FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Jerry Bunting knew how to drive, although he'd never owned a car. Something about cars was vaguely unnatural in his mind, as the use of a car contravenes that law of nature which holds that the paws should be in contact with the ground when traveling. He couldn't use that as much of an excuse, of course, because he was quite fond of the recumbent bicycle that he used for longer treks, beyond the city limits, or when he needed to carry more than he could comfortably handle when walking. Whatever the case, he never had liked being the passenger in a car, and in some ways he liked it less now, as the driver had insisted that he put a pillow between his belly and the cross-over seat belt strap. The discharge nurse had insisted on it when he had left the hospital several days ago, but his ribs should have healed at least a little bit by this time. It made him feel somehow like a pup in a protective car seat, and besides, he couldn't arrange his thick tail comfortably, and he just felt fidgety the whole way...

"We're almost there, you know." Cory Wind Runner, both forepaws on the steering wheel of her classic-style Jeep, tried to ease the young otter's concerns. "You really don't care for cars much, do you?"

"I did try to tell you," he grumped softly.

"If it bothers you too much, just close your eyes. Like I do." The mare, eyes clearly on the road, grinned at the momentary terror on her passenger's face. Just for good measure, Jerry stuck his tongue out at her. Cory chuckled. "You'd have gotten along well on our family vacations, especially if you play Punch-Buggy..."

The otter did his best not to flinch. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and it had nothing to do with what had happened to him, but...

"Sorry," she said softly.

"It's fine. I can remember hearing stories about such family vacations. I know what you mean." The grad student managed a little smile. "Perhaps it's a trade-off; I didn't have to play Punch-Buggy with anyone, but neither did we have any family vacations."

"How did that come about?"

"Dad found them too expensive. He spent all his time worrying about how much everything cost, so much so that he couldn't relax and enjoy himself. He got to a point that he didn't even like taking time away from work, even if we didn't travel. He had to pay for his own replacement. He was head of radiology at a small hospital, and his work was billed separately, so someone else had to come in to read the x-rays when he wasn't there. That was his job. Didn't even get paid time off. That's part of running your own business, even as a doctor. It's part of why I hate business."

"I can see why Ayn Rand is on your hit list."

"Don't get me started." He shook his head briefly, then spat, "Republicans."

"Hey, if you're going to start using obscenities in my car, I'll make you walk home from here."

Jerry managed at least a small chuckle from that, despite it hurting his ribs a little. "Not much of a punishment." He pointed to his left, just ahead of them. "That's the drive."

As she turned the Jeep into the driveway, Cory offered a low whistle. The driveway made a wide, sweeping arc in front of a house which she might have described with the word "palatial." Smaller than Benedict's home, perhaps, but that was more likely due to the fact that the great crimson dragon had built his home to meet his height requirements as well as other accommodations. This house was quite grand enough on its own terms, yet was simple in design and presentation. It, too, accommodated a pair of wing-bearing hybrids, so extra space just made sense. The fact that both were doctors - one medical, one academic - probably helped with the sheer costs of such digs.

The driveway came to a split on the right side of the house. "Around back?"

"Yes," Jerry replied softly. When he'd first asked after the "garage apartment" being offered to "a serious graduate student" for rent, he'd made the assumption that it was a room or two above a two- or three-car garage, with outdoor stairs and (for all he was expecting, given the low rental price) a tin roof. The fact was that the apartment took up the whole of what was originally a three-car garage, remodeled from floor to vaulted, energy-efficient ceiling, with its entrance discreetly facing away from the house. The actual garage for the owners had been built to their own specifications to include a "repair pit" for servicing the undercarriage of vehicles when needed. Made oil changes and lube jobs easy, and Jerry tried never to think about the jokes associated with those phrases, although it truly would not have surprised him one whit to have discovered that at least some of those jokes had been, so to say, made flesh.

"You have a welcoming committee, it would seem." Cory pulled the Jeep into the space where the apartment tenant would park his car (if Jerry had owned one) and waved to the trio who stood waiting to assist. The owners of the house stood side by side, holding forepaws as they nearly always did when they were together. The dark-furred flit-wolf's snow-white wings twitched a little even as his tail wagged slowly, clearly happy to see Jerry coming back home. The elder of the pair, a black tiger with rich green stripes, was dressed ready for a shift at the hospital; his own wings were in what he jokingly referred to as "stealth mode." His surgical scrub shirt would conceal the markings at this point, but were he shirtless, if one looked closely at the tribal pattern of stripes on his back, it was possible to discern precisely where his own stately wings would magically appear. It was an ability passed through the genes of his ancient peoples, and one which, though widely known and documented as to its existence, had never been explained to the world. Some secrets are, and deserve to be, part of the natural heritage of a species, not to be discussed without outsiders.

To their side, Benedict stood with all the cheeky attitude of an old family retainer who knew exactly how far he could push his sarcasm before getting the sack from his employer. He had with him a large wicker basket, wrapped in colorful cellophane, and despite the chilly weather, all three appeared to have been cheerfully waiting for quite some time. The arrival was met with the sense that there should be some sort of band or fanfare to mark the occasion, but so far as Jerry could tell, this was it - expressively grinning muzzles, forward-facing ears, and three tails in happily twitching motions of welcome and greeting, and that was quite enough, thanks all the same.

The tiger moved quickly to the driver's side of the Jeep, offering a friendly forepaw in greeting. "You must be Cory Wind Runner; Benedict has been filling us in. I'm Guy Alluvinder; that's my husband Cole, Coulter Dark Claw."

Opening the passenger door, the flit-wolf seemed for just a moment as if he intended to squeeze himself into the Jeep and hug the otter for all he was worth. Instead, he settled for a quick peck to Jerry's forehead and helping him to remove the pillow and loosen the seat belt. "Welcome home, Jerry. And Cory, is it? Thanks for bringing him."

"My pleasure." The mare turned back to the tiger and smiled softly. "Jerry and I have talked about this, and I think he's had enough of my company for a time, so I'll quietly bugger off." She grinned at the slightly surprised expression on the tiger's face, and then joined him as he laughed gently.

"Sounds like you two know each other well. Not to worry; Cole will be here all night, and there's a direct intercom to the main house if he needs anything, not to mention cell phones and all. I've got the long shift at the hospital, but I'll be in touch."

"Need a lift? I'm driving right by."

"Just don't mention sports to him," Jerry advised, out of the car, upright, and moving slowly, but under his own power.

Guy scowled, his dark fur adding an extra layer of disapproval. "You try working a few ER rotations when the amateur leagues are in full swing and see how you like it. And yes, good Dr. Wind Runner, I'd love to have a lift." The tiger came round to the passenger side of the Jeep, glancing over to his mate. "I'll have a jog home, love. I know you love it when I smell all primal."

"With someone else's blood on your surgical greens? How could I resist?" Cole kissed his husband farewell and turned back to help Jerry back to his apartment. The last thing Jerry heard as the Jeep pulled away was Cory's lilting laugh and a cry of "WTMI!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Jerry wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find when he entered his apartment. It was less a feeling of coming home as was that of déjà vu - remembered, but as if from some other lifetime. He walked in slowly, looking about as if trying to verify that he was in the right place. He stood more or less in the middle of the living room area, arms to his side, unconsciously wrapping his tail around his hindpaws, his nose wriggling slightly as if testing the air for something.

"I did take some liberties, Jerry," Cole was saying as he set Jerry's small bag of belongings on the sofa. "When the temperature was at least slightly warmer than it is now, I opened the windows and vacuumed the rugs. Your mail is stacked on your desk. I wasn't sure what you might want for groceries; let me know when you want a trip to the store, and we'll drive over till you're up to using your bike again. I did stock a few staples - fresh milk and cream in the fridge, and I bought a loaf of the same type of bread you had in your breadbox. The remains of the old loaf went to the lab for processing into penicillin." He smiled a little, sobered again. "I also washed your bed linens and such; after a week, they might be a bit musty."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Ain't no 'have to,' Jerry. Just trying to look after you a bit." The flit-wolf paused, his wings shifting slightly. "If that's okay. I'm ... well, I don't know how much looking-after you might want..."

Jerry turned and noticed Benedict almost as if he'd not been there before. How anyone of that stature - physical, mental, ego, and otherwise - could all but disappear, Jerry could not have said.

"I always stand to one side at a touching family reunion," the dragon said softly. Jerry recognized the line from Margery Allingham. Proffering the basket, Benedict said, "I come bearing gifts from friends. Many, actually. We all hoped that you'd care for the various chocolate-dipped and candied fruits. They go well with tea, and I've sympathy to go with that as well." The professor raised an eyebrow with only the faintest touch of suggestion, and the effect did manage to make Jerry smile a little.

"Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

"Years from now," the dragon's voice dripped, imitating Deborah Kerr, "when you talk about this... and you will... be kind."

"I'm sure I'm missing something, but that wouldn't be the first time, either." Cole smiled and stepped slowly up to Jerry, opening his arms and his wings gently, waiting for a proper invitation. The otter took only a moment, then stepped into the hug. The flit-wolf rubbed his cheek against the otter's, the fur warm and silky, the powerful arms holding close but not too tightly, and the wings managing to wrap around just a bit... it was an embrace unlike any other, with the feeling, the sense, the scent of those wings so close. He and Cole had never shared sex, but intimacy, moments like this one, were among the otter's most cherished of memories. Something about being close to him, being almost wrapped up in those amazing wings, gave Jerry a subconscious sense of what it free-flight must be like, and it always made his heart feel hopeful. He needed that now more than ever, and he squeezed the flit-wolf just a little tighter to convey his thanks.

Cole pressed another kiss to the otter's forehead and pulled back, smiling. "The intercom works. Use it anytime, and if we're not home, you've got our cell phone numbers, right? Emergencies include needing snacks, hugs, or protection from things that go bump in your head when you're trying to sleep. Okay?"

"Okay," Jerry whispered softly through a voice trying not to turn into a sob.

"First watch?" the flit-wolf teased the dragon.

"Always love to watch Jerry," Benedict said, then pouted slightly at the response of the other two. "Oh, please; if I hadn't made a sexual joke, you'd have wondered what was wrong with me!"

"Point taken." Cole pet Jerry's smooth, golden-furred head softly, shook Benedict's forepaw, and took his leave. "Only a call away," he said, and shut the door behind him.

The silence was unbroken. It was in that moment that Jerry realized that Cole must have taken at least one more liberty: The otter's computer had been shut down. That was for the best, probably. No ice storms or such had actually occurred, but a power outage could have done some damage, surge protectors or no. Jerry hadn't realized how quiet the room could be without the constant, often soothing sound of the fans and humming of drives and power converters. He realized also that he had missed his music, his eclectic collection of electronica and ambient atmospheres that usually comforted him. He'd even gotten Harris to like some of them...

Jerry turned his head toward Benedict. "I heard."

"What, specifically?"

"The game. Bobby Harris. He was outed."

"Yes, he was." The dragon nodded slowly. "Rather brutally, in more ways than one. He and Malcolm chipped in on your gift. Bobby in particular wants to hear from you when you're ready to talk."

"I really had that one wrong."

"Why do you say that?"

Something in the otter felt tight and uncomfortable; he blamed it on the bandages about his chest and moved to sit on the sofa. "I'd have bet my tail that he was straight."

"And what makes you say that?" Benedict moved toward the kitchen area and set the basket onto the counter.

"His entire reputation was about nailing as many females as possible. If he'd made notches in his belt, it would have fallen apart like perforated paper. I'm surprised that he hadn't made the record books somewhere, by this time."

"Tea?" The dragon held up a foreclaw as Jerry started to rise. "Please; I'm quite British enough to know how to make a proper tea! And if you prefer, I'll make the pot and leave you be. There are a few things you should know, however. If you're up to it."

"I'm not made of glass, Benedict," the otter grumbled.

"Perhaps." The drake's crimson claws moved expertly to make the preparations. "But you've recently been shattered, so the point is somewhat moot."

"What do you mean?"

"Your assumption that Bobby Harris is straight, for example. It's shaken you to find out you were wrong. And now you're wondering about your assessment of Parker as well." Setting the water to boil, the dragon moved quickly and expertly in ways that all but duplicated Jerry's own movements when making tea. The otter remembered getting some tips from the drake, along with more than just the tip, in other circumstances. "I thought you might want to know that young Parker would like a chance to talk with you, when you're feeling up to it."

Jerry felt his blood chill. "What?"

Benedict nodded to the basket. "He was in on this gift also, and he asked me to convey a message to you. In fact, he asked me to help him compose it, because he was ... as he put it, afraid of saying something wrong." The crimson claws closed up the tea tin, setting cups and saucers to ready. "It's no secret that he's been seeing me for counseling. Exactly what we've been talking about is privileged, yes, but he's given me permission to tell you that he feels responsible for what happened to you in that bar. His phrasing was that he 'feels that he was wrong to run away from you like that.' I'm guessing that he meant the Thanksgiving day gathering." The dragon paused, considering the young otter for a moment. Rather than ask the obvious question, he simply let the moment stretch.

Thoughts tumbled through the otter's mind, remembering the links in the chain of events that even now he couldn't quite understand how he'd managed to have forged this way. His eyes focused on something in the deep distance beyond his memories. "Moments, snapped together like magnets, forging a chain of shackles..."

"It may be a bit soon to be quoting from_Equus,"_the professor observed softly. "No one's been hurt that badly. Or we hope not, anyway. You've managed to open a few doors that you didn't know were there, Jerry, and the only bad luck for you, in all of this, is that they happened at the same time. For whatever it may be worth to you, in Harris' case at least, you've done him quite a favor. I've not had the chance to get to know either of the kits, but from what I've heard from reliable sources, there's a lot of love there, and it wouldn't have happened if not for you."

"And Harris being outed?"

"Not something you did, and not something you could have foreseen or prevented. That's not part of this discussion... although I think Harris would appreciate talking with you also. I suspect his young lover wants to thank you." The dragon smiled wanly. "They might have hell to go through, but they'll go through it together, and they've got support here on campus. No, that's not what you need to worry about, Jerry. It's Parker that you need to think of now."

"But I didn't do anything!" The word sounded like lies even in Jerry's ears. "What's he told you? That I tried to stalk him or something? I didn't do anything to him that he didn't want!"

"And that," the professor said, turning to answer the shrilling tea kettle, "is where the problem starts."

"What are you talking about?"

Benedict took his time preparing the pot, straining the tea, preparing the tray, carefully focused on his task and likewise making an ever-increasingly tension-filled moment into which to pour not just the tea but his next words. Setting the service carefully on the table before the sofa, the dragon ladled himself carefully into an easy chair and prepared the cups. "Until I get Parker's permission to tell all that he's told me, we have to start the story from your side. All I can tell you, Jerry, is that the pup's in quite desperate need of your help. It took him weeks to ask for mine, and longer now to ask for yours. He's going to need us both, and at the moment, I'm only able to guess why. You've already given me some details about what happened at the glory hole, and Parker's told me a bit of it. Satisfy an old drake's perverted voyeurism and tell me again just what happened. Be as graphic as you wish; you know how much I enjoy the sordid details."

The final comment, so true to Benedict's lovably lascivious nature, was exactly what Jerry needed to make himself feel slightly more at ease. He sampled the tea, found it at least as good as he could have made it himself, and told his story: The glory hole in the basement of the library, Parker getting his knot stuck, Harris coming in to find them and being (if the pun may be forgiven) set straight, and the details of how Jerry's tongue got Parker's knot to soften more quickly so that the pup could make good his escape. The otter was sure that the drake enjoyed the description, as it was nearly impossible for a male of Benedict's proportions (in all senses of the word) to hide his arousal easily.

"So you politely cleaned him up and sent him on his way. You gave him a card with your name and cell phone number on it. He called you at least once, I believe, before the game. You were unable to see him because you were seeing someone else that night."

Jerry nodded. "Harris wanted to talk some more. Just talk, he said, because something had happened. He and I had already..." The otter braced himself and somehow found the strength to talk about the same details he'd given to Cory Wind Runner, about how Parker had sought out Harris at the gymnasium, and how the lion had called sounding desperate to talk. He told of how different it was that time from all the others, how Harris had stayed the night, about Harris actually wanting something more than just sex, and then a few nights later, the night that Parker had his meltdown on the football field, Harris had come over to talk about intimacy some more, trying to understand what was going on in his head and his heart, and to talk about how he felt about Jerry, and even more, how he had started to feel about Malcolm.

"I think I recognize the name," Benedict nodded. "Malcolm Lamar, I believe? Quite an impressive record in his language arts classes; advanced classes in high school, tested out of several courses, volunteer tutor... is that it, is he Harris' tutor?"

"Exactly."

"That's where I recognized him from," the drake considered. "I saw the photos that got spread around, with Harris and a young tiger in such friendly embraces. Nothing sexual, but there was no mistaking the affection there." He set down his empty cup into its saucer, nodding. "And then the roles were reversed on you. Harris wanted to talk to you further, but you were in shock about Parker. You thought it was your fault, because you'd been unable to talk with him, so you were afraid to talk to Harris. Then, when you wanted to talk with Parker, he was still too emotionally raw to deal with it..." He folded his claws together loosely over his middle and looked at Jerry carefully. "He wants to talk now. Or at least soon. I already know, and he's given me permission to say, that he wants to apologize to you. Just as you feel responsible for his violence on the field, he feels responsible for what happened to you at the pub. More than that, he'll have to say himself. As his counselor, and as your friend, I hope that you can find it in your heart to talk to him, Jerry. To say 'he needs your help' is a gross understatement."

The otter paused. "Do you think he's violent?"

"Possibly toward himself, which I'm very much trying to help him avoid. I asked him if he wanted me there when he spoke with you, and he almost insisted that I be there. I seem to have won his trust enough that, if he begins to feel out of control, emotionally, he turns to me for help."

"What mantra did you give him?"

Benedict smiled. "You know my methods too well. I borrowed from Gene Kelly this time. Do you still remember yours?"

"To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock, in a pestilential prison with a life-long lock, awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, from a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block." Jerry managed a grin. "Always partial to Gilbert and Sullivan."

"I'd use Sondheim, but he loses so much without the music to back it up." Benedict rose fluidly from his place. "I'm going to pop these next to the sink, and you are going to take some time to put your energies back into your home, so that it doesn't feel so unfamiliar. I know what it's like to be away for a while." Suiting actions to words, the dragon had the tea things carefully placed and returned to take his leave from his host. "Jerry, this won't make sense to you right now, but I must tell you something: What happened between you and Parker was an accident... but resolving it could actually save his life."

Jerry was speechless as the professor hugged him, closely but tenderly, recalling a few occasions when he and the drake had spent some intimate moments together. As if reading the otter's mind, Benedict whispered into his small rounded ear, "Give those ribs a little more time, lovely. Remember,all the muscles contract at the critical moment, and we don't want anything being bruised further. But with your permission, I'll keep that charming thought in mind."

Accepting the sweet, friendly peck on the lips from the dragon, along with the twinkling eyes that sparked memories and promised new experiences, Jerry bid the professor a good afternoon, and settled back into the silence of his apartment. He tried not to think what "save his life" could possibly mean. At that point, he wasn't even sure his own life could be saved. His emotions ran too deep and too painfully to be understandable. It was all too much to take in...

His mildly obsessive quality of neatness got him moving; leaving plates on the counter to be washed simply wasn't done. Before he could begin, he realized that the tea had awakened his belly somewhat, and it had been some time since breakfast. He carefully untied the velvet ribbon from the cellophane-covered wicker basket and opened it up to reveal the contents. Along with what seemed to be dozens of candied orange, mango, and apple slices, as well as chocolate-dipped strawberries and cherries, the centerpiece of the collection appeared to be a particularly long, especially thick, exquisitely shaped banana, thoroughly and smoothly drenched in rich, dark chocolate, with a pair of large, ripe-to-bursting plums at its base. Someone had painstakingly managed to drizzle just the right quantity and color of white icing in narrow rivulets dripping suggestively down from the banana's tip, which had been carefully crafted to bear an extra layer of chocolate that perfectly mimicked a foreskin.

Jerry's tears were from equal parts of hysterical laughter and sore ribs.