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It was 'Nice while it lasted.' The last thing Bojack said before going back to Super-Max that Sunday afternoon. Mr. Peanutbutter said he wanted to visit him, and was shy about it, when normally he wouldn't be. Bojack reluctantly agreed because no one else would've. But what he got was something better, because he became the lifeline to life outside of prison. His show 'Birthday Dad' was doing well. A few woes now and then with ratings and the changing social landscape, and he expressed relief and gratitude knowing that Bojack listened to him. And that he would pick him up in four months which, frankly, may seem a long time.

'I never thought time could go by so fast in prison.' Bojack thought. Not just the last four months after his weekend stint out there- no, the whole prison sentence. They said that prisons were a sort of punishment for crime but who knew it was to help people reflect on themselves, so they could become a better person.

He walked past the prison gate a better man. A clean slate as it were, both in present record and present wealth. He took a deep breath, and suddenly not as the air quality certainly did not get any better. He coughed and wiped his muzzle clean with the sleeves of the same jacket he went back in with. Things could only get better from here on out. Speaking of which, out of the corner of his eye he saw the same light blue sedan, and he gave it a genuine smile with a high wave.

The car parked beside the wall and out came Mr. Peanutbutter sporting the same black tuxedo with a blue tie decorated with lighter blue bones and tennis balls, light blue handkerchief, and the aviators too.

"There he is!' Mr. PB approached, waving back before patting the new horse's back. But in a turn that he didn't expect, Bojack hugged him.

"Uh oh," Mr. PB continued, "America's most huggable over here. Huh?" He hugged him too, and honestly was surprised to be on the same shoulder lengths as he was. The last time he had gotten this 'intimate' with him was five years ago as a host of HSAC!WDTK?DTKT?LFO!

"Thanks for picking me up, Mr. Peanutbutter," Bojack said. Relished in the fact he held a friend this close after getting out of jail. He would never waste his life wallowing like he did. Not anymore.

Once Mr. PB let go, he walked back still facing him, pointing and waving finger guns as he said, "The jury finds you guilty. Of being a super cool dude! Am I right?"

"Yeah," Bojack warmed up to the compliment but couldn't help but feel a sense of deja vu. "You're extremely clever."

Mr. Peanutbutter pointed at him in declaration, "I sentence you to life! Filled with my friendship!"

Bojack turned to him realizing, "Wait, isn't this how you greeted me that weekend with Princess Caroline and Judah's wedding? Or did I travel back in time?"

"Oh, it's a throwback Thursday!" He smiled, pointing his other finger gun at him.

"I thought that died out in 2019."

"It's a throwback to that throwback!" Mr. PB smiled, tongue lolling out, jubilant of that joke. The best part about it was witnessing what he never thought was possible: Bojack laughing. It wasn't the forced kind of 'ha-ha' or at the expense of someone else's misfortune.

"Good one."

They both got into the car and drove off. Los Angeles hadn't changed all too much since he'd gotten out. Yet, somehow, it seemed brighter and more colorful. The forest was greener, the ocean's bluer, Hollywoob was finally Hollywood again. An endeavor that took Mr. Peanutbutter a month to replace, he added.

Bojack scoffed at the thought that it had been Hollywoo for almost six years, because of their recklessness. But seeing it back to what it really was felt like absolution, and Mr. Peanutbutter saw that too.

Speaking of, Bojack listened to what had been happening with Mr. PB's ongoing show; renewed for two more seasons, merchandising, streaming deals, and even an action movie spin-off. Bojack thought about how that worked, given the show was supposed to be a family-friendly sitcom. But this is Hollywood they're talking about; anything is possible.

Mr. PB asked him the same question about prison life at a stoplight, and for a moment Bojack didn't have the courage to say. His right hand gripped the handle of the car, trying to balance himself as the world suddenly spun, and his left hand had been gripped by Mr Peanutbutter's, telling him that it was alright.

"You wanna know what I see? I see in you a changed man, or, well, horse." He smiled, raising those golden labrador ears as he did. "We've made mistakes, Bojack. I was the one who endorsed fracking. And it ended up fracking me in the ass."

Bojack chuckled again, a slight tinge of pink emphasized by gripping his hand too. Wanting to play with his joke earlier, "You know, you'd make for a great comedian. And we could have a..."

Crossover Episode

The cars around them honked because of how loud Mr. PB was barking and yelping in so much joy. Bojack said the thing again! It would be the happiest day of his life, and little did he know that it was about to get better.

As they drove down, Bojack queried if there was gonna be another wedding he had been invited to. But rest assured that he wasn't, the suit was there to seal in the throwback. The rest of the drive to Mr. PB's house was spent exchanging jokes of their supposed crossover. Maybe even a collab for an action movie.

While Mr.PB was enthusiastic about making it happen, Bojack would rather let the past remain in the past. He did remark, however, that it was fun speculating with him. He finally understood the whole whacky fun side of coming up with these dumb ideas. And given the free time he finally had, and when he could earn back a fortune, maybe he could do something with him. The only person who was...

"Hey, uh, Mr. Peanutbutter," Bojack stammered, still new to asking genuine questions. "Are we friends?" It was a head scratcher and he felt the heat of uncertainty wrap around his neck.

"Of course we are Bojack!" His reply was hifalutin at first but he mellowed down after. "We really are. I know we always don't see eye to eye, and sometimes I cut you off or assume something but you've always stuck around. Thank you." He said as they parked into his driveway.

Oh right, Bojack recalled; Mr. PB's old house was somewhere deep underground now. But he eased up too, smiling and reaching over to hug him who wanted to do it too, but they were both pulled back by their seatbelts. They unclasped them, and clasped in each other's arms. "Thanks for that," he whispered to him.

They both exited the car, the sun was already setting and the streetlights turned on. Mr. PB's house was a marvel for architectural efficiency, and technology. With his voice he turned on all the lights in the house. Literally every light fixture, so he shut it all off and only turned on the external lights.

With all their conversation and theories, Bojack remembered that he was still homeless. He panicked on the walkway that didn't take long for Mr. Peanutbutter to notice. As he rushed to him, he recalled the offer of being allowed to live with him forever, or, realistically, as long as he needed to. Until he got back on his feet that is. And another declaration echoed in the back of his mind; mimicking Mr. Peanutbutter's voice, 'I sentence you to life! Filled with my friendship!'

"Hey, hey, Bojack, what's wrong?" Mr. PB was about to hold the unsteady horse but held onto his shoulder when he regained footing.

Here goes nothing, he thought, "Can I still live at your place?" Bojack said weakly, "Until I could work enough jobs to move into my own place again?" Here? In Hollywood? Fat chance. He recalled the day his home had been sold off to some family, and that he couldn't afford a fancy hotel anymore. All he could think of was Mr. Peanutbutter's proposition, and how he didn't even hesitate to invite him in, prepare his breakfast the morning after. He felt ashamed of how he treated him the last five years but this could be a chance to repay all of that.

"I did say you can live with me forever, Bojack." Mr. Peanutbutter smiled, genuine in both expression and words. "Just no vacuums, fireworks, and especially no mailmen." He turned towards the street, growling at nothing. "Grrrr, mailmen." His fur stood up, and Bojack calmed them down.

"You serious?" Bojack was taken aback by the quick and simple yes. No grandiose requirements, and he wasn't one for loud surprise noises either.

"Yes, I despise mailmen. They are worse than the devil! Have you seen their mischievous grins, and their sinister vans?! I heard they steal puppies. And don't get me started on the newspaper men!" He barked aggressively.

Bojack patted his head to calm him down, "I meant the living forever part, Mr. Peanutbutter." And he kept patting him after.

"Of course, Bojack!' He raised his arms and hugged him around his chest this time, cheeks pressed against him.

Bojack felt his heart thump in a great way tonight. Not induced by drugs, by alcohol, nor by regret. There was no fear, no worry, and his hugging back did not end up with getting shoved at all. Closeness that he could feel in Mr. Peanutbutter's heart, thumping faster.

"This is nice," Mr. Peanutbutter sighed in relief.

"It really is," Bojack said. He missed out on how great a feeling this was.

When their moment lasted a minute, another, and five more after, they finally stepped back with redness on both their cheeks. Mr. Peanutbutter folded his arms looking away, while Bojack looked opposite while scratching the back of his head. They giggled together, then chuckled unsure of what just happened.

"Y'know," Bojack turned to him again. His face was hotter than ever, that no amount of hate-sex could induce such heat. "There's a moment that I wanted to throwback. Is that how you say it?"

"I think you just say: 'Here's a throwback'." He explained to him.

Alright, here goes nothing, "Well, here's a throwback, then." Bojack stepped forward with outstretched arms that only held Mr. Peanutbutter's sides when he clearly expected a hug. But he leaned forward, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips against his. This was not out of drunken stupor; there was no vodka, or gin, or bourbon involved here. Just mouthwash and the flowerbeds, and him.

Mr. Peanutbutter's eyes widened as his ears lifted so high he may as well have grown an inch taller. But he closed his peepers and held Bojack's cheeks with both hands. He had had three ex-wives but he would never have an ex-husband.

Bojack whinnied to his gentle paws caressing his muzzle, feeling a more intimate kiss than their show five years ago. It was tender, gentle, sincere, and felt like the beginning of something truly beautiful. He wasn't being dramatic about it, nor were there any disguised insults amidst the metaphors. He wasn't like that anymore; he appreciated this moment. He enjoyed his company, even if he had been too energetic at his age, but that's different now. Both of them mellowed, both of them became better. And he loved him.

That last sentence shocked him, stunning him as he stepped back with wide eyes. He smiled, red streaks still on his face. Mr. Peanutbutter was still there, looking at him with the same smile too. Even though it was dark, he could see how yellow his fur was, smooth and properly groomed, except for his rugged brown fur mixed in with it. Small strands of hair that was almost like a metaphor of what they just did.

"Y'know," Mr. Peanutbutter said, "I was gonna give you my couch but I suddenly remembered that your back's not all that great." He looked away bashfully, almost like he was inexperienced with the art of courting. "What if we shared the bed together instead?"

"Sure," Bojack answered hastily. He was excited in more ways than one but their stomachs grumbled, cutting the silence. "Maybe after some dinner first?"

"Okay!" He replied enthusiastically and dashed inside his home, voice-activating the lights. Within moments, he was already in the open kitchen cooking up a storm.

Bojack looked around, seeing that nothing's changed much. Everything here was modern, clean, automated, and much more endearing unlike last time. He sat at the kitchen counter that also doubled as a dining table, not to be mistaken with the actual dining table that was far from Mr. Peanutbutter. He watched him fixate on cooking something nice. But nice was an understatement. Whatever he's preparing smelled magnificent, lots of spices, and large portions befitting his horse self. Stuff being flambeed, something being baked, and he felt the good kind of guilty- wanting to help out and set up the table. He had asked Mr. PB where the dishes and glasses were, and set them up on the table-counter.

Mr. Peanutbutter enjoyed this newfound and much more enthusiastic company of new Bojack. They talked and prepped dinner as if they were spouses, and ate in front of each other like newly-weds. Feeding one another honey-glazed roast chicken with a side of baby carrots, joking that Bojack should eat it more because he was a horse.

And they end their meal with deconstructed banana split, or in literal terms: three pints of different ice cream flavors, a bottle of chocolate syrup, and a bunch of bananas at which they ate at their preference. But the bunch that Mr. Peanutbutter had bought were larger than usual, so he took it in nice and slow. Bojack played along and copied, though not as gracefully, his advances.

Clean-up was done in a dash, and the living room lights were soon off as the silhouettes of a dog and a horse went up the staircase. This place was all too familiar for Bojack but the memory of it doesn't twinge like it should've. Maybe it was him being a better man, or maybe it's the fact that his fingers are intertwined with Mr. Peanutbutter. Not to mention that, after a long day, they both reeked of sweat, cooking grease, and each other.

"How's about we take a shower together, eh, Bojack?" He blushed.

Bojack gave him a sly grin, "Trying to save up on water, Mr. Peanutbutter?"

"Of course, of course," he took his shirt off, revealing a very muscular build amidst the fluff. His shirts must've been large because they did well to hide his abs.

"Y'know, I've forgotten how muscular you are." Bojack reached in unprompted and rubbed them. Soft yet strong, and he could feel his muscles tense and flex to his touch. And he did so for another minute while Mr. Peanutbutter undid his pants.

"I've chased way too much mailmen even before I became a Hollywood superstar."

"Huh." Bojack let go and removed his own shirt, revealing a beer gut that did not impress him by his own standards. But Mr. Peanutbutter reached over and gave him the same treatment, rubbing around the curvatures that took him a few decades to make. "Huh?"

"Bojack Horseman, you should be on the cover of PlayMares." Mr. Peanutbutter remarked with peach-pink cheeks, hugging the dad-bod horse to him.

"That's a thing?" Bojack hugged him too, kissing the top of his head while fixating on those kinds of magazines.

"Oh yeah, definitely," Mr. Peanutbutter dashed into the closet real quick and returned with a rolled up magazine in his mouth, offering it to Bojack.

He took it and patted his head, unrolling to reveal the cover of PlayBitch magazine with a very skimpy Mr. Peanutbutter who wore only a collar while hiding his crotch with his thick forearms, which his eyes fixated on. "That's interesting, but I think I'm too old for PlayMares."

"Then that means I have you all to myself," he said so gingerly, circling his fingers around the horse's chest.

This was new territory for Bojack. All this gay stuff. It felt like something he'd know what to do but with him was different. He was wordless then, and all he could do now was match Mr. Peanutbutter's uniform; being in their undies. And they too were soon off. He got to see what the magazine cover didn't show, and he was above average and very much hard.

While Mr. Peanutbutter felt warmer, more flush than he ever did. Bojack being nude wasn't new but here, with him, was strange. It aroused him so much in a way that felt like it was the first time seeing him in the buff. And it went without saying that he truly was hung as a horse. They stared at each other's dicks, and then into each other's eyes. What would normally constitute a catchphrase from either of them was the lack of it. They kissed and that's all they did. They kissed as they stepped into the bathtub, as they showered, and hugged as they rubbed each other's bodies with sudsy hands, and each other's shafts soon after.

This was textbook intimacy that Hollywood tends to over dramatize. There were no candles here, no sponsored brands, and no absurd messaging pushed in order to be Oscar-bait. None of that. All it was here was love in its purest, and horniest form. And after drying themselves, they were soon on the bed. Curtains were drawn in, the lights were dim, but they still saw each other in more ways than one. Hand to hand, body to body, and dicks frotting with each other.

Bojack scoffed though, easing the moment saying, "I prefer this side of the bed, by the way."

"And I appreciate the advice you gave me that night, Bojack."

"Don't you mean, Mister Coin-sorter?"

"Classic Mister Coin-sorter." He let himself closer to him in another hug, and they both felt each other's hearts trying to outpace the other. Not in the unhealthy mid-life crisis way, but as two lovers who finally found each other after all this time. "I'm glad I came to you, I really don't have anyone else to realistically turn to. Everyone's moved on."

"You could say that again," Bojack cuddled in with him. The feeling's mutual far more than he realized. But here and now? It's safe to say they too have moved on. Together. "Hey, Mr. Peanutbutter?" He said with uncertainty.

"Yes, Bojack?" Mr. PB nodded the horse's head down so he could trace the diamond on the bridge of his nose. Corny as he thought; Bojack was a diamond in the rough. And he circled it several times before pausing, "Sorry."

It's okay, Bojack thought. He enjoyed it. He wanted more of it. He wanted more of him. "I love you, Mister Peanutbutter."

And for the first time, Mister Peanutbutter didn't have a knee-jerk reaction to one of the best things he's ever heard. Rather he exuded calm, though his heart was as fast as a hummingbird's at flight. He reached over and held his cheek, saying, "I love you too, Bojack."

No words followed after, their lips content with pressing against each other. Hands grabbing all over, feeling their newly-realized partner. The worry for their friends, or the paparazzi finding out, or any of the bloggers was out of their heads for tonight, and the next, and the next. It was just them, kissing, pressing into each other's bodies, and their lengths throbbing into each other.

Bojack took the lead and had Mr. Peanutbutter straddled over his hips, the latter smearing his rear with apricot-scented lube. Once he was inside, they held hands and gazed into each other's eyes as the golden retriever slid up and down. Their gruffs and neighs didn't escape the room, and they both found the scent of male-to-male love to be more endearing than they feared. Musky, salty, and raw passion that invigorated the horse to press the dog down and really show his love for him. He loved listening to him howl and pant, kissing in between as he picked up the pace.

Mr. Peanutbutter felt his full length, and the prowess of Bojack's thighs slapping against his rear. They were drenched in sweat, and were in dire need of another shower but not yet. They kept rutting on and on, until he felt Bojack's seed fill him to the brim that it seeped out of him as they kissed.

"I love you," Bojack said again, hugging his golden retriever, and the white mess that he was covered in.

And Mr. Peanutbutter hugged his stallion, "I love you too, Bojack."

"What's it like being on the receiving end?" The horse wondered, but toned it in an inviting manner. He nuzzled his neck just to seal the deal.

"Great! But you gotta give me a few minutes, my butt is still sore." He patted his back playfully, and he traced the diamond again.

"Do you want me to pull o-"

"No, please, stay." He gripped his shoulders through the under-arm embrace.

"Heh, aren't you the dog?"

"I'll Google horse terms later. I just want to cuddle naked with my boyfriend for now."

Bojack startled at that, because they were that. Never thought he'd hear it, let alone associate it with himself. But this was nice. He was nice. And it will last.

****