before it dawned upon him where his book had gone. Last night. He'd lent it to Bruce... something he never did with anyone--not even within _his_tribe from a high school book club he once attended. Now what was he supposed to read?

Slamming the phone back on, he browsed through the angry text messages. His father had called the police, but they told him off since (a) his son wasn't missing for at least 24 hours, and (b) he was technically an adult now. Yet it was Ken's fault for embarrassing him. None of that mattered. He was grounded anyhow, like that did anything. Plenty of books to fill the time offered by his bedroom banishment. Didn't matter that they took his phone away. Really it was more a device for keeping tabs, the only reason his parents got it for him. Wasn't like he had friends to text or websites to visit that he couldn't already do on a computer. And he didn't care for digital books. You couldn't smell the pages, couldn't feel each turned page, couldn't feel the weight of a heavy book in your bag that promised hours of escape.

He could go back and talk to Bruce. Apologize for disappearing. He'd have to face him at school anyhow. But there was more to it than bailing on him. Bruce seemed like a nice guy... but nicety was always a front. There was a difference between niceness and kindness. Niceness was sometimes a gorgeous book cover that bound a collection of ugly pages.

The decision was made: the firing squad back home.

As he stood, shouldering his backpack, he jumped in surprise when at the entrance of his little alcove stood, you guessed it: Bruce. And a heaving one at that, as if he'd been playing a round of scrimmage in the adjacent football field and decided to stop by afterward for a chat.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Bruce tapped his nose, still catching his breath. "Beagles are scent hounds, remember?" When Ken still looked confused, Bruce offered another explanation: "You mentioned having... a secret place at the park... by our school. It was easy to track your scent once I got here." Sucking in a breath, Bruce stepped into the alcove, which sank into a cool, shaded hideaway. He presented the book to Ken. "Figured you'd want this back."

"I let you borrow it," Ken countered even though he damn well knew he wanted it back. He took the book anyhow. Stared at the cover. Felt the weight of the book in his paws. Without looking up: "Why did you come for me?"

"I obviously messed up--again. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" Ken snapped, and he didn't feel bad when he saw the hurt in Bruce's eyes. "The whole damn day yesterday was every level of uncomfortable! Not only were you staring at me in the shower when all I wanted was my privacy, you roped me into hanging out with you, flirted with me nonstop, popped boners everywhere, and kept showing off your body like some, some..." Ken couldn't think of anything except for Darla's little quip from yesterday, so he went with that: "--meathead!"

Ken's chest was heaving, and Bruce just stood there.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize. No one is nice. Just admit it... this whole time you were thinking of one thing. Just one thing."

"I just want to be your friend!"

"Just one thing, Bruce!" Ken chucked his book to the closest tree, and it landed with its pages flapping into the dirt like a broken bird. Then he clutched at the bulge that snaked down one pant leg. "You wanted this."

Silence. It stretched and stretched until Bruce could feel the tension about to snap.

"Why did you agree to hang out?" Bruce said in a low voice. His head was down, and his floppy ears were almost covering his eyes. "You could've said no. Could've made up any excuse not to come home with me."

"Because I want you, too, Bruce!"

And there it was. Bruce looked up. Tears were welling up in Ken's eyes. This made no sense. First, Ken was yelling at him for wanting dick, and now he was admitting to practically the same thing.

"I don't get it..."

"Bruce, you're hot, all right. I've noticed you in gym class. I've peeked at you in the locker rooms, watched you lift weights. I was honestly surprised to see you in an honors class with me, but I thought it was hot that there's a guy with brawn and brains."

"Well, you sure as hell were wrong on one account..."

Ken laughed incredulously. "The truth is, I feel like a total hypocrite. Yes, you're not the brightest, but here you are showing interest in me and my big dick, and some part of me wanted to judge you for being a... for being a..."

"A meathead."

Ken turned. "I'm sorry. Your family's rude to you, and part of me can understand where they're coming from... but, then again, I'm not much better. I don't even know what I want to do with my own life, and yet the good grades come easy to me."

"It feels like there's more to it than that..."

"The truth is, Bruce--I'm scared. I'm scared about what this could mean. No one has shown real interest in me before, and I made sure to keep myself hidden away. Not just... the big thing I carry, but all of me. My entire being. I'm used to solitude. Not talking to anyone. Not making friends. And yet I've kept you at arm's length all day yesterday, and here you are returning my fucking book"--he gestured angrily at the crumpled novel on the ground--"apologizing to me."

When Ken started to sob, Bruce pulled him in tight. Ken let it out--the loneliness, the frustration, the confusion, the guilt. But only for a moment. Embarrassment warned that sadness was a private affair, and he found himself pawing away the tears from his eyes and apologizing for being such a mess.

"Don't worry, dude," Bruce cooed. "Don't tell the guys, but last year I cried in my car for a good five minutes after failing another math exam. That's when my parents got me the tutor. But, you know what, I ended up passing the class, even when the tutor quit. I didn't want to get kicked off the football team, and I sure as hell didn't want my brother lording this over me for the rest of my life, so I buckled down and learned enough on my own."

Ken nodded.

"I guess the point I'm trying to make," Bruce continued, "is what do you want? I'm just a meathead. I think about lifting weights, throwing ball with the bros, and dick. But, if I may highlight at least one good thing about me, I try really hard to be--"

"Kind."

"Yeah..." Bruce exhaled, releasing their embrace. "Believe it or not, I used to get picked on as a kid. Called me Obtuse Bruce because I needed a little extra help understanding math and spelling. Ugh... listen to me complain. That was a long time ago."

"How did you handle it? I just sucked it up when everyone made fun of my ears and my shyness. Just kept to myself."

"I did the opposite," Bruce said thoughtfully. "Started working out when I got older. Got big. Begged my parents to send me to a public school. Joined football. Made a ton of friends. It's amazing what people will put up with when you turn into a ripped, good-looking guy like me, right?"

Bruce flashed a sparkling smile, but Ken could see the sadness behind the joke.

Retrieving the book, Ken brushed off the dirt, straightened the bent pages. He handed it back to Bruce who took a moment to glance over the cover again, wondering to himself the sort of dragons Ken had to slay. Bruce had to admit, his life wasn't so bad. Didn't want to make things awkward with a dumb sob story.

"Are you out?" Ken asked a little suddenly. "Does everyone know you're, you know...?"

"Gay?" Bruce smiled. "Not officially. My parents are too busy with their work and mocking my academic aspirations to care. My brother can't see past his reflection to notice what I'm all about. A few guys on the team probably know--they're all straight as fuck, and I never talk about girls. There are some openly gay guys at our school who had put two and two together. Honestly, I don't think those three little letters are something I care to make a fuss over. You?"

Ken traced the visible roots from the nearby trees with his eyes. "My parents don't know. But I did come out to a guy I thought I liked at my old school. He was out to everyone. Which... there's more to the whole chary caracal thing I mentioned before."

"What happened?"

"We made out in the boy's room... then he took me into one of the stalls. He wanted to suck me off. He could feel me getting hard when we were kissing. He knew I was big, but I never let him get the chance to see it. I freaked out and bailed. He ended up spreading a rumor around to his friends. It got around to half the school, I swear."

"That you're hung like a horse?"

"No!" Ken shook his head in disbelief. "He actually said the opposite. That he tried sucking me off, but I was so small, he needed a tweezer to find it first."

"That's messed up, even if it were true."

"And my not wanting to undress in front of anyone only solidified that rumor. I wanted that jerk to set things straight, but he refused to even talk to me--I'm talking shoulders so cold, even a husky couldn't handle it. Thankfully my dad got the new job, and I got the hell out of there. Then you came along yesterday..."

"And you worried about this happening all over again."

"Yes... and no..." Ken sighed. "You're not the same person as that jackass, so I can't predict your every move. That's probably what scares me most. You have fun with my dick... and then what? Are we a thing? Or did you only score points with your buddies like back in the shop?"

"I'm not like them," Bruce said almost flatly, "at least not in that way."

"Then what are you like?"

Bruce pulled Ken in for the kiss, and Ken, after a brief second of shock, sank into it, as if his body were saying "Finally!" His body turned to mush, but he managed to tug Bruce closer by the sleeve. Felt the excitement stir down the entire length of his malehood, and for the first time he felt the urge to let Bruce see it again. Let him touch it, even. But his brain still demanded surety. Still needed to know what this all meant....

Bruce moaned happily after the kiss.

Ken said, almost pensively, "I want this, Bruce...."

"As do I...."

"Have you... been with a guy before?"

"Oh, god.... Plenty." Bruce felt himself begin to blush. "Can't say I'm shy when it comes to sex."

Ken couldn't help but frown. "What makes me different then?"

Bruce grinned, gliding one of Ken's paws down to the bulge in his jeans. "You're the only guy I've ever gone after. The rest have always come to me first."

Feeling up Bruce's bulge put any lingering questions quickly to rest, and the two found themselves exploring each other's tongues, feeling the rumble of the other's moans. Ken got really hard really fast, and when Bruce snaked his paw down Ken's shorts to feel it, the cat didn't stop him. Instead, he reciprocated. Undid the beagle's fly to release his pent-up doghood. Bruce was more anxious to see the cat again. Tugged down Ken's pants just enough to let his erection spring free.

Bruce's eyes went wide at the gorgeous thing, the bulbous head, the long, vascular shaft that led to a pair of plump balls.

"Damn, Ken," he said. "How big are you?"

Blushing: "A little over ten inches."

"How do you not tip over when you're hard?"

Ken snickered. "You're not bad yourself, you know. Eight inches?"

"Eight and a half, yeah."

Leaning in for a kiss, he then whispered in the dog's ear: "I want to feel all of it inside me."

Concern rather than lust twisted Bruce's face. "Aren't you a virgin? It's gonna hurt."

"I've never been with another person..." Even more blushing now. "But that doesn't mean I haven't experimented with other... dick-shaped things."

Bruce grinned. "I wanna hear all about that later. But right now..." Bruce glanced around as if to check that the coast was clear, then he leaned in and whispered something that made Ken's body twitch with anticipation: "I'd like to feel all of it inside you, too."

* * *

Deciding against a romp in the park where children played, both eventually found their way back to the bedroom. However, the electricity between them during the walk back to the house was almost palpable. Bruce explained what happened to the car, and it took everything Ken had not to kiss him in public for making the trek to the park just for him, although he joked about Uber being a thing.

"Want me to call one now?" Bruce had offered. But Ken suggested they enjoy the walk together, although he joked halfway back that his feet were aching. Bruce insisted on carrying him the rest of the way, and Ken had to endure the experience of his growing boner grinding against a muscular back. Neither complained.

After sneaking back downstairs, Bruce's parents likely busying themselves in their offices, Ken's book found its way to the bedside table for later reading--and out from the table drawer came a bottle of lube. Bruce had stripped himself naked eagerly, but all Ken could feel were butterflies in his stomach, as if Bruce's nose were prodding him from inside. But damn that beagle was beautiful naked. Ken had caught glimpses in the locker room before, but it was nothing like this so up close and personal. The dog was muscular all around. Broad shoulders, the tapered waist, the visible abs, the powerful legs--and, of course, the incredibly hard, incredibly large dick bouncing around with a nice pair of balls to match. But he also had those friendly eyes, the butterfly nose, the splotches of color on his fur, and those cute, floppy ears.

Bruce had that wonderful balance: hot but not intimidating.

Still, Ken stood frozen with hesitancy. Bruce noticed and, without a word, helped pull off the cat's shirt, revealing a trim torso. Thick paws roamed his back and chest, down his belly. Bruce teased Ken with kisses and gentle nibbles: whatever he could get his teeth on--the bare neck, the collection of whiskers, the cute ear tufts. Then the beagle kneeled, tugging Ken's shorts down with him. Revealed a prominent bulge demanding escape from the confines of its boxer briefs. Bruce kissed Ken there, all down his length, and he smiled when Ken's malehood jumped from such little stimulation. Then he eased off the briefs, revealing inch after inch of shaft until Ken's plump erection finally sprung free, hard and ready. A thrill shot up Ken's spine when the dog's nose buried itself beneath his big balls to inhale their scent, when Bruce's rough tongue trailed up the thick shaft and lapped at the bulging glans.

Ken kicked off the rest of his clothes, now fully nude. Without warning, Bruce sank his muzzle around that cock, sucked hard. Forced himself down until he gagged. Tried again, deepthroating like a total wimp. Gagged some more. Still, mewls of pleasure coaxed the beagle to keep trying until his jaw ached. Released him, that huge dick glistening in the faint light of the room.

"Damn, you're just so big, Ken." Bruce rubbed his jaw as he rose, and Ken couldn't help but blush and cover up himself as best he could with his paws. "Gonna need more practice."

"Wished it were smaller?"

"Hell, nah!" Bruce said, undeterred. "Now let's take a good look at you...." Ken obliged when a paw brushed aside his arms, although they now remained stiff at his sides. Bruce's eyes looked the cat up and down, exploring him, studying him like a homework assignment he knew he'd actually enjoy doing. Bruce's twitching erection made that obvious.

Then their bodies touched. They kissed, malehoods sandwiched between them as pre-fluid beaded from the tips. A wandering paw cupped Ken's balls, pulling gently, Bruce whispering about how big they were--they could barely fit in his broad palm. Ken smiled, cupping the beagle's own pair of low-hanging nuts. Whispered how his were pretty big, too.

Bruce's tail wagged blissfully.

Both eventually found themselves on the bed atop the covers, the cartoon dog bones cavorting underneath them. Paws explored each other, tongues lapped and tasted, noses inhaled the aroma of musk and need, which only sent sparks of lust running up their cocks, keeping them engorged to capacity. Both were so incredibly hard with need that it was a wonder that neither released their loads from excitement alone.

Reluctantly, Ken broke from their kissing to snag the bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount onto his paw. He slicked up Bruce's dick, enjoying how hard and big it felt. But simple touching wouldn't do, so he squeezed a generous amount on his fingers to prepare his tailhole. Bruce gave a salacious grin, knowing what was to come, his dick pulsing with anticipation.

Ken felt ready--kinda. Bruce adjusted himself comfortably onto his back, and Ken rose to straddle him. Felt Bruce's dick smack against his back, felt those strong legs as Ken's tail arced back and forth with anticipation. Ken dropped his head down for a kiss, then touched foreheads.

"I want you..." Ken whispered, nuzzling the dog, their whiskers touching like splayed fingers.

"I want you, too..."

A rough feline tongue planted a kiss upon that nose's permanent pink butterfly. But then as Ken lifted himself back into a sitting position, preparing to take the beagle's length, he giggled nervously, covering his face with the paw untainted with lube.

Bruce cracked a grin. "You okay?"

"Just a little nervous... my heart is fluttering." Ken peeked at Bruce through his fingers. "You're my first."

"Such a shy boy," Bruce said, smiling so warmly Ken could almost feel it radiating over him like a space heater. "It's all right if you want to stop. We can take things slow."

A resolute grin said everything. Ken lifted himself up, reached back and angled the beagle's hard dick just right. Slowly, slowly slid onto it. Ken tightened immediately as soon as the large glans prodded his backside. Bruce rubbed Ken's legs, goading him to relax. After a few deep breaths, Bruce held Ken gently around the waist, and the cat felt himself opening up to his size, and the head slipped in... and Ken could swear he could see stars. Then an inch of shaft... then another inch... up and down a little at a time. Bruce held him, made Ken feel so safe despite the zips of pressure that bordered on pain. Ken exhaled when, finally, he felt himself sitting on the dog completely--balls deep.

"Bruce..." he whispered, the feeling of fullness making his head feel woozy in such a good way. "You're so big."

"You're one to talk," Bruce said, grinning. The tightness he felt around his shaft made his head feel woozy, too.

Neither knew what happened to the time after that. Ken gyrated his hips, felt how the dog stretched him so, how he prodded his insides. He would pick up speed, ride that dick as best he could, their moans becoming a tangled mess. When the cat would tense up, the extra tightness around Bruce's shaft felt so good, and the dog would buck his hips, tremble and shudder from all the pleasure this caused. Sometimes the cat would stop, panting all the while, legs burning from the strain. Bruce took over these instances, gently at first until the pleasure of each thrust drove him to quicken his pace.

"God, Bruce..." Ken breathed. "Faster..."

And Bruce obliged. Bucked in frantically, balls slapping back and forth, forcing all eight-plus inches inside the cat's tight backside over and over again until both were a loud, groaning mess. Squeezed that kitty's cute bubble butt, sometimes giving it a playful smack as he thrust deep and hard, eliciting a pleasurable cry that made him growl back encouragingly, lustfully. Sifted his fingers through the cat's short, dark fur. Even tugged on those cute, tufted ears gently, just to coax him in for another kiss....

When Ken's muscles recovered, he took over again, sliding up and down that shaft in a steady rhythm, watching the muscular body beneath him tense and relax. His own big dick slapped against the beagle's tummy, over and over as he rode him, and it wasn't long before Bruce groaned out the words Ken had been craving to hear: "I'm gonna cum...."

Ken picked up the pace. Bruce watched those big nuts swinging, that giant dick bobbing up and down, smacking against him. A few guys had ridden him like this, but they all had average-sized dicks at best. It was something else watching one twice their size bouncing like this, taunting him so. Bruce wanted to feel that bigger dick in his paw, wanted to feel it throb and throb, and so he stroked that monster off as Ken rode him, as he tensed around Bruce's incredibly hard shaft... and it just felt so good... so fucking good... pleasure driving both slowly to the edge....

"Bruce..." Ken cried, "I'm gonna... God, Bruce, I'm gonna cum..."

Suddenly Ken tensed. Tensed some more, muscles tightening, powerful contractions sending jet after jet of warmth streaming onto Bruce's chest and face. Ken tossed his head back in ecstasy, his entire body shuddering from the feel of the dog inside him, how he pressed against his prostate, from his paw stroking all ten-plus inches of feline meat. Came so unbelievably hard.

Bruce growled through clenched teeth, thrusting in deep, moving his paws over to hold Ken down by the waist as he let loose his own hot seed in powerful waves. Howled, even, although more pleasurable groans interrupted this as he started thrusting once more, his dick throbbing and throbbing, unloading what felt like the entirety of his balls.

When their orgasms subsided, the two of them were a panting mess. Ken couldn't believe how much he had cum. The dog laughed, Ken's mess covering his abs and chest in heavy streaks. The butterfly on his nose and an eye he dared not open served as additional casualties.

"Fuck, that felt great..." Bruce said, still catching his breath.

All Ken could do was nod dumbly in agreement as he slid beside Bruce, panting heavily, feeling so spent and sleepy now... but also wonderful. After catching a breath, he scolded Bruce playfully for not having them do this sooner.

"Dude, I've been dropping major hints!" Bruce cried in his defense. But Bruce was serious. "I didn't want you to feel pressured into it, so I thought I'd give you the opportunity to initiate things..."

"Bruce, you have a heart of gold," Ken laughed. But then... there were several reasons why he'd been so hesitant, why he didn't just acquiesce and raise tail the first chance he got. What did this mean now that the deed was done? Ken had to know, so he asked a vague question to see how Bruce would reply: "What now?"

"What now?" Bruce said, incredulous. "I say we do this all weekend! But first, a shower..."

Admittedly, this answer summoned a surge of disappointment, but he didn't want to spoil the moment by pressing further.

Both ended up sneaking into the bathroom across the hall. Luckily, no pesky family members lurked about downstairs, and the two showered together undisturbed. Ken supposed this was a good sign. Enjoying a hot soak together as they scrubbed each other clean. Felt intimate in its own right, something he'd imagine Bruce would not have obliged if all he wanted was a one-night stand--not to mention the promise of more sex this weekend....

But... but...

"You look concerned," Bruce said as the shower pelted him from behind. "What's up?"

"I just... want to know what this means now. Between the two of us." Ken looked straight at Bruce's pecs, tracing circles in the fur.

"Well, Ken... what do _you_want?" Bruce cranked the water off, and the two of them stood in the shower, naked and dripping. It reminded Ken of the showers back at school, at their classmates, some of whom were Bruce's friends and teammates.

Ken glanced up, smiled so softly that it almost didn't register to Bruce. A warm feeling vibrated from the cat's chest... a susurration he could not silence even if he tried. It was a sound Ken hadn't made in so long, but out it came nonetheless--a ceaseless purring as he nuzzled into Bruce, into the wet fur that smelled so good right now.

He gave in. Told the dog what this cat really, really wanted.

* * *

Unfortunately, they weren't able to hold true to the promise of an extended weekend full of sex. Upon a reluctant return to his apartment, two fuming parents awaited like starving pit bulls getting tossed a single steak to share. Eighteen years old, and Ken was still grounded. Probably could've defied them anyway, but he didn't want his dad calling the police again and mucking up the week with family drama. Yes, a small part of Ken admitted that he probably deserved some form of timeout, but for once it actually sucked when they took his phone away and banned him from the community desktop, cutting off all contact with Bruce. He did manage a quick explanatory text, at least, when the phone's hiding spot went unguarded for a moment. The few texts in return kept him smiling for hours, much to the puzzlement of Ken's parents.

Back at school, however, the thought of English class had ravaged Ken's insides. What if it happened all over again? The cold shoulders. The smirks. The endless gossiping. The weird looks. But when he saw the big dog squeezed into his usual tiny desk with a happy grin, the caracal knew everything was okay. Bruce nearly took the desk with him when he stumbled to the door to serve as both greeter and seat escort. Guilt knotted Ken's stomach when Bruce went in for a kiss and only got a mouthful of cheek-fur, but Bruce never showed signs of disappointment, settling for a big hug instead. Promises of alone time after school sent Bruce's tail into a fit of elation.

Ken still got looks during class. Something was up. Why was a guy like Bruce getting all chummy with the quiet book nerd who always sat alone in the back? But... it was a good feeling, a good kind of gossip, and Ken didn't feel anxious so much as excited. And he couldn't help but smile proudly when Bruce handed in the printed book report with an extra wag to his tail, promising their teacher it was the best paper he'd ever written.

At gym class, they had to run the mile. Ken pulled himself back to a leisurely pace with Bruce, so his runtime suffered. The teacher pulled Ken aside to ask if something was wrong, and he simply explained his legs were sore... which was true. Ken winked at Bruce, who waited for him.

The rest of the class was spent lifting weights. Certain classmates noticed who Bruce was spending time with that day... and Ken couldn't help but turn red as Bruce piled on the weights to show off how much he could bench or press or lift. So much loud grunting. So many eyes watching.

Then came the one thing Ken dreaded: the showers. The towel around his waist nearly cut off his circulation as he stood in the far corner near Bruce. The beagle was naked without shame, enjoying the hot soak in all his glory, dangly bits and all. Ken felt his heart thump and thump. Couldn't bring himself to do it. Some of the guys noticed his presence. Waited to see the cat join a bunch of dogs in the showers for once. Even Bruce offered encouragement, but Ken simply shook his head, and soon the showers were squeaking off, as if disappointed themselves. Ears flat, Ken followed Bruce to the lockers at least to change--although he worried that he probably couldn't even do that.

"Looks like the small fry's finally joining us, boys," Duardo announced. This brought the attention of every other dog in the class. Eyes locked on Kenlo the friendly neighborhood caracal.

"You and nerd-boy are such close buddies now, it seems," Petey said. He was drying off, his average-sized dick wiggling about as he did so. "What changed?"

Ken wanted to hide in one of the stalls and ride out the storm. But Bruce put a thick paw on his shoulder, smiling down at him, a foot on the bench. Ken watched as water dripped down his hard body, off his dick, off his hefty balls. Both knew whose dick was bigger, whose balls were heftier.

"What changed?" Bruce said, so loud that everyone turned their heads. "Look at what 'nerd-boy' has been packing!" Without another moment's hesitation, Bruce tore Ken's towel off. Ken wanted to hide himself but remained resolute. Instead, he let the dogs' eyes home in on you-know-what.

"Dude, it's huge!" Petey spat, wide-eyed as if it were the first dick he'd ever seen. Then he tossed an accusing glare at Bruce, obviously putting the puzzle pieces together: "I _knew_it!"

Others came with their holy shits and damns and fucks and all other such utterances of impressed disbelief. At first what started at more than eight inches of flaccid caracal cock, the attention Ken received ensured that he would show his true size. And with every heartbeat, his dick grew longer, grew thicker, slowly began to point to the ceiling above. And as his dick grew, the other dogs in class kept hollering, amazed that a cat, of all people, put all of them to shame. Ken was surprised when a couple dogs high-fived each other, cheering Ken on. And it didn't help that his growing hardon revealed the giant pair of balls contained underneath, eliciting more canine cheers.

Ken kept his face secured in his paws, but Bruce was chuffed by all the juicy comments once that boner hit max capacity.

"Duuuuuude... you're gonna wreck some serious puss!"

"Damn, bro! That's one helluva jawbreaker!"

"Bigger than Bruce over there!"

"How does a nerd get big brains _and_balls?"

"And guess what, fellas?" Bruce announced through the ruckus, pulling Ken in tightly beside him, evoking curious looks and ear swivels. A mumbling quiet soon hung in the air as the entire class waited, bated breath and everything. "This cute nerd here and that humongous dick of his--both are all mine."

If Ken thought the commotion over his dick was bad, he couldn't believe the uproar now. But, through the din of dogs, Bruce smiled that warm smile, gazed at the cat with those green eyes, and, without apology, whispered in Ken's ear, "Cat's outta the bag now."

Ken smiled as they kissed, the dogs going wild now.

"Yes," he replied, still shy but unashamed. "It certainly is."