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As much as I want to be angry I find myself at ease, almost happy even. Jim catches me up on all the hometown gossip I've missed out on, who got who pregnant, who was a junkie now, the usual. I'd always avoided that sort of conversation but the way he talks about it is fun and engaging, a perfect distraction from everything else.

As midnight gives way to early morning the second and third six-packs are shared and finished. We break into some of the hard stuff my dad had stocked in his antique liquor cabinet. Whiskey was a favorite of his and while we never got along, I had to admit his taste for it was impeccable. Every glass went down smooth, dangerously so.

“Remember the gym teacher, Hughes?" Jim asks and I nod. “Well, apparently his WIFE likes to watch him do stuff with guys."

“You're jokin'?" I laugh, no longer bothered by the return of my accent.

“Nope!"

“How'd anyone even find out?" I ask.

He waves his paw through the air. “Someone saw them at a gay bar in the city a couple of hours away, and Hughes was grinding on a go-go dancer!"

“You know who it was?"

Jim shakes his head. “Was all the ol' biddies talked about for weeks!" He smiles at me. “You glad ya invited me in?"

“I guess I am! We'll see if that's true in the mornin', though." I swirl my glass, watching my reflection ripple away in the clear amber fluid.

He gets quiet.

“S'everything alright, Jim?"

“Yeah, yeah, s'just…" He looks away.

“S'just what?" I move to pour another glass of whiskey. “Want some?"

“Sure, sure, but I–I uh…" He looks at me, afraid, but I don't see it through the liquor. “I never would have guessed about Hughes!"

I top off his glass. “Me either. I had the biggest crush on him in High School. Basically defined my whole 'type'."

“What is your 'type'?" Jim leans back smiling.

“Hughes for one. I'll do anything for a moose in his 40's, now." I say.

“Makes ya wonder what he really meant when he'd say–"

“Don't quit on me yet, boy, I ain't done with ya!" We say together, each of us making our best-drunk impression of the old moose.

We share a long full-body laugh.

Once we've caught our breath we sit together quietly. I take a moment to really examine Jim for the first time since I've returned. Before now it was like I was watching him through my peripheral vision, just seeing narrow blurry glimpses.

He still dresses like he did ten years ago: plaid shirt, blue jeans, boots, and a baseball cap whose color changes only sometimes. Tonight it's plain green, like his shirt. It's a good color for him and it enunciates his hazel eyes, cute little ears, and deep brown fur.

Once, he was muscular and the evidence is still there beneath the flab and fat that had accumulated on his gut and arms. Whenever he laughs or moves I can see the strength underneath his soft exterior.

He's still huge, but not like the athlete he used to be. Now years of labor had molded him into a large and powerful man. His size wasn't manicured or forced via diets and workouts, like mine, it's a natural kind of strength and size. I'm almost jealous.

“You look good, Wes."

My eyes snap to his and I feel my face flush as I realize I'd been staring at him.

“You look… you look really good…" He says, quieter this time.

“You too, Jim."

“Nah, I'm fat now." He shakes his belly. “Too much beer and barbecue."

“I never get to have fun if I wanna keep this," I lift my shirt. “Beer and barbecue is a lot better than seltzer and protein shakes." I trace my abs with a finger.

Jim swallows hard and drinks, never taking his eyes off my abs.

“I'm gonna have to fast or somethin' when I get home." I let my shirt fall.

“I can't believe how different ya look, Wes." Jim's breathing becomes heavy. “I–I–I bet Hughes would be all over you." He laughs weakly.

“Yeah?"

“Yep."

“I wouldn't mind the company, he still around?"

“Nah. He n' his missus got job offers in the city or somethin'." Jims eyes drift back down to my chest. “Not much company to have 'round here."

I tilt my head. “Weren't you n' Dani going steady for a while? I thought you two'd been married by now! Captain of the football team, head cheerleader n' all. Small town fairy…fairy tale…" I trail off as I see his jaw tighten.

He shakes his head. “Didn't work out."

“You seeing anyone, Jim?"

He slowly shakes his head.

“Grace? She's nice."

“She is."

I allow my eyes to wander his body in the tension and as I shift my gaze lower I begin to really admire his bulk.

“Wes?"

“Sup?" I stare at his gut and try to keep my eyes above his waist.

“I, I…"

I reach toward my glass but think better of it.

“I'm glad you're back." It's almost inaudible.

I bite my tongue.

“I know we didn't talk much, not after what I did to ya." He impulsively wrings his hat. “But I listened to what everyone said, people talk 'bout you a lot."

“What'd they say?" I ask.

“At first they talked 'bout you bein' gay and goin' off to a city far away."

“Fuckin–"

“Your dad set 'em right, Wes." He swallows. “Set me right."

I blink.

“He'd brag about you, but you know him he– couldn't never say it to your face." Jim says. “Every time you won somethin' shootin' he'd buy everyone drinks at Bucks." He smiles. “He went on n' on about you after you got that masters, too. We drank together n' talked."

I nod.

“I asked if he'd seen you recently, if you was comin' h-home to visit anytime soon. Cause, cause I wanted to t-talk to you." A stutter announces his growing stress, but I'm blind to it. “I'd see p-pictures of you online, sometimes. M-made me a li-little jealous."

“What… Jealous? Of what?" When I try to make eye contact he looks away.

“Your P-pa and I came back here that night a-and had some drinks." Jim continues.

“Jim?"

“I s-said I was s-sorry for how I hu-hurt you." Jims voice cracks on every word. “He t-told me he–he th-thought you and I would–"

“Would what, Jim?"

“Wh-when we was kids–"

“Thought what, Jim?"

“He said I g-gotta tell you–"

“Tell me what?" I ask.

“I–I was sc-scared–" He becomes small, his stutter worsens and I can't tell if it's from the booze or his anxiety. “W-Wes please understand."

“Understand what?" I bark and he winces.

“I ca-can't s-say it, Wes, I'm tr-trying!" A low groan.

I wobble across the room, fighting to keep upright as the alcohol and rising anger tear through my system. Jim chokes back his sobs and I place a hand on his soft and warm paw. He can't look at me.

A high-pitched whine escapes his lips. “He th-thought you n' me w-was gonna be…" He shakes his head hard. “He thought we was g-gonna be t-together."

“Jim, that doesn't make any sense you–"

“I'm g-gay W-Wes." He rips the words from his throat in a gory display of pain, tears, and snot. “S'why I wanted to talk." He looks up at me with wet eyes full of fear.

I step back.

“I know it doesn't make what I did o-okay. We was friends and I hu-hurt you, I let those other people hurt you." He says.

Shock sends me stumbling back into my own chair. What the fuck? Jim came out to my Dad? He told JIM he thought the two of us should get together?! Why him and not me?! Why couldn't he tell me those things?!

“What the fuck?" I hiss.

“Wes?" Jim wipes snot and tears from his face. “Wes, you alright?"

“What do you think is gonna happen next, Jim?"

“I–I don't know what you mean."

“We just… get together? Be a happy couple and I forgive you for–"

“No!"

“For what you did, what you let other people do?! 'Cause you got my daddy's blessing?!"

“No, Wesley, no! I just… I just need to talk to someone about this. I know w–we won't get together or anythin'." Jim begs. “I just need to talk."

My thoughts are equal parts anger and sympathy. I want to tell him to fuck off (again) because I had to deal with all that shit on my own, and when I told him the same thing he betrayed my trust.

Anger bubbles beneath the surface. Hatred. Resentment. A desire to see him ache the way I did, to see him hurt. He looks pathetic and scared, and I know I could hurt him now. But could I really do that to someone else?

I shake my head and scowl as I pick the words. “Jim…"

He looks up, afraid. The fur around his eyes is matted from tears and I notice flecks of snot on his face and paws.

“Alright." My anger and resentment cannibalize each other, leaving only sympathy. “Let's talk."

Jim perks up. “Really?"

“Come on, let's light a fire on the patio." I grab the now half-empty bottle of whiskey and head to the door.

Jim chases after me and after a moment of hesitation, he takes a seat right next to me, leaving only a few inches of space between us on the couch outside. It only takes a few clicks of a lighter and a small comfortable fire bursts to life in the propane-fueled firepit.

I pour two more glasses and sit, taking a moment to take in the comforting sounds of the night. Crickets chirp, owls hoot, and sometimes I hear a larger animal wandering through the nearby trees, wild deer and elk probably. I hand a glass to Jim.

“So, let's talk," I say.

“About… About gay stuff?" He asks.

“Jim you can't be that dumb."

“H-hey!"

“Sorry. Well, tell me somethin' you've never been able to tell anyone else." I say, more gently this time.

His posture softens as he begins to relax. “Hughes was fuckin' hot, right?"

I laugh so hard that I nearly fall over.

“Don't laugh! You said you had a crush on him too!" He points.

“S'not that, Jim." I shake my head. “I get it, you couldn't ever tell anyone that before."

“Nice to say it out loud." A small smile creeps across his face.

It's nearly three in the morning now. Jim continues to talk as eager as ever, the freedom of his coming out having re-energized him, apparently. He can finally talk to someone safely about his crushes, his experiences, and ask questions to help him navigate this part of his life.

The whiskey bottle finally runs dry at four am. We sit quietly until Jim speaks again.“What else should we talk about?"

I think for just a moment and smile. “What's your type, Jim?"

“I–I like shorter guys, twinks? I guess." He looks around nervously as if someone might be listening in. “Can… Can a guy like me be, uh, be a, uh… a bottom for… for smaller guys?"

I laugh again.

“Hey!"

“Sorry, sorry… Yeah, you can Jim." I shake my head.

He frowns. “Coulda fooled me! All those guys online just keep calling me 'daddy'."

“Aww, and you wish you had a daddy, huh?"

His jaw drops.

“No shame in it, I've called the odd guy 'daddy' too." I smile. “Mostly they call me daddy, though."

“They do?" His eyes widen.

“Yeah, I'm a top. Mostly. I have the opposite problem of you, though. A lot of big guys want me to call them daddy 'cause I'm smaller than them."

“You're not exactly small." He says.

“You don't know half of it," I reply.

He leans closer. “What does that mean?"

I consider what to say next, if I was sober I'd shut up like a reasonable person but unfortunately, the alcohol and weeks without any sort of physical affection have caught up with me.

“Just what you said, I'm pretty big and strong now." I flex and wink as I lift my shirt again.

He openly stares.

I should stop, we're both fucked up, and not just from the booze. But I don't. “Yep, guys like it a lot." I spread my legs apart slightly.

“I–I bet they do."

“So you ever date a guy?" I change the subject, feeling guilty about teasing him.

He frowns. “Not really. Any guys from the towns 'round here just want head on the side or somethin'."

“You kiss a guy?"

He looks down, sad. “No…"

“D'aww, big high school football star lookin' like a blushin' virgin!" I say.

“I'm not a virgin! Well, n-not all the way a virgin. I've, uhm," He makes a clumsy imitation of a blowjob with his hands and mouth.

“You can just say 'I've sucked a dick', Jim."

He huffs. “Fine, I've sucked some dick."

“Never been fucked?"

He crosses his arms. “I already told you the guys I like don't wanna. I think my butts too big." He glares at me. “You tell anyone I said that I'll kill you!"

“You've got a great butt, Jim." I place a hand on his arm and squeeze.

“It's not too big?" He smiles at me.

“I like big butts, Jim." I laugh.

He scoots closer to me, our legs just barely touching.

“So you haven't kissed a guy?" I allow my hand to fall from his arm to his leg.

He shrugs. “S'okay. I almost did in the city but I got scared n' couldn't do it."

“Aww, waiting for mister right?"

He growls. “Nothin' wrong with wantin' a lil romance! Maybe some cuddlin' and stuff…Dinner and–and a date!"

“Jim…You're fuckin' adorable," I squeeze his leg and bring a hand to his cheek. “A bit dumb, and kind of an asshole but adorable."

He leans closer to me, and our faces nearly touch. He opens his mouth and then closes it.

I stroke his muzzle and scratch behind his ear, causing him to come even closer. I lean up, touching my nose to his wide and wet snout. “Absolutely adorable." I press my lips to his, gently at first, testing to ensure I didn't overstep.

He nervously kisses back and I take the opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth making him moan. His paws hover awkwardly around me until I grab his wrist and bring one large paw to my muscled stomach.

Jim gets the idea quickly and rubs his soft pads against me. Emboldened by his eagerness I kiss him deeper, shoving him back to the other side of the couch. He whines into my kiss, granting me control. I climb on top of him and rub his belly, grope his hairy pecs, and start to nibble on his neck.

“Oh God, oh my God!" His voice is higher, needier. “Wesley, oh God Wes!"

I gently bite his neck. “Yeah?"

He nods and pulls me into him, one paw grasping my ass while the other continues to run along my body, stopping to squeeze any muscles he comes across. “Please, please Wes. I need it so bad." He whines like a puppy eager for affection.

He spreads his legs apart, inviting me into him. Our crotches rub together gently at first before we start to press against one another. Warmth and testosterone fuel our gropes, kisses, bites, and thrusts.

I kiss him again, hard and deep. I look into his eyes and frown, I can tell no one had ever treated him this way. Everything he's ever done had been casual sex, entirely devoid of passion. Guilt builds as I fear I'm taking advantage of him in his drunken state, worse than that I worry I'm taking advantage of the fact that he needs this. To be touched, cherished, and adored.

I slide off of him and back onto the couch and watch as he peels his shirt off and begins to unbuckle he spreads his legs further apart and lays back, rubbing himself until he realizes I'm not moving.

“Did I do somethin' wrong or–" He crawls across the couch toward me.

I slide back. “No. We're both drunk, Jim."

“I'm not that drunk! I hold my liquor damn well, and fuckin' hell Wes I want this. Please." He pleads.

I try to balance my lust with reason. I want this too, I want to have someone close against me. Someone I can touch and feel, someone who wants me close to them, too. But what if it's the alcohol? What if he wakes up in the morning and hates me? What If I hate me?

A soft paw rubs my leg. “Wes?"

I shake my head.

“I'll… I'll sleep in my truck and–" I can hear the hurt in his voice.

I struggle with the complexity of my feelings. I want him to go, but I need him here. I should be angry with him, does having him here mean I forgive him? I'm too tired, too drunk, and too horny to answer so I just say the first thing that comes to mind. “Please stay."

He freezes. “I'll stay."

I grab his paw and guide him to my old childhood bedroom. My bed is barely big enough for the two of us and we each curse as we struggle to navigate a mess of boxes and junk on the floor. We strip down to our underwear and lie next to each other.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Hey, Wes?"

“Yeah?" I ask.

“Can I be the little spoon?" He asks.

I roll over and find his expansive backside already pressing into me. I bury my face in his neck and kiss him gently as I stroke his fur. Each kiss is greeted with another shove back against me. I grab his chest and run a finger over his sensitive nipple.

He grunts and pushes into me again as I run my fingers through his soft fur, stopping on his belly. This is a terrible idea, I'm still angry with him. Aren't I? I should be, but I feel bad for him and I'm lonely, too.

I inhale and enjoy the smell of his fur, it's natural but not unpleasant. I feel my cock twitch against his furry cheeks and I squeeze him. I had a crush on him once, one that evaporated after how he treated me in school. But he's different now.

And he's here. No one else came, no one else even bothered to ask after the funeral was over. He's here and he's sorry and lonely in my arms, even though I treated him like trash he begged for me to touch and hold him. I hate the whole idea of having to forgive him, but I hate the idea of hurting him just as much. My anger is righteous, it's justified, but here he is in my arms.

And I don't think I want to let him go.