FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

As was their custom, Flink left the office five minutes after Krister. The malamute's car was waiting round the corner, engine running. Flink darted a look to left and right before opening the front passenger door. Once inside, he pulled off his mittens and blew on his cold paws, although he kept his cap pulled down over his ears. He reached for the control knob and turned up the heat.

"Don't. It fogs the windows," Krister said, as usual. "And why shouldn't I give my colleague Flink a lift, eh, Mr Secret Agent Husky?"

"Because we live on opposite sides of the city," Flink said. "It would look suspicious." He reached across and squeezed Krister's knee. "I'm sorry. I'm not ready yet."

"It's OK," said Krister. He sounded as pleasant and equable as he always did, but Flink knew it hurt him that they weren't out as a couple at work. He felt some further explanation was required.

"It's not that I mind people knowing I'm gay," he said. "Nobody's going to have a problem with that. My family's known since forever, after all. It's just that it still feels weird to be going out with someone from the office."

"Because it makes it look like you don't have a social life outside work?"

Flink snorted at that. It was easy for the big malamute - he was so confident in himself, and everyone at the company liked him. He could probably show up with a wife on each arm and their colleagues would happily accept him for who he was. He changed the subject.

"Who's your Secret Santa?" he asked.

"Not telling. It's a secret!"

"Oh, come on, Krister! I'm your boyfriend! We don't have secrets!"

"Is that so?" The malamute raised a biscuit-coloured eyebrow, and Flink's ears flushed.

"Mine's Lissa," he said quickly. "I don't have a clue what to get her."

"Well, she likes flowers, and skiing," Krister suggested. "And cooking, especially Italian."

"I forgot you were friends with my boss. This is exactly why going out with you is weird, you know that?"

"Here we are," Krister said, parking outside Flink's apartment building. "And I'm off to the gym. See you tomorrow!" He didn't offer to collect Flink the next morning, and right now Flink didn't feel comfortable asking him to.

*

The husky spent his evening internet shopping. There were plenty of things he could have got Lissa, but the 50-krona budget made it more of a challenge. Eventually he decided on a thermal mug patterned with lily-of-the-valley, which he considered meshed nicely with the snowshoe hare's interest in flowers, the outdoors, and cuisine. Delivery was free and the mug should arrive well before the office party on Little Christmas Eve, when they would close early for the holidays. Now for the more important task: choosing something for Krister.

At this stage of a relationship, Flink wasn't quite sure what the rules were. He probably shouldn't get anything too sappy, like a scarf from one of those companies that knitted garments from your own shed fur - and he'd left it too late for that, anyway. On the other paw, his usual fallback of a gift token was too impersonal. And how much should he spend? He didn't want to embarrass the malamute by getting something that cost significantly more, or less, than Krister's present to him.

What would Krister do? he asked himself. Almost immediately, he found the answer: Krister wouldn't care whether Flink was buying him a big or small present or nothing at all. He would simply get Flink something he thought Flink would like.

He rolled his chair away from the computer. That was it: he would go shopping, proper shopping, at real shops, like you were supposed to do at Christmas, and choose something by browsing and touching instead of looking at pictures on a screen. Giving up his internet time for Krister - now that was thoughtful!

After he closed his browser he got sucked in to a game, and went to bed late. He raced downstairs in the morning knowing he had already missed the last bus that would get him to the office at anything remotely resembling nine AM, to find Krister parked outside.

"How did you know I hadn't left yet?" he asked, getting into the car.

"Oh, Flink, I knew."

"Let's go into town at the weekend," Flink said. "We can stop for coffee and cinnamon rolls, and maybe spend an hour shopping separately for secrets."

"Is this my boyfriend talking? What happened to 'I buy everything online these days'?" Krister grinned. "It sounds great, Flink."

"You can help me pick something out for my nephew. He's two."

"Sure! I love toys!" He paused before taking the parking brake off, long enough to kiss Flink on the nose.

*

"I wonder which poor devil will be in the Tomte suit?" Krister mused on Monday morning as they walked across the car park.

"Probably Stieg," Flink said, naming the goat who worked in the mailroom.

"No - that's too much of a stereotype. Hey, maybe a woman?"

They parted in the lobby, where Flink pressed the button for the lift while Krister headed for the stairs to the IT department in the basement.

"See you at the party!" Flink called.

Nobody on his floor did a great deal of work that morning. At lunchtime they all made their way down to the big meeting-room, where the chairs had been pushed back against the walls and the table spread with a buffet. He looked for Krister in the crush but couldn't spot the big dog, so contented himself with loading his plate and filling his glass from one of the bowls of steaming glögg.

It was Tove from Accounts who had spent six months working at the US office and had brought back the Secret Santa idea, and it was Tove who now stood on a chair, clapped her hooves for silence, and announced a special visitor. Amid cheers and laughter, the Christmas Tomte strode in.

Flink would have recognised his boyfriend's walk anywhere, despite the thick false beard on Krister's face and the sack on his back which, from the exaggerated way he was crouching, must have been laden with presents. He cheered as delightedly as a puppy.

One by one, Krister pulled the little wrapped packages from his bag, called out the names on the labels, and summoned the recipients. Lissa was among the first to be called, and looked genuinely pleased when she unwrapped her mug. It was fun to see all the gifts, some thoughtful, some silly.

The sack grew skinnier and skinnier, until the Tomte shook it upside-down to show it was empty. Flink's name had not been called, and he felt disproportionately annoyed about the mystery colleague who couldn't be bothered to buy him a fifty-krona gift. Attention began to wander back to the buffet and the Christmas music playing through speakers, but the Tomte raised a paw and drew one final package out from under his cloak.

"Flink Andersson!" he called, and the husky bounded up to receive his present. The writing on the label looked familiar.

"Would you like to sit on my knee, little boy?" the Tomte asked. His eyes were twinkling above the beard.

It was only a joke, of course, and nobody would suspect anything if Flink turned the offer down. Even when he perched himself on the bigger dog's lap and grinned at his colleagues as he unwrapped the parcel in his paws, they could still just have been two friends messing about. It was up to Flink how far he took this.

He saw Lissa give Krister a wink, and he knew how his boyfriend had managed to draw his name, and how he had been chosen to play the Christmas Tomte. That meant that Flink's boss knew about them - had probably known for a while. And it felt fine.

"That's not your proper present," Krister whispered.

"No - this is!" Flink took hold of Krister's ear, pulled his head down, and kissed his muzzle. The room erupted in cheers and whoops. Krister's eyes widened with surprise, and his paws tightened around Flink's waist.

Someone turned the volume up on the speakers. Lissa and some of the others grabbed partners and began to dance.

"Shall we?" Krister asked. Flink hesitated. "You're not still embarrassed to be seen with me?" His ears drooped a little.

"Only because of that stupid beard!" Flink yanked it from Krister's chin, making the malamute yelp, and kissed him again as they began the timeless dance of the slightly tipsy office worker at the end of a long year.