FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

A casualty of fine art and sex appeal lay in wait for its perpetrator to return to the scene of the crime. Crimson red lay staining the white sheets inferior to it, smeared like cirrus clouds across the cloth, joined by the blood split of prior negligence. Sunlit, a lifeless but tranquil face - spared the fate of the body and its surroundings - gazed glassy-eyed at a vaulted ceiling where the rays of the sun, broken by the blinds obscuring the window played.

In the adjacent room, the same rays fought their way through sheer drapes, illuminating the domicile and awakening a white wolf, all but his black underwear seeming to glow in the light. Emerald eyes opened blurrily to the world in front of them; a plain, putty-grey walled room decorated in sharp contrast to the loft outside.

Padding sleepily out of the bedroom, black, designer briefs bulged considerably by the last remaining erection of REM sleep, the wolf made his daily pilgrimage to the coffee pot and filled it with water. Had he been any more awake, he might have remembered that he'd been fresh out of coffee, necessitating his trip to the café yesterday.

The coffee shop! Trevor!

Sean wheeled about on his heel, walking briskly past the edge of the kitchen counter only to be faced with a visage that made his stomach turn. Sigh. Last night's events came rushing back to him as he gazed dolefully upon the spectacle at his bare feet. Careful so as not to get any of the still-wet oil paint on his feet, he bent down and picked up the dashed canvas, looking at it for a moment before tossing it unceremoniously to the side and staring down at what remained of his easel.

In a lifetime wrought with relationships of here today, gone tomorrow, and few friends to speak of, that contraption of oak and brass had been the constant. Apartment leases had come and gone, furniture had been bought and sold, but wherever the wolf had gone, that easel had been his constant companion. Freud might have had a field day with Sean and his apparent objectophilia, but it was far from sexual. In his mind, by supporting his paintings, it had supported him as well.

And what of the canvas? With broken stretcher bars, the ruling had been grim. While it would be easy enough for the experienced artist to simply stretch the canvas onto a new frame, it was more trouble than it was worth. It would probably be easier to simply paint a new one, he mused. Sean's memory of the raccoon was good enough that he might be able to recreate the scene in his mind, but it invariably fast-forwarded to the point at which he was getting a blowjob.

Shaking his head, Sean left the scene after standing up what was left of the easel against the wall. A cool bedroom greeted him as he walked in, kept so by adamancy about calibrating the perfect ambient temperature combined with just the right amount of air flow from one of two fans. He could be very particular in his ways, but living alone made that all too easy.

That and walking around the place with your morning wood fighting for air.

He usually conceded to it, be it in the shower or before getting out of bed, though he couldn't help but stare in befuddlement at his current condition. Given the fact that his orgasm last night had been the first one in over a year that hadn't been self-induced, Sean would have assumed his ravenous libido would have calmed down some. No, quite the opposite was happening. Frankly, he'd plain forgotten just how damn good getting blown felt.

Water hissed nearby, and steam bellowed forth from the opening at the top of the frosted glass door, frosting the mirror on its way past. The wolf grabbed his tight-fitting, designer-label briefs and tugged them down, the black cotton hanging onto his massive erection for a second before reluctantly letting go of it.

Sean's dick swung like a club in front of him on his way to the shower, its owner being careful so as not to hit it with the door when it was opened. That's a mistake you'll only make once. Once inside, the wolf allowed his fur to become saturated with the hot water, a task that usually allowed enough time for him to masturbate.

Wrapping his hand around the midsection of his length, he began to stroke it while hot water permeated his hair and ran down the length of his muzzle, dripping off the end of his nose. Long, slow strokes got him going, running his grip from the base to the crown of the head until it was fully hard. With peak hardness achieved, he picked up the pace a bit and proceeded to let his imagination run wild with obscene fantasy.

The things he thought of while pawing off were boundless. Today, it was being in the club, kicked back in a lounge seat with a good, stiff drink and a good, stiff dick, a lithe, girly, cross dressed stripper boy grinding a tight little butt up against it. Maybe a cheetah or ocelot. Maybe a cute little vixboi. Short skirt, oh yeah. Pleated, too. Thong. Tight shirt. Pigtails. Braided ones! With ribbons! Yeah, that was a nice touch.

Sean planted his hand firmly against the tile wall, hot water running down his back, his hand shuttling the length of his erection, now ready to blow at any second.

Yeah, just like that. Slide a hand up that thigh. Hope you're not ticklish. Stop at the hem on that miniskirt. Not much further to go from there, anyway. Here's a nice little tip for you sweetheart, mind if I cop a feel? No? Awesome. Lift up that skirt; show me some...

What fun it would be to pick up a hot, saucy girly boy at the club and bring him home for a good time. He wouldn't know what to do with himself. On the other hand, he knew exactly what he'd do to the recipient. Stuff that wolf meat so far up his ass he could taste it. Pull that thong to the side; tease his cock a little bit. Fuck his brains out. Blow a week's pent-up load all over his face. Maybe even suck him off, if he was feeling frisky enough for it. Sean was a top, there was no doubt about it, but there was just something about the feeling of having another guy's cock in his mouth that he liked.

Maybe it was just the gay in him.

Sean was the type who kept it going all the way through his climax. It was almost as if it boosted his ejaculate, this time, to the point that he heard it hit the wall in front of him. Little personal victory for the day.

Shampoo, rinse. Wash, rinse. Dry. Routine came to a close and satisfyingly dry, Sean threw on a fresh pair of underwear, and had he not come to the post-orgasm realization that he was still out of coffee, it would have stopped there. Instead, his dressing continued, finding him in a tight, black, v-neck tee and dark blue jeans. Cowboy boots and a well-worn leather jacket completed the ensemble and on his way out, he sneered at last night's mess. It could wait.

***

Would the grocery store be as pleasantly surprising as the art supply store was yesterday? Specifically, in the sense of a lack of people? Fat chance. If toy stores weren't packed with parents upholding the tradition of Santa Claus, the grocery store was inundated with people gathering the necessary supplies for their Christmas dinners.

Why couldn't grocery stores have a special express lane for people who wanted to go in, grab one thing, and get out? Not one of those '20 items or fewer' jokes. A lane for ONE item. One.

Sean found it funny when he caught ladies in any venue checking him out, be it the club, the grocery store, the coffee shop or anywhere else. Winks. Smiles. Furtive glances from some of the shyer ones. And the numbers, dear God, the numbers he got, and without even asking!

He'd amassed such a collection of girls' cell phone numbers that he could probably list pi to a thousand places with them all.

There it was. Dark roast. He could taste it already. Forgoing his idea of a one-item express lane, the wolf grabbed two packages of the stuff. Nothing wrong with a little extra investment in one's caffeine intake. With his booty in hand, Sean booked it for the checkout line, but it would be a classic case of hurry-up-and-wait. Every one of the lines in the smallish grocery store had at least three or four people lined up, all with carts full to the brim. Even in the express lanes.

Hey, that guy has eleven items!

Sean waited patiently in line between an elderly lady and a Mom with two kids begging her to buy them candy. What's your strategy, lady? Oh, ignore them? Yeah, hope that works out well for you. Really.

Rolling his green eyes, the wolf tore them from the blithering spew filling the magazine rack and looked over to his right, then immediately back to his left. Oh look, blithering spew! So-and-so's pregnant, what's-his-face's in rehab, and Trevor is standing right over there in the other line.

His face burned. Palms began to sweat. Awkward mornings-after were bad enough, but in a grocery store? Maybe it would be better in public than in private. At least there, both parties were forced to show a little decorum. Then again, it wasn't as though they'd ended on a bad note or anything, quite the opposite in fact.

Sean just didn't want to be confronted with questions about the recently ruined painting. He was a horrible liar.

Next to him, the line shuffled forward. So did Trevor. Sean blew out a breath. The raccoon cleared his throat. Kids screamed for candy. Sean sighed. The register beeped. Mom gave in. The old lady pulled out her checkbook. Get a debit card lady, seriously; it's 2013. Trevor began unloading items from his basket onto the conveyor belt. Sean snuck another look while he was occupied.

Oh. Never mind.

Is it racist to think that they all look the same when they really do?

A swipe of a credit card made the coffee his, and with his newly acquired treasure in hand, the wolf headed back out into the fray, resisting the urge to punch the bell-ringing Santa outside.

Silver bells. Jingle bells. Red noses and antlers on cars everywhere. Sean often wondered if those of cervine descent found that offensive. Not that he cared, his rarely-used car was invariably devoid of any and all seasonal decorations, save for a drunk driver inside of it on St. Patrick's Day.

***

A steaming mug of strong, black coffee laced with a little bit of Irish cream gave the wolf all the drive he needed to get his to-do list checked off in full. In painter's clothes, the wolf used his knife to cut the cable ties holding the cardboard box closed. Laying it open, a smell he'd not had the pleasure of in years struck him.

New easel. It was kind of like new car smell, but woodier.

Brown paper stained with the preservatives used to treat the wood wrapped the sticks that soon would be his new means of artistic support. Pulling that away and tossing it aside, he stared at the beautifully stained wood and brass hardware, a stark contrast to what he had once used, which was now in the closet. As for the painting, following visual documentation and further destruction, it had been thrown gracefully into the dumpster outside.

Sean wondered if they made them like they used to. Were they like the new cars that fell to pieces after 50,000 miles, or more like the old workhorse pickups that would outlive a fast food hamburger? Only time would tell.

A few sets of nuts and bolts and a handful of swear words later; his easel was no longer an eyesore, dreadfully out of place in an apartment full of contemporary furniture, but rather, a compliment to his skills as an artist - skills he would soon put to use in the pursuit of recreating last night's episode of The Joy of Painting Nude Dudes with Sean Haden.

The wolf found it pleasantly easy to recreate the scene on canvas, considering that the futon had not been moved since last night's little episode in his living room. Trevor would be the hardest element of the picture to recollect in paint, but Sean had gotten an eyeful, and he wouldn't soon forget it either. How could he?

Trevor was maybe around five-and-a-half feet tall, and maybe 150 pounds, Sean guessed. 160? It was hard to tell. It wasn't like he was paying very much attention to how much the raccoon weighed, other than noting early on that he was pretty trim and fit. Not bodybuilder style, not even a swimmer's build; just the kind of guy who probably went running a few times a week and topped it off with some pushups and crunches.

He was cute.

Brush in one hand, coffee mug in the other, Sean lazily slid the brush up and down in long, smooth strokes, watching half-drunk as the bristles deposited the rich, buttery consistency of the paint onto the canvas, creating drapes. White to tint. Burnt umber to shade. Greys. Blacks. Short, staccato strokes, long, fluid motions. Strange smells. Scrutinizing expressions. Sean dared to take his sweet time with the painting, considering the lack of a subject and said subject's propensity to tire after so much time in one pose.

He wondered what Trevor was doing for the holidays.

He had his number. Maybe he could have him over for dinner, and cook something! It had been forever since he'd entertained anyone, save for last night's unexpected guest. He was a pretty good cook when it came down to it, though...motivation was the only thing he lacked.

But that kiss...

Motivation to have anything beyond sex in interpersonal relationships just wasn't there. Sean had long since ruled that dating sites were not worth the time and money spent, and going to the trouble of trying to secure a relationship with someone never seemed to yield the benefits he desired. What benefits, you ask? He wasn't even sure he knew; all Sean knew was that the constraints of monogamy and the obligations of being one half of a partnership didn't ring any bells for him.

Clubs and bars on the other hand, did. Sean could get everything he wanted out of a few drinks, a good buzz, and maybe a little make-out session in a dark, secluded booth somewhere, and in some cases, a trip home with his catch for a romp around in the sheets. No obligations. No strings attached. No money down, zero percent APR for 24 months.

A couple of hours went by, and within that much time, Sean had created a near exact copy of what he had originally painted, save for a few minor details that he was certain the raccoon wouldn't pick up on. He might add a few details later, but with his eyes and arms tired, and his apartment freshly inundated with the scent of linseed oil, Sean decided it was time to call it quits for the day.

The night, however, would not go to waste.

A second shower removed the scents of an art supply store, and some cologne replaced them with the sweet-smelling musk of his favorite scent. Not too strong so as to overpower the natural one, but just light and subtle enough to compliment it. Same for the mousse, which styled his short, dark chocolate brown hair in a conservative fashion; enough to get noticed, but not to come across as pretentious. Ripped jeans, a tight-fitting black tee, and a slimly-tailored peacoat with faded brown boots completed the look, a brown, woven leather bracelet the cherry on top. On the way out the door, he grabbed his keys. Though he didn't like driving, he didn't mind it so much when booty was the destination.

***

Sean parked in the back lot. No symbolism there.

Every time he drove his metal box on wheels, he was constantly reminded of why he liked to walk everywhere, as well as the fact that if he would just lease a cheaper apartment, he might be able to afford a better car. No. A comfortable domicile was far more pleasurable than having a nice car, besides, it wasn't as if he brought anyone home to his car.

Big rottie at the door, dressed in black. Classic. Eyes of steel shot to the right, and the head that encased them followed with its trademark tough-guy face, but it didn't take more than a second for the bouncer to be off the defensive.

"Hey-hey, Sean, my man!"

Their hands clapped together between them, and the stocky rottie pulled the wolf into a quick bear-hug.

"Get your ass in there, I gotcha bro."

"Thanks, Dane. Remind me to buy you a drink when you get off."

"I'll hold you to it." Dane said, allowing him in by gleefully unclipping the impassible velvet rope obstructing entry to all but those whose presence was qualified to grace the inside of the most illustrious gay bar in the city.

One word could be used to describe the interior of Rixxo's bar.

Pink.

Pink walls. Pink barstools. Pink interior lighting. Electric pink. Hot pink. Baby pink. You name a type of pink, it could be found inside Rixxo's bar. Granted, it wasn't the only color in there (the floor was black), and hues of purple, blue, and green could be found here and there, but the designers of the place obviously favored the fairer shade.

Sean was not a 'pink' person. Rixxo's wasn't even his kind of bar; he'd just as soon hit up the dimly-lit sports bar closer to his apartment building if a beer was all he wanted. It wasn't the music, or the atmosphere, or the bartenders (though that ocelot sure looked fun), or the specialty drinks, no, Sean came to Rixxo's for only one thing.

Tail. Saucy, swishy, girly, uber-gay tail.

Saucily, the aforementioned ocelot sauntered over in what apparently used to be a dress shirt at some point - everything but the cuffs and cuff links was gone, and a black, silk bowtie was tied neatly around his thin neck. He wore nothing else, save for a pair of skimpy, black panties, stretched cutely over his tight, firm butt and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Sean grinned at him.

"What can I get for you, big boy?"

Sean's grin faded a little. He'd almost expected the voice to be a little daintier, but it didn't take anything away from what there was to look at. Briefly, he debated asking for 'something with spots', but immediately rescinded the idea. He was sure the kitty boy had heard that one a million times.

"Uh, do you have B-Minor Pale Ale?"

Go for the gusto.

"Mmm, yeah, I think so." The ocelot pursed his lips and turned around to look. Sean looked too, just not at the beer. "Yeah, on tap. Tall or short?"

"Tall, please."

Grabbing a tall glass, the kitty boy yanked the tap forward and tilted the glassware underneath it, the rich color of the beer filling it slowly until it was about three quarters of the way up. Then, tilting it upright, he allowed the head to form, a thick, off-white pillow sitting atop 22 ounces of craft beer-y goodness. A coaster and a smile later, Sean had his beer and the hunt was on.

"I imagine you don't sell too much of this here." The wolf remarked, noticing a bar full of cosmopolitans and brightly-hued martinis as he handed his card to kitty boy.

"You'd be surprised. Leave it open?"

Sean nodded with the end of his muzzle in his beer. Setting it down with an 'ahh', he sighed and drummed his fingers on the bar top.

"Waiting on someone?" Asked kitty boy.

"Hm? No, no."

"Out on the prowl, eh?" He followed up with a wry grin. Sean took another hearty gulp of his beer and licked his lips.

"I make it a little obvious, don't I?"

"Doesn't take a stint in Bartending School to tell a few things about a person by the kind of drink they order." Professed the ocelot, wiping out a shot glass.

"Oh yeah? What can you tell about me?"

"Well, for one, you faltered on a pick-up line at the beginning. You were too busy trying to think of one that wasn't to the tune of 'I'll have something with spots' to think about what you really wanted to drink. So you just opted for one of your personal favorites, hoping we had it."

Sean sat as still as a statue, wide-eyed, his hand closed around the bottom of his glass.

"Oh you are good. You are good." He said finally, the two of them grinning.

"I've been doing this a long time, wolf. So tell me, what do you really want to drink?"

"Something with spots." Sean answered without missing a beat, barely getting the last word out before bursting into laughter, his new friend beaming and rolling his eyes with a gentle shake of his head.

"Be right back..." Kitty boy excused himself to assist another patron, and Sean went back to nursing his beer, almost wishing that there were something more interesting on the TV's than weird, B-grade music videos. Behind him, throngs of people gyrated and bounced, turning the dance floor into an ocean, rolling rhythmically to the beat of dubstep, trance, and house music. To his right, a couple sat chatting up and laughing over a couple of martinis, one appearing to be sour apple flavored, the other clear and thus indecipherable. To his left, a handsome, shirtless fox was watching kitty boy make a round of shots. Beyond that, he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking tail.

Trevor.

This time, there was no way in hell that it could be that stuffy-looking, conservative raccoon from earlier in the grocery store. Then again, it could be just another procyonid with a thing for guys. It wasn't as though Trevor was the only one. Another gulp preceded a rearward lean, trying to get a better look at the raccoon on the other side of the fox.

"Hey, Rah, I need six Carolina Vaginas!"

It was Trevor. That voice...but wait...!

Upon hearing the order, kitty boy exploded into a fit of confused laughter.

"What the fuck is a Carolina Vagina?"

"Coconut rum, Kahlua, Bailey's, grenadine, and a cherry." Sean interjected coolly, seemingly satisfied that he knew of a drink that the smarty pants (or panties, as the case was) ocelot didn't. Next to him, the fox gathered his three shots and headed off to his table, the vulpine departure surprising both wolf and raccoon alike.

"Trevor, hey!"

"Sean? Wha-what are you doing here?"

"Having a beer and doing a little sightseeing. I uh...I wasn't aware you worked here, I mean, uh...do you?" Sean asked simply to confirm, he didn't look too much different from most of the patrons in the place anyway.

"Barista by day, waiter by night, yeahp." Explained Trevor, nodding with trepidation and popping the 'p' on the end of the word. For a moment, an awkward silence transpired between the two, both watching while Rah prepared the shots with the kind of speed that comes with years of experience in getting people hammered.

"So...when do you get off?"

"Well, I'm working until close...at two."

Sean pursed his lips and cast his green eyes down to where his fingers were drumming the black, iridescent granite of the bar top.

"Any plans afterwards?"

"Uh, yeah. Sleeping." Trevor answered with a short laugh.

"I take it tonight's not the night, then." The wolf smiled wryly, wrapping his percussionist fingers around the base of his glass, running them up towards the top of the phallic shape and seemingly unwise to the suggestive appearance of the gesture.

"Yeah, probably not, sorry. Maybe later this week? Generally, any night I'm not working here is a good night, if you want to get together. You've got my number, just give me a call."

Sean raised his glass as if to say 'you're on'. Trevor smiled and took the black, circular tray containing the shots for his table, bidding the wolf goodbye before sauntering off in a way that made his supple ass irresistible in those booty-shorts he wore.

"I take it you two know each other?" Rah asked, leaning on the bar.

"Yeah, we met yesterday at the coffee shop where he works. It was like, ten in the morning and I was already annoyed, and some dumb twat was pitching a fit and holding up the line because her latté was made with soy instead of regular milk, and I went off on her in there. I wind up leaving my wallet in a shopping bag inside, and I go home and before I even realize it's gone, he just shows up at my door. Like 'Hey. You left this'."

"And then what?" Rah asked with premonition and a sly grin to match.

"I painted a nude portrait of him."

Now it was Sean's turn to have the upper hand in the conversation. Rah stared in mild bemusement, the remainder of his sly grin now sitting awkwardly as a slight parting of the lips.

"S-seriously?"

"Not even kidding. I'm dead serious. Don't tell him I told you, though, he may not want people to know about that. I dunno, I guess it was just one of those bucket list things. So he posed nude, and I painted a portrait of him. Then he sucked me off."

Rah tossed his head back cutely and howled with laughter, the wolf chuckling to himself as his beer made its way up to his lips once more. Kitty boy, at work and thus unable to continue conversation with just one individual, took an order from another patron. Sean watched in near shock as the ocelot began to prepare the requested drink, picking up as many as four bottles at a time. Clutched skillfully between his fingers, the first quartet of bottles streamed gin, sloe gin, vodka, and rum into a pint glass filled with ice. Three more added SoCo, triple sec, and jet fuel - also known as 151. A splash each of grenadine, orange juice, and cranberry juice created a bright pink concoction that looked about as gay as any drink could get, but underneath the Pepto Bismol-colored exterior was a recipe for date rape.

"Okay, I have to ask. What in the hell was that?" Sean asked pointing as the customer headed off with his rotgut.

"Mongolian Motherfucker. You want to try it?"

Why not.

Obliging, Rah grabbed a rocks glass and prepared quarter shots of each ingredient - the toned down version.

"So, did you come here just in the hopes of seeing him again?" Rah asked, splashing the grenadine into the drink, the reddish hue bleeding into the clear liquid.

"Not really. I didn't think I'd even see him here, let alone see him working here! He didn't strike me as the type."

Rah guffawed, passing the drink over.

"You've known him for how long? Trust me, he's cute, but you'd get tired of him quick."

"What do you mean?" Sean inquired. Damn, that is a good drink.

"You're looking for love in all the wrong places, my friend."

"Who says I'm looking for love?"

"I saw the way you looked at him. I've been around, oh believe me, I know it when I see it. I'm not going to try and sway you either way. It's none of my business."

"Well, I do plan on calling him. I'd just like to get to know him a little better, is all." Sean said, defensively.

"What do you want to know?" Rah chuckled. Sean hid his perplexity behind the glass as he drained it, passing it back towards the edge of the bar. Frankly, he was getting a little annoyed with the ocelot's advances. Just what was he after, anyway? Did he feel threatened? Was he interested in Trevor, too? Evidently, he knew him well.

"I think I'll just...find out myself." Answered the wolf, a little put off. Kitty boy had just killed the mood for him, and now his penis just wanted to go to bed. Thanks a lot.

"Well, if you want any answers, I've got 'em all."

"Look, what are you getting at?" Sean snapped finally, his annoyance apparent in his face. Rah's reaction was muted.

"He'll use you." Replied the ocelot, cool. "You painted him a picture? Like, a full-on, twenty-four-by-thirty-six masterpiece?"

"It was a twenty-by-thirty inch canvas, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Oil or acrylic?"

"Oiiilllll..." Sean drawled out slowly, unsure of why the details of the painting were now coming up in the conversation. Now that he thought about it, the re-paint of the picture had been done on a twenty-two by twenty-eight.

"So you're going to have a painting of him sitting on your drying rack for the next few months that you'll eventually have to varnish? How much did you charge him for that?"

Apparently, Rah was somewhat familiar with fine art.

"Why? You interested?"

"Or did you at all?"

Rah was now leaning on the bar, pushing his butt out and getting as close to Sean as the few feet of bar between them would let him. Bested, Sean was avoiding eye contact.

"He gives pretty good head, doesn't he?"

"He told you, didn't he? About last night?"

"He brought it up briefly, yeah. Point being, he wants the 'D'. And once he gets tired of you, he'll move on. It's just how he is."

"You know this from experience." Sean stated flatly.

"Unfortunately."

"How do I know you're not just campaigning for a shot at me and trying to ruin his chances?"

"So you are looking for a relationship!" Rah smiled, snapped his fingers and pointed, dodging the first half of the question. Sean sneered.

"I'm not looking to get tied down right now, I'm - "

"You're just looking to get tied." Wink.

"Ugh! You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"So I'm told. And don't flatter yourself - I'm not much for dogs."

"Suit yourself. Pity. I was looking forward to getting a shot at what you've got in those undies."

Rah smirked. Sean chuckled, pulling out his wallet to signify he was ready to go.

"Well..." Rah began, printing out the receipt, "...here's my number. When he jilts you, give me a call so I can say I told you so."

"I'll be sure and do that." Muttered the wolf, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sean paid his tab and left a generous tip, considering that the ocelot hadn't even charged him for the Mongolian Motherfucker. No way could that drink have been cheap. And though the tail end of their conversation had left a bad taste in his mouth, the drink had left a good one, and he could go home and paw off to the thought of Trevor in those shorts.

Trevor.

Trevor. Trevor, why Trevor? Why him? Why this random-ass raccoon he'd had a random fling with last night? Where were these feelings coming from? It put him on edge. Scared him. Made him feel vulnerable and Sean didn't like any of those feelings. All he knew was that he _felt_something that night. Something more than just a touch of the lips had been in that kiss, and something told him that the raccoon had felt it, too.

He would find out in time.