FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hank expected many things when he woke up in the morning. A pot of freshly brewed hot coffee, bacon and eggs for breakfast, his just delivered newspaper waiting to be read. All perfectly normal things. What he did not expect to see, however, was his husband in the backyard pissing against a tree.

Hank's jaw dropped when he saw the familiar Yorkshire Terrier up against a tree and, without thinking, shouted, "Darryl. what the hell are you doing?!"

Looking over his shoulder with a smile, Darryl said, "Oh, morning, hun. Did you sleep well?"

"I...what?" Was all the Rottweiler was able to splutter out, not sure how to act at his spouse's nonchalant reaction.

Darryl put himself away and zipped up before walking over to Hank, a wide smile on his face as if his junk just hadn't been free as anything only a moment ago. He stopped in front of him, his smile turning into a frown and, with a tilt of his head, asked , "Are you okay? You look funny. You're not ill, are you?"

"Am I ill? I should ask you the same goddamn thing! You were pissing on a tree!" Hank shouted.

"Oh, that," was all Darryl said as he gave a half-hearted shrug and scratched his chin.

"Yes, that. We live next door to mynah birds, Darryl. What if they'd been flying overhead and seen your junk hanging out? They have kids, Darryl. Kids! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, hun," Darryl said. "It's just I thought that would be a good way to start."

"To start what? Your path to getting arrested?"

"No, my path to becoming a wolf," Darryl said with an eye roll, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I...don't follow." To say Hank was confused would be an understatement.

"Well, I was watching a documentary about our wolf ancestors the other day and it made me realise how far we've come since then. They slept outside, used their claws and fangs because they didn't have the intelligence to make weapons, they ate raw meat because they hadn't discovered fire yet-oh! That reminds me."

Darryl walked past him and into the house. Concerned over what he had planned next, Hank followed.

They walked into the kitchen where Darryl proceeded to open the fridge and take out a pack of chicken legs. He opened the pack, grabbed one of the legs, and brought it up to his open mouth. Seeing what the other dog was about to do, Hank quickly grabbed his wrist and barked, "The hell do you think you're doing now?"

"Having breakfast?"

"Raw chicken for breakfast? Are you insane?"

Darryl's eyes widened as if coming to a realisation and, for a moment, Hank thought he'd realised what he was doing was wrong on so many levels. But, instead of apologising for trying to get salmonella, Darryl said, "You're right. Chicken is for dinner. I should be eating bacon. Do we have any?"

Hank knew very well that they did, in fact, have bacon. He wasn't about to tell Darryl that, though.

"How about I make you some French toast? I'll add cinnamon just the way you like it," Hank said as he placed a hand on each one of Darryl's shoulders and gently steered him towards the dinning table.

"But wolves didn't have cinnamon," Darry mumbled weakly, the pull of his favourite breakfast too much to turn down, but still feeling as though he should retaliate at least a little.

While Darryl sat down at the table, Hank went to work making breakfast. He knew the whole acting like a wolf thing was just a phase and that he'd hopefully be over it in a couple of days. As harsh as it probably was to think about his husband, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his days with, the truth of the matter was that Darryl was very easily influenced. Just last month he'd watched a cooking show and suddenly he was trying to be the next Gordon Ramsay. Him wanting to help more in the kitchen wouldn't have been a bad thing, except, he barely knew how to boil water without almost setting the stove on fire. There was a reason Hank handled most of the cooking and general housework. Then, before that, he'd tried picking up painting after watching some how to videos online. They both soon learned how much of a pain blue paint was to get out of fur. Hank still had no idea how he'd managed to get paint on his back and tail and Hank ended up looking like a furry blueberry for days.

Despite rarely ever sticking with what he tried, Hank still did his best to be supportive of his hubby's hobbies. After all, watching the little Yorkie's tail wag whenever he found something new was possibly one of the most adorable things Hank ever saq. Although, while burning food and messing paint was one thing, eating raw meat and taking his dick out in the backyard was another. Hank had to draw the line somewhere.

When he finished making their breakfast, he set down two plates of steaming hot French toast with syrup and cinnamon and knives and forks before sitting across from Darryl. Hank had barely picked up his utensils when Darryl had decided it was a good idea to go wolf mode again and grab as his food with his teeth, completely ignoring the cutlery he'd been given.

"Babe, what're you doing?" Hank asked, wondering if he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

Darryl dropped his toast and, with a muzzle now sticky with syrup, cinnamon and sugar, said, with the most 'itsn't it obvious what I'm doing' tone, said, "Well, you can't expect me to use those, can you?" He motioned towards the knife and fork. "Wolves didn't have that in the wild. They didn't even have opposable thumbs. They had to grab their food with their mouths and shake it to rip it apart."

"Darryl, if you think about shaking that toast then you're the one who's gonna clean the syrup off the walls, not me."

Darryl's ears flattened against his head. "Okay, I won't shake it but I've not using a knife and fork either," he said as he picked it up with his hands.

"Fine, just make sure you clean up properly afterwards." Hank took a bite of his food and, though a mouthful of sweet, eggy bread, he asked, "So, what's this whole thing with acting like a wolf about, anyway?"

"I watched this documentary on evolution and that talked about how we all came from wolves that walked around on all fours, not like the wolves we have today that walk on two legs like us, and it got me thinking."

Oh no. Darryl thinking was never good. Still, he wanted to hear him out so he motioned with his fork for him to go on.

"We don't live like those wolves anymore. We've lost that ferocity and connection with nature that out forefathers had and that's just not right."

"So, you decided to piss against a tree and almost rip your breakfast to shreds?"

"I mean, that's only part of it." Darryl scratched his chin again as he thought for a moment before saying, "Hey, where's out camping gear?"

"You mean the tent and sleeping bags you absolutely had to have because your cousin mentioned going camping once? The tent that, in the three years we had it, was never used even once?"

"Yes, that's the one," Darryl said with a big grin and a wagging tail, not picking up on the absolute tiredness in Hank's voice.

"I sold it on Gumtree."

Darryl's jaw dropped. "You sold it? Why? We were going to go camping."

"No, we weren't," Hank said with a sigh. "I got rid of it a year ago and you never even noticed."

Darryl's ears drooped. "I was going to sleep outside tonight under the stars just like real wolves used to."

Darryl seemed genuinely disappointed that he wouldn't be able to sleep in the garden. Being the weak dog he was when it came to the Yorkie, Hank cursed himself mentally as he said, "I'll get us some blankets and pillows and we can use that, all right?"

Darryl immediately perked back up. "You're going to sleep outside with me?"

"Like hell I'd let you lose out there at night on your own. I wouldn't put it past you getting lost in our own backyard."

The Yorkie leapt out of his seat and ran around the table to give Hank a big hug. "This is going to be so much fun. Oh! We should start a bonfire and roast marshmallows."

"We are not creating an open flame in our garden."

"You're right. Wolves didn't roast marshmallows. What was I thinking?"

"No, that's not what I meant-" But before he could say anymore, Darryl had already let him go and was running out the room, food forgotten, no doubt to cause more chaos somewhere else.

Hank continued to eat his breakfast, all the while keeping his ears open for any sounds of Darryl breaking something. They both had the day off, a day that Hank had hoped would be spent going to the movies or a nice walk in the park but, sadly, that idea looked as though to be thrown out the window enitely. Especially when he saw Darryl run by on all fours out the corner of his eye. With a heavy sigh, he continued to eat his breakfast.

The rest of the day was an interesting one to say the least. Darryl continued to run around on all fours and even began howling at one point which Hank quickly put a stop to. After all, having to explain to the annoyed neighbours why his spouse was howling like a wolf was not something he had on his to-do list for that day. On the upside, at least he managed to convince him to use the actual bathroom instead of the yard. Sure, he complained how that wasn't 'wolf enough' but threats of no more French toast put him in his place.

Hank still had no idea why he was doing any of this. He'd tried to ask a few more times but only got the same answer of how he watched that damn documentary and that he wanted to connect with their wolf ancestors. Why did he want to do this, though? Hell if Hank knew. Figuring out he wasn't about to get a coherent answer any time soon, he decided to just roll with it. Besides, he knew Darryl well enough that in a couple of days he'd get bored of his latest hobby and go back to the status quo. While he loved the other dog to death, even Hank had to admit that he was a little on the flaky side when it came to keeping his commitments. Something for which he was actually thankful for in the current situation.

When dinner rolled around, Hank made an amazing beef stew. A stew that Darryl proceeded to refuse to eat with a spoon and instead lapped at it like, well, a wolf Hank guessed. At least he'd stopped the howling by then.

A few hours later and the two headed outside. Hank wasn't too keen on sleeping in the dirt but he'd promised Darryl. So, the two grabbed a duvet, some pillows, a wool blanket, and made their way outside.

Even though they'd already had dinner, Hank decided to make an event of the thing so packed a picnic basket with some sandwiches, a milk tart, and grabbed a six pack of beer out of the fridge. Maybe being a little tipsy would help him get through the night.

They placed down the duvet and sat down, putting the pillows and folded blanket off to the side to use if they got cold. But it was warm so Hank doubted they'd need it. Once settled, Hank opened up the picnic basket and took out two small plates, handing one to Darryl and placing the other on his own lap.

Rummaging through the basket again, he said, "Okay, I've got two kinds of sandwich. You want egg or the ham with hot mustard?"

Both were favourites of the Yorkie who began wagging his little tail as he help out his plate. "One of each, please!"

Hank picked up one of either sandwich, cut into triangles with a crusts removed, and placed them on Darryl's plate. Hank wasn't that hungry so, instead, he picked up a can of beer, popped off the cap, and took a large drink. The cool beverage was a welcome break from the warm night air.

Darryl picked up his egg sandwich, tail wagging happily as he quickly devoured it in two bites before making quick work of the other one. Licking his lips, he held out his plate and said, "Milk tart, please."

The dessert had already been cut into pieces and, knowing how much he loved it, Hank handed him two slices. Darryl had made the milk tart himself and couldn't help the way his chest welled up with pride as Hank practically inhaled the first piece. Hank had always loved his cooking, his desserts in particular, and he smiled as the smaller dog's cheeks puffed up, full to the brim with the cold treat.

Darryl smiled at the scene, suddenly reminded of something similar from many years ago. "Hey, you remember when we first started dating and we went on a picnic at the park?"

Hank swallowed his mouthful and said, "I remember that. We both lived in that really sketch neighbourhood back then. I remember the jungle gym at the park was falling about and covered in so much rust. I really hope no kids ever used the thing or they'd catch all the diseases."

Noticing his plate was empty, Hank placed another slice of tart on it without having to be asked, knowing how much the other could put away. "But it was still nice, wasn't it?" he asked as he took another drink from his can.

"Definitely. You made this amazing apple pie and that's when I knew I was going to marry you."

"It was the pie, huh? Not my dashing good looks or quick wit?"

"Nah, it was definitely the pie."

Hank threw his head back and roared with laughter. "You little shit. At least pretend you like me for something other than my baking."

Darryl gave a nonchalant shrug but couldn't hide the smile that was now playing on his lips. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I was always told never to lie." Looking away and with a blush he added, "I was actually really surprised you were so good in the kitchen."

"Because I didn't look like the baker type?"

Being a tall Rottweiler that was just made of muscle, many were often surprised when Hank rolled up to a birthday party with a delicious cake delicately decorated with thin piping and hand-made icing flowers. His love of the kitchen was something that had been passed down to him from his grandmother, a woman who believed everyone, regardless of gender, should know how to cook, clean, and sew.

"Now, Hank," she'd said one day, "you need to learn how to take care of yourself. Your mother and I aren't going to be around to take care of you forever and what if the woman you marry ends up being a terrible domestic who can't cook for beans or even mend a torn shirt? Now, pass me that bowl, I'm going to show you how to make my world famous milk tart."

While wrong about the gender, his grandmother foreseeing him marrying something who was crap at housework was spot on. Darryl burnt everything he cooked, always missed spots when cleaning, and the one time he tried to sew a button back onto one of his shirts had ended with a trip to the emergency room.

"Why're you bringing this up, anyway?" Hank asked.

"I guess I was just thinking about how looks can be deceiving," he answered, picking at his slice of milk tart with his fork.

It was then Hank realised he was eating his food normally, with a utensil and his hands, and not picking it up with his mouth or attempting to shake it. Maybe he was already over the wolf thing? He was about to ask him about it when his spouse, without warning, threw his head back and howled.

"Oh, come on, the moon isn't even full!" Hank said as he pointed to the crescent in the sky.

Darryl rolled his eyes. "Howling at the moon is just an incorrect stereotype. Besides, I was howling this morning when there wasn't any moon."

"And it was annoying back then, too. Do you want our neighbours to hate us? The Johnsons are still pissed at us from that time you wanted to try the drums...and they live down the goddamn street!" Darryl winced at Hank's yelling and the Rottweiler immediately felt guilty. Relaxing his body and, with a sigh, he added, "Just don't howl, okay? I love you but I also don't want us to get our arses kicked because you woke the people next door up."

Darryl gave an awkward chuckle. "I mean, it's not like a big, strong guy like you couldn't defend us."

"I mean, you're not wrong there. I am pretty swol," he said with a wink.

Darryl let out a more genuine laugh and said, "Swol? Who even says that?"

"Me. I say that."

The two laughed and continued on with their night time picnic, all previous tension forgotten. Darryl ate most of the food while Hank had taken over the beer. While hardly being a lightweight thanks to his immense size, being on his fourth beer still seemed to be the right amount for him to get the courage to finally ask, "So, what's the real deal with the whole wolf thing, anyway? And don't say it's because you want to connect with our ancestors. I know there's more to it than that."

Darryl froze just as he was about to take a bite out of a ham sandwich. He sighed as he put it back down onto his plate. For the second time that night Darryl was having difficulty looking his partner in the eye and Hank was growing concerned.

Then, with a sigh, Darryl said, "I'm small."

"What?" was all Hank could say, eyebrow raised.

Being a Yorkie, Darryl was naturally pretty short. And, despite eating like a dog twice even Hank's size, always somehow remained thin. Hank was able to pick up and carry his spouse around no problem, an action Darryl had always loved. Yet, for some reason, the mention of being tinier than him seemed to bring the other man pain.

"Babe? What is it?" Hank put his beer down and moved closer to Darryl in order to wrap an arm around his shoulder. "Did I say something wrong?"

Darryl shook his head. "No, it's not you. It's me. I'm wrong," Darryl said, motioning to his entire body.

"I'm sorry, I still don't follow."

"Remember last month when you brought your gym buddies over?"

Hank didn't know where he was going with the sudden change in topic but nodded anyway.

Seeing as Hank went to the gym four times a week, it only made sense that he'd make friends there. Two of them were a pair of brothers, Greg and Danny, that Hank had made quick friends with. Scratching the back of his head, Hank said, "I remember. What happened? Did they say something?"

The brothers were straight but seemed entirely okay with Hank not being and spending an evening having dinner with him and his husband. But what if he was wrong? He had left the three alone at one point to go to the bathroom. What if the brothers had said something to Darryl? Hank could feel the hair on his arms begin to stand up at the thought.

"It's nothing like that. Greg and Danny were really nice. It's just..." Darryl bit his lip.

Hank reached out a hand to cup his spouse's cheek and gently turned his head to face him again. "Tell me, babe. What happened?"

"It's just that you're a Rottweiler and they were Pit bulls. You're all tall dogs with muscles and stuff. And me? I'm half the size of all of you. I'm short and built like a stick. Any of you could pick me up and toss me like it's nothing. Hell, you've picked me up and chucked me into the pool a bunch of times."

Hank let go of his face and couldn't help but laugh as he said, "What? That's it? You're upset because you're small?"

"It's not funny!" Darryl suddenly yelled, causing Hank to jump. Much to his surprise, Darryl was genuinely upset, tears swelling at the corner of his eyes.

Tilting his head to the side like a confused pup, Darryl asked, "What's going on, babe?"

"Why should I tell you anything? So that you can laugh at me again?"

Hank winced. This was turning out to be worse than he thought, so, swallowing his pride he said, "I'm sorry, Hank. Truly, I am. I didn't mean to make you feel worse, so, tell me what's going on and maybe I can help."

Not looking at Hank again, Darryl awkwardly rubbed his arm as he said, "Yorkies are naturally small but even in my own family I was the smallest. Even my younger sister is bigger than me. In school, the bigger breeds picked on me all time because of it."

Hank's eyes went wide. "You were bullied? You never told me that."

"You want me to tell you that I used to be tripped in the hallway or how I'd get my lunch stolen because I was too tiny to fight back? It wasn't exactly something I was proud of sharing."

Hank felt a growl prickle the back of his throat. How dare someone hurt his Darryl? Good thing he didn't know where they lived or those pieces of shits would-

"Thank you."

Hank was snapped out of his rage induced daze as he stuttered out a, "Huh?"

Now Darryl was looking right at him and, with a small smile, said, "You were growling. It's kind of nice knowing someone would get mad for me like that."

"Of course I'd be pissed! You're the most amazing guy there is. I love you, Darryl, and if I could, I'd find those bastards that picked on you and beat the shit outta them."

Darryl giggled as he leaned against Hank, resting his head on his shoulder. "Does it make me a bad person that you threatening to beat someone up makes me really happy?"

"If you wanting it makes you bad then me actually doing it means I'm the worst," Hank said before placing a soft kiss atop Darryl's head.

The two sat there in silence, the warm night breeze ruffling their fur. Hank was still a little confused as to what acting like a wolf had anything to do with being small and picked on in his younger days. He wanted to ask but was scared of ruining the nice moment they were in. Turns out he didn't need to say anything as, after a minute or so, Hank said, "I wanted to be big and strong like the wolves I saw on that documentary."

"Oh?" Hank said in a way inviting him to continue.

"Yeah. I've always been tiny, surrounded by those bigger than me, and when I saw that video, well, wolves are big and strong, right? Fierce, too. They don't take crap or run from anybody."

"I doubt that's true. Didn't feral wolves have to go up against bears? Pretty sure they ran from that. I also knew a wolf in school who was terrified of bugs."

"Hank," Darryl whined at him.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. Continue."

"I just thought if I acted more like a wolf then maybe I, well, I'd get more respect, you know?"

Hank gave his partner a squeeze and buried his muzzle into the soft fur of his cheek. "You silly dog,. There's no one out there I respect more than you."

"Even though I'm small and not a big, tough guy like you? Hank, I work as a cosmetologist. That's, like, one of the girliest jobs out there."

"What's this shit about trashing your job now?" Hank said as he pulled away, looking at Darryl with a raised brow.

"It just adds to the fact that I'm not tough. Come on, you own a hardware store. Tools and building and stuff is one of the manliest things out there."

"I also love to bake, know how to sew, and clean. All that is pretty 'girly' but you sure as hell can't do any of it."

"That stuff's not the same," Darryl mumbled. "That's all something at least one of us in the relationship should know how to do, right? Especially the cooking and cleaning part."

"Yeah, and the one doing it isn't you. It's the big, manly one." Hank put a hand on each side of Darryl's face. "Trying to be the tough, big guy just because others tell you that you should be is a load of bullshit. Hell, I like doing domestic shit and I won't tolerate anyone telling me that I shouldn't. Do what makes you happy and don't you dare take any crap from those that tell you that you shouldn't."

"Logically I know what you're saying is true but..."

"There's still that little voice in the back of your head telling you otherwise?"

"Yeah..."

Hank didn't know what else to say. He felt as though he'd failed as a husband. After all, shouldn't a spouse know when their partner feels like this? He'd been carrying all these insecurities around for years and he'd had no idea. It took Darryl howling at nothing for him to realise anything was wrong which, to be fair, was a fairly good indicator.

"I am so sorry, Darryl," he found himself saying. "I'll do whatever I can to prove to you that you're perfect just the way you are. Our wolf ancestors will be so jealous. Hell, I bet they already are. I mean, no one is more awesome than you, after all."

Darryl blushed. "Shut up," he said but his heart clearly wasn't in it.

Hank grinned. "Not until you realise your worth."

He kissed Darryl on the nose, the smaller dog giggling as he did so. "Okay, I'll stop trying to reconnect with our wild roots if it'll make you happy."

"Oh, it will. Now..."

He removed his arms from his cheeks to wrap around his shoulders and pulled him down onto the blanket with him. Now lying on Hank's broad chest, Darryl squeaked, "Hey, what's the big deal!"

"I wanted you to look at that," Hank said, pointing to the sky.

Despite only being a crescent, the moon was still amazing, its beautfy only amplified by the glowing stars around it.

"I guess being able to see that beautiful view is one thing we have in common with feral wolves," Hank said with a smile. "I know an even prettier sight that they never saw, though."

"What's that?" Darryl asked before he was surprised by Hank's lips on his own.

"Take a wild guess," Hank said as he pulled away.

"You're such a goof."

"But I'm your goof and you're mine and don't ever forgot that." Hank looked back towards the sky and added, "You know, this isn't so bad. The howling sucked but maybe sleeping outside under the stars every now and again wouldn't be so bad."

"Will you make another awesome milk tart next time?" Darryl asked.

"Oh course. It would be a crime not to."

"Then I think sleeping under the stars is a great idea."

The two laughed and Hank gave the other a loving squeeze. They would talk more about Darryl's insecurities tomorrow but for now? Now they would just spend the night looking at the beauty of the stars without a care in the world.