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There was a special buzz in The Menagerie that evening. I could feel it around the dining room tables as the various members of the family came in for “lunch," chatting happily as they enjoyed their meals, then went back to their particular jobs of prepping the club in their various ways. Something big was going to happen, although I wasn't entirely sure what it would be. Despite the family being close, certain things were granted the status of “private," which shows our proper respect for each other. Some things need to be kept to oneself.

Of course, we were still allowed to be curious.

I was still not on the family's food clock, with breakfast between 11am and 1pm, lunch about 6-8pm, and dinner options after the bar and club closed down, which was 1am. The available menu followed that old truism of “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, dinner like a pauper." The before-bed meals were sometimes as simple as a bowl of oatmeal or a small sandwich. Even though my own hours were still on the generally accepted schedule of the rest of the world, I enjoyed their hospitality as often as I could, especially on this night. I was hoping to get a line on the Big Secret.

Abram was at his inscrutable best as we shared a modest repast in the dining room for “lunch" that evening. “It's Saturday, for one thing," he reminded me. Those who were dancing tonight would be performing their best routines, including himself. Although “Servo," his dance alter ego, had three choreographed numbers, his most popular (and, in my opinion, best) was the one he showed me that amazing night when we first met. He would be performing that one tonight, and it was sure to raise the roof.

“It's not just that. There's something else going on; I just can't figure out what it is."

“Maybe it's someone's birthday." His gaze teased me, and I gave him a raspberry for his effort. His smile continued the tease without the slightest hint of meanness.

Flagging down a spectacled bear who comprised part of the familial production crew, I asked, “Ronnie, give over: What's got everyone so jazzed tonight?"

“Not a clue, Tris," he chuckled. “All I know is that the 'whole fam damily' is expected to be here after hours. It's got the feeling of something like an announcement, but it can't be just that."

“Yer friggin' well told," I echoed a line from a favorite play. I looked back at the kitsune, my face a grinning study in happy frustration. “How about a clue for the rest of us, Sherlock?"

Abram chuckled. “Wolf with a bone." He had said this of me before, and I would never tell him that he's even a little bit wrong. “Let me ask first if you want to watch all the shows this evening…?"

“If I'm to be up past my usual bedtime, I might best be served with a nap for a few hours, if I can manage to sleep at all."

“Want some help with that?" Ronnie leered playfully, wagging his eyebrows.

“That's entirely between you two," the kitsune grinned at us. “Just don't let your afterglow last past the appointed hour. And as for your clue, my dear Watson…" He gave a sweet kiss to the side of my muzzle. “Talk to Phil, at some point before the gathering. You haven't really heard Markus' story."

“Then this is something to do with Markus?" I asked.

“No more clues!" Abram decreed, teasing me further with a tender tap to my snout. He rose with his usual fluid grace, grinning at me. “For your impertinence, you can bus my plates as well as yours. I'm going to get warmed up a bit for tonight's show."

“Well," I harrumphed dramatically. “And how am I supposed to get warmed up?"

Ronnie cleared his throat, offering me a friendly smile.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The eminently cuddly spectacled bear and I laughed together (not in the Inuit sense) and dozed for a while before waking well in time for “Servo's" performance, which did indeed raise the roof. As the applause died down, Last Call was announced. I had watched the dance from the comparative safety of my “usual" stool at the far end of the bar. Phil provided me some hot cocoa, this time with a touch of Bailey's, then prepared the few remaining drinks on his list.

As softly as I could manage, yet still be heard over the last of the crowd lingering over their drinks, I said, “I'm told that I should ask you about Markus."

Frowning, the liger asked, “Did Abram spill the beans?"

I arched an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same Abram?"

Phil chuckled. “I reckon not." He set his forepaws to rinsing glasses and performing other chores to start winding down the bar. “I take that you haven't had the chance to talk to him and Micha."

“We're certainly friendly, but I haven't gotten their stories yet. As I hope everyone knows, I write the tales of The Menagerie only with permission; I'm trying not to press anyone for information or details until they're ready to share."

Not missing a beat with his chores, the liger told me, “Won't hurt to give you some background. Markus came here about five years ago, barely out of his kithood, comparatively speaking. He knew enough about his relative rarity as a golden fox to have made a few bucks out of it, the hard way." The liger eyed me. “No puns."

“Never about that." I enjoyed more of the cocoa. “Looks like he survived it."

“With those looks? High-dollar clients. The funny part is that he looks better now than he did then, but even at the time, I saw he could probably make some good tips as a pole dancer. I also figured he'd still be bait for the high-rollers. You know I'm not trying to make my living by being a pimp. I did what I could to give him options that didn't require that sort of thing. He was a little naïve, but not nearly as bad as he could have been. He wasn't so much lacking brains as self-confidence."

“Are you kidding me? What would a stud like that lack in self-confidence?"

“His soul. He hadn't found it yet."

I felt my ears splay, as damned well they should. I lost my voice, looking down into my mug of cocoa and feeling more than a little stupid. After a moment, I felt Phil's forepaw on my shoulder, gently.

“You okay, pup?"

“Just embarrassed."

“No need. You took a while to find your soul too, and you had more than a few handicaps along the way."

“No excuse for being rude. I'll just make my apologies and let you go on."

He squeezed my shoulder and went back to his business. “Markus was lucky, in that he never had to be a street rat. He came to me because he'd heard about the dancing, thought he could just shake what he had and make money from it. I told him the facts, gave him a shot, and he almost quit after only a few weeks. What he lacked in dancing ability he made up for in being just plain young and beautiful, but it didn't pay off as well as he thought it would. He was going to go back to what he knew. You know who convinced him not to? Theo."

At first, I thought that an odd choice, if only because Theo would have been still in his mid-teens at that time. I knew a much better part of his story. He was taken in as part of the family maybe six years ago. The young tabby had been put on the street when his parents discovered he was gay. Nothing like religious fanaticism to make a fur's life wretched. The kit was too much an innocent to know how to stay alive on the street, and the shelter could only keep him for so long before someone would have to put him into the Yowen's Protective Services system. One of our family found him, brought him to see Phil and Abram first. After a lot of conversation, soul-searching, and a clever attorney to keep everyone safe, this strange and deeply bonded family was able to take the kit in as one of our own.

The sweet tabby became everyone's favorite youngest brother. Theo was never once “farmed out" in any way, and he got all of the best instruction in how to be part of a real family. He helped keep the place clean, did laundry and other behind-the-scenes help for the club, and made himself at home. He talked, learned, and was kept safe from the clientele. Home schooling him had been an absolute joy, especially the discussions about the ways of this particular world. He even learned some aspects of prop-building and costuming that contributes to the theatrical side of the bar. The rich experiences of his family (in all areas, not just that one) helped him score well on his GED. Then, when he reached the age where he could choose things for himself, he was able to make a well-informed decision. He found only a very few occasions to ply the oldest trade, and then it was with the gentlest of males — older furs, who wanted the affectionate cuddle of the young and attentive feline rather than mere sex. Theo, even from his youngest years, knew the importance of affection. In that respect, I realized, the kit's choice to help Markus was a natural one, even then.

“What did Theo know about the fox that Markus didn't?" I asked.

“In a word: Charm." Phil smiled. “The fox and the kitten formed an tender bond. I found out much later that Theo broke the rules that applied to him at the time: He offered Markus his bed, if only Markus wouldn't leave. The fox found part of himself that night, because he held the kit all night long but never even tried anything else. They shared their fur and talked, Markus told me (much later), and although Theo didn't really have all the right words to explain it fully, he got the idea across. The fox began watching the other dancers, started to see what it was that made their dancing work. A little at a time, he came to find his own brand of charm."

“He certainly has it now. Although I'm not sure if 'charm' is quite the word you're looking for."

“The writer's mind at work." Phil grinned all the way to his whiskers, his forepaws still working on glasses. “What would you call it?"

“Being adorable, in its literal sense — capable, or worthy of, being adored. He learned how to love the attention instead of just expecting it."

“Egad, Holmes!" the liger mock-exclaimed. “However did you twig to that?"

“Elementary, dear Watson." I smiled, taking up the role. “Scratch an exotic dancer, and you'll find someone who craves the attention, the willing adoration, expressed by the hungry looks as much as the money placed into jars, thongs, and G-strings. Poor dancers simply take it as their due, and their smiles become sneers, their movements become obscenity rather than erotica, and although they may make a few dollars from the desperate and the perverse, they are no less whoring themselves than the cheapest of prostitutes who couldn't care less for their clients.

“To be erotic, one must appreciate as much as one craves. There has to be genuine thanks in the eyes. Yes, they are adored, and they crave that adoration, but they must be grateful to get it, or else the gyrations turn into nothing but raw, smut-centered sexuality. Anyone can display his junk, actually or metaphorically; it's gratitude that turns the concealment from rude denial to a gentle tease. That 'charm,' as you put it, is the divin oblige of being grateful to those who worship them."

The liger regarded me for a long moment. “I hadn't thought of it quite that way."

“It's what our young tabby provided that turned Markus' heart. Theo offered his affection and his worship in its most direct form: He needed the fox. And Markus was smart enough to realize it."

Phil nodded slowly. “I think you've hit upon it exactly. I know that's what happened to Micha."

“Smitten?"

“As if run over by a bulldozer." He began stacking glasses underneath the bar. “I have no idea how he found his way here, but from that first night, he was mesmerized." He grinned again. “Fancy word for a barback, huh?"

“Clearly my literary presence," I chuckled. Both of us knew that Phil was no slouch with language or, for that matter, many other areas of knowledge. “When did this happen?"

“About two years ago. He started showing up every night that Markus danced. By this time, our fox was very much part of the family; he was the one who started up the fund for the gym equipment downstairs and, ultimately, he contributed more than half of the cash himself. He'd started buffing himself up, not to body-builder extremes, but the muscle definition is… well, you've seen him. And then, with Micha, he took an even greater interest in his overall appearance, his 'brand,' so to speak. That long mane of spun corn-yellow headfur? That's partly due to Micha."

“How did that happen?"

“Because," said a new voice, “he loves taking care of it."

I turned, grinning widely as the slender, well-formed tabby cat stepped into my embrace for a hug and a kiss. “Hello, sweetfur," I chuckled at him.

“I'm glad you're here, Tristan," Theo said, nuzzling my muzzle a bit. “Tonight's for family, and it's not family without you."

“So you know what's going on tonight?" I teased as the kit took a seat next to me.

“Only a little. Okay, maybe a lot." He grinned at me. “I've got an important job to do tonight, but I need you to keep that to yourself just a little longer."

“No secrets, just privacy," Phil emphasized. “A surprise party might be a secret, but that's as much 'secrets' as we keep, right?"

“And the whatever-it-is will happen soon enough, so I think I can keep my muzzle shut for a little longer." I grinned at the pair of them. “The place is almost emptied out by now, seems like."

“Most of our clients are good about not overstaying their welcome." The liger cast his weather eye over the place and seemed satisfied. “I think the family will start gathering soon."

“In the meantime," I said, turning back to the shapely young tabby, “tell me what you meant by that comment, the one about how Micha loves taking care of Markus' headfur?"

“Micha loves Markus, and he takes care of him," Theo explained. “Have you been backstage when Markus finishes a dance? Micha always has his robe ready for him. That's not just simple terry-cloth; finest pure cotton velour, to keep his body heat in longer. Cooling down too fast is bad for the muscles."

“Makes sense, I would think. Good intuition."

“More than that. Micha took training in therapeutic and rehabilitative massage as well as general physical therapy. He helps us all out, dancers and otherwise; he's even our trainer for the use of the weights downstairs. Naturally, Markus takes top priority. If anyone was ever pampered, it's Markus." The cat grinned. “Yeah, I'm a little envious."

“How did they finally meet?"

“You could guess, although you'd only be half right." Phil set his last glass down, put aside his cloth, and leaned his strong arms on the bar. “Micha twigged early on about the green doors. He sought me out, figuring that I would be the one to ask, discreetly. In fact, he was smart enough to notice the booth at the back. It's perfectly legal to offer money for conversation in a public place; he said that he didn't want to deprive Markus of tip money, should he miss a chance to dance just for talking with him."

I felt my eyebrows cross. “First meetings aren't charged for."

“He didn't know that. His concern was for Markus' financial well-being." The liger smiled. “That alone set the raccoon apart from any average client."

“Must've been a really good conversation, given the outcome."

“That's Markus all over," Theo grinned. “Did you know that it was Markus who helped me get my GED?"

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." I winked at Phil.

“You blabbed." The cat offered the liger a perfectly good raspberry.

“Don't blame Phil," I said. “I knew that you had your GED, but I didn't know about Markus' assistance."

“Study materials, practice tests, even the fee for the test." The cat grinned. “I have my allowance and, well, other things… but Markus insisted. He is my best big brother, if the family doesn't mind me playing favorites."

“You treat us all just fine." The liger gave the kit a playful rub of his headfur. Theo produced a moment's purr in spite of himself.

“So no one knows exactly what they talked about?" Both felines shook their heads. “I may have to ask them. I have every reason to think that it wasn't about future engagements, or at least not of the kind that, as we all know, doesn't happen in a fine establishment such as this."

“Bordering on insubordination, good wolf," Phil grinned.

“Then let me make up for it by taking a guess about what happened next." I made a show of thinking carefully before saying, “I'll take 'Going on a Date' for five hundred, Alex."

“Got it in one." Phil nodded. “That's one thing I know for a fact, because Markus asked my advice about it. He was worried that he was 'getting involved with a client.' When he confirmed for me that Micha had never asked for, let's say, 'alternative companionship' from him during the previous meetings, I told him that it sounded to me as though he might at least get a good dinner and some conversation out of the meeting, which beats just hanging about in a back booth here." He looked over to Karl, the large grizzly bear who served as bouncer and general enforcer for the club. The ursine nodded and started locking up the place; the last of the strangers had left, and it was time for us to get ready for whatever it was that Markus had planned for us.

“I can only guess that it was a good first date."

“We all got to meet Micha less than a month after that," Theo offered. “You don't take just everyone home to meet the family. I hope that we didn't grill him too much," he chuckled. “We're very protective."

“You liked him?"

“Right from the start. He's nearly 20 years older than Markus, but that wasn't an issue. Neither was anything else about him, truth told. He told us about his work — mostly freelance stuff, computer repair, troubleshooting, some website building and consulting, particularly for local clients — and he told us of his family, his background, all kinds of things about his life. That wasn't the important part."

“What was?"

“The way they looked at each other."

“What was it you said earlier?" Phil asked. “Something about someone who is adored also needed to be grateful to the one who is adoring him?"

“That sounds right," Theo nodded, then blushed. “I don't want to say too much, but… Markus was never oh-ee from that day to this. With kind, non-creepy fans, he'll sometimes meet them out here for a last-call drink, but he's never seen them behind the doors."

“He still dances," I observed. “And he still loves his audience. But his deepest love is reserved for Micha."

The liger smiled. “More than you know."

“And less than I'll tell."

“No, that's okay… we want you to."

I turned to see Micha joining us at the bar. The rest of the family had started to arrive and were gathering closer to the stage. I found myself blushing a little. “We really haven't had much chance to get to know one another, but I promise, I'm not here to tell tales out of school."

“No." The raccoon smiled at me and took me into a warm hug. “You're here to tell more about what love looks like. From what I've read of your work, that's what you do best."

“I try." I put gave him a little squeeze before releasing him. “I promise to tell your story faithfully."

“How may I help?"

“Tell me what we're here for, for one thing. What is this about?"

“It's about believing," Micha said softly, his eyes twinkling. “You know that Markus helped Theo get his GED?"

Phil, Theo, and I snickered softly. “The topic has come up," I smiled at him.

He returned the smile warmly and continued. “It's like that. Family isn't always about who you're born or raised by. The Fourth Commandment – or Fifth, if you're Reformationist – is wrong. It should not be 'Honor thy father and thy mother,' especially if they are missing or abusive. It should read, 'Honor those who nurture your growth.' That's what real family does."

“You speak like a teacher," I said. “A rabbi, perhaps."

“Blood tells," the raccoon chuckled. “Philosophy is one of my many studies, whether Talmud, Bible, Quran, or otherwise. I live what I can, pass along what I find. And, like Markus — like all of us here, I think — I try to nurture the best of everyone. That's what this is about, Tristan."

Theo slinked quickly behind the bar as I noticed the lights dimming. Phil leaned over to us, murmuring, “Grab some stools at the front of the bar. Better view."

“Good plan," I agreed, suiting actions to words.

The stage had no curtain, as the dancers generally stride or dance on from the wings or, in some cases, arrive on a darkened stage, hit their spot, and wait for the lights to come up. Micha and I watched as a modest spotlight hit the stage, illuminating Abram, wearing his lounge pants and loose-fitting top. Because only family were in the building, he let his tails free to express themselves with slow, gentle, mildly hypnotic wags. He smiled at the assembled family.

“Thank you, everyone. The suspense is finally over: I can unveil the surprise that you've all been so curious about, some more than others. Not that I'd mention any names." He shielded his eyes from the light with a carefully-placed forepaw. “Are you out there, Tristan?"

Chuckles from the family turned to guffaws when the sound of my extra-loud raspberry was heard from the bar. I laughed right along with them.

Abram smiled and waited for the happy tumult to die down before continuing. “Markus and Micha asked me to introduce this moment for them." Another pause for breath before he continued. “Not many know that the fine actor and director Sir Anthony Hopkins is also a composer. Please allow me to present our beloved golden fox performing his interpretive dance to Hopkins' music, 'And the Waltz Goes On'."

The spotlight faded slowly as he padded down the steps and into the audience. His excellent night vision guided him to a stool next to mine. I put an arm around him as he lay his head on my shoulder. We all waited in near breathless silence as the whispers of vulpine pawpads came onto the stage. We had the sense of waiting, anticipating, and then the spot slowly rose with the first few notes of the waltz. Markus stood in tableau, clad only in clingy but otherwise modest Spandex shorts of deep cabernet red. His golden fur had been freshened and brushed to a gleaming shine, and his flowing flaxen headfur, hanging down almost to the base of his tail, had been tied back with six cascading ribbons – yellow, brown, blue, red, green, and lilac. He stood with his upstage hindpaw pressed up against the dancing pole, his torso bent downward, his head hanging low, eyes closed.

With the slow beginnings of the waltz, the fox raised himself to lean back against the pole, reaching upward, wrapping an arm about it, swinging himself around in a long slow arc, matching the pace of the violins that took up the main theme of the waltz. He flowed languidly to the three-quarter-time rhythm, his arms and tail expressing a complex weaving of movements, until the pace picked up and he broke into a quickstep that curved around the central pole in a wide circle. As the music swelled yet again, he moved with even more energy and expression, moving to the sense of syncopation without missing a step. In the passages where the music broke for a beat, he rose in the air to land perfectly on the pick-up, and as the music slowed back to its original pace, he was back at the pole, again sweeping around in a single revolution to arrive at the place he began.

In the lento passage, he performed a pas de deux with his unmoving metal partner, and it struck me suddenly: He had turned his pole-dancing into a balletic idiom of control and passion, feeling the music and letting it guide even as he led the way to his own emotional expression. At the opening of the extended bridge of the piece, he pressed himself against the pole, gripping it with both forepaws, leaning backward until his long tresses touched the floor, then back again, performing a series of spins, turns, fouettés, all centered around the pole as both anchor and partner. When the main theme came back again, he repeated his wide promenade around the central point of the stage, until finally, at the climactic moment, he stood digitigrade, his downstage leg and body pressed up against the pole, his face open-mawed in ecstasy, his forepaws reaching up to hold it as high as he could, his upstage leg wrapped around, his hindpaw touching his knee, holding as the final notes of the solo violin climbed and held in thrilled tremolo, his body trembling mightily in release, until finally he fell with the crashing ending, wrapping his body around the pole as if collapsing against his lover, head down, panting, spent, as the lights went out.

The entire room was on their hindpaws in a flash, I among them, applauding and whooping for all we were worth. It was a tour de force of elegance and eroticism that I'd never even seen hinted at before. I felt tears on my cheeks as the house lights came back up. The great golden fox stood slowly, took his bows, and still we did not stop our applause. The smile on Markus' muzzle stretched from ear to ear, as he spread his arms wide to encompass and thank us. He peered across the length of the barroom and pointed to his lover, motioning him to come up to the stage. Micha hopped off of the barstool and ran to him, jumping into his embrace and holding him tightly as we only increased our applause for them both. The fox kissed his lover warmly, held him close again, and continued to grin in gratitude and appreciation. Micha stretched up to whisper something into Markus' ear, and the fox released him to pad quickly offstage, both chuckling. In only a few seconds, the raccoon returned and helped the dancer into his special robe as we all laughed affectionately and cheered even harder.

It took a good minute or more for the applause to die down, and the family began to approach the stage to congratulate Markus properly with hugs, kisses, exclamations of delight and approval. I fell back onto the barstool as Phil clapped me on the shoulder from behind and presented me with a fresh cup of hot cocoa. “Worth staying up for?"

“The way I feel, I may not sleep for a week!" I had a thousand questions, but I waited for the rest of the family to finish their congratulations. After a while, Micha and Markus made their way back to the bar and presented themselves to the remainder of his adoring fans. I rose and applauded yet again as Theo hugged him fiercely. The fox actually seemed to blush a little. I put out my forepaw to him, and when he went to shake it, I instead took his properly in my own and brushed my lips very gently across his knuckles before taking it in both of my own forepaws. “Bravo," I said looking him in the eye. “Bravisimo!"

He moved in to hug me tightly, his forehead to my shoulder as I gripped him close. “Thank you," he said. His voice trembled just the slightest bit. “Thank you, Tristan."

After he released me, he stood with his arm around his lover's shoulder, Micha's arm around his waist. Abram looked on, his face radiant with pride and just a touch of self-satisfaction. It was clear, at least to me, that the kitsune knew the golden fox had this exceptional display within him.

“Markus," I said, perching on the barstool once more, “I have seen some of the best ballet companies in the world, both live and on video. I have seen a reproduction of the original Nijinsky choreography of Stravinski's Rite of Spring from over a century ago. I have never seen anything as passionately sensual as this dance tonight. How did you design it? What inspired you, apart from the music, I assume?"

The fox leaned over and kissed the top of his lover's head. “Right here."

“No," Micha countered softly, placing a forepaw to the fox's chest. “Right here."

“I'd never even have thought of it without Micha," Markus said, squeezing the 'coon gently. “He started me thinking about expanding my dancing style, showing me some bits of various ballets." He chuckled softly, ears splayed slightly. “I thought it was pretty highbrow, tell ya the truth. I didn't really get it."

“Yeah, you did. You just didn't think you could."

“But you did," Theo said to Micha.

“I was certain of it, right from the start. It was about passion. A different kind of passion than he knew how to express at first, but passion nonetheless." He looked up into the fox's face with undisguised adoration in his eyes. “I knew it was there. I've always known."

The fox smiled softly. “Of course, he's got a bit of a crush on me."

“Goes both ways, I bet," I grinned.

“Yeah," the fox almost whispered. “Yeah, it does." He looked back to me. “Tristan, I'm sorry we haven't had the chance to really get to know you before now. In one way, though, I'm glad that we haven't."

I felt clearly that there was no offense meant by the comment, and I was far more curious to know the reason. “Can you tell me why?"

His cheeks seemed tinged with a blush, and he lowered his gaze. Micha said, “Because you're the storyteller in the family. Markus and I have both read some of your work, and neither of us knew how to talk to you, tell your our story." The 'coon put his cheek to the golden fox's shoulder. “Markus wanted to tell this part of the story first. Now, you can tell the rest."

“A story about…?" I prompted.

“About believing," Theo answered.

“About becoming," Phil offered.

“About passion," Abram added.

“About loving, and being loved." Markus leaned in to kiss his lover again, then looked back to me. “I would never even have imagined trying something like this, a few years ago. I wasn't even much of an exotic dancer to start with." He smiled at the tabby. “And then a little kitten told me what I needed."

Theo grinned. “I just got you to stick around to find out."

“And Phil gave me a chance."

The liger nodded, smiling. “Seemed like a good bet to me."

“And then along comes this guy…" He squeezed the 'coon close again, looked back at me. “I'd been skating along on just looks — sounds vain, sorry — never even thought of classes, or learning, or even trying something different. But I can't deny Micha anything."

“Whither next, young todd?" I asked him. “If this dance is anything to go by, you have a lot more in you to explore."

He looked a little uncertain, which I found surprising. Apparently, he still hadn't as much self-esteem as I'd credited him for. “I'm not even sure I could reproduce that again," he murmured.

“Of course you can," Abram said enthusiastically. “Especially if you review it a few times."

The fox blinked. “What?"

“I didn't stop with my GED, you know, and it's all your fault." The tabby grinned in such a way that I was immediately certain that he had an Uncle Cheshie somewhere. He bobbed his head toward the back of the bar. “Micha helped me set it up. It's not likely to be a perfect recording, what with only one camera angle, but at least it's preserved."

Phil moved aside to reveal a very nice camera on a tripod, set up behind the bar, with wires hooking it directly into a laptop. “Even caught all the applause," he smiled.

“Audition tapes don't have to be perfect."

The fox's eyes seemed particularly large. “Audition? As in…?"

“As in not right away, love," Micha said softly. “But it's preserved, for the family, and perhaps for the future." The 'coon pressed his cheek against his lover's side. “There's always the future. That's what you keep me around for."

“Not the only thing," Markus said, enjoying another kiss before looking back to us. “Thank you. Thanks to all of you."

In the moment of silence afterward, Micha clapped his paws together and addressed his lover directly. “Enough cool-down; you need a massage, to make sure the circulation to your muscles is up to par. Come on, then…"

The 'coon all but dragged the not-at-all complaining fox from our company and led him to the green doors and Markus' rooms upstairs. I had to chuckle. “I should be forced to obey such agreeable orders!"

“Not a kink that I thought you'd enjoy." Abram smiled slyly at me.

“Ack! TMI!" Theo laughed, covering his eyes as if scandalized.

I took the opportunity to give the tabby a quick kiss to his nose, which made him giggle. Turning back to the kitsune, I gave him a more tender kiss before giving Phil another glance. “You want any help with that?"

“No, thanks, Tristan, I've got it." He smiled at us. “Helena's already waiting for me, I'm sure."

Just before Abram and I started to leave, I glanced back at Theo and saw his heart plainly expressed in his eyes. Trusting the instinct that my three-tailed fox had been nurturing in me, I asked, “Would you like to join us, kit?" To his surprised look, I added, “Seems like a good night for a cuddle."

“Very much so," Abram agreed, extending a forepaw. “Join us."

With the sweetest shy smile on his muzzle, the tabby took Abram's forepaw and went with us, past the green door, up the stairs, into the kitsune's rooms. As our host graciously began making some sleep-assisting tea for us all, I turned to Theo, bowed, and padded closer to him. I placed one forepaw on his hip, and one on his shoulder, and he returned the gesture. Slowly, in small steps, we danced a bit of a waltz, just a few hummed measures. Abram watched us fondly as we let the night, magical with the possibilities of the future, settle in around us all.