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Breaking Checks

I’d been stationed on Consulate Island for months since my transfer from the Bolstrovan embassy up in Viervelden. That meant months spent eating three meals a day at the single solitary staff canteen located there.

Yeah, I could’ve crossed the bridge to the mainland, headed into Zoutestrand and grabbed something to eat, but I never really liked to. Not when my closest friends on the island were Visoka from Bolstrovo, and not when said friends were prohibited from doing the same.

So, I took each and every mealtime at that small, old canteen that, clearly, had only ever been intended to serve the original workers at the original weather station facility…

That was until times seemed to start catching up.

Whether it was intended solely as a treat for us island staff, or if it was more geared towards visitors as an early step towards a tourist offering, we had a shiny new ‘cafe bar restaurant’ available to us. One built into the side of the consulate building as part of some sort of new wing-to-be.

Whatever the intention behind it, I was only too happy to be heading to grab an early Friday dinner from someplace new. And I knew only too well that my very big, very good friend, Hank, was just as excited over the prospect of a cooked meal not served on a plastic tray.

“I checked the menu online just after I got back from lunch,” I said, riding along within the much bigger, lighter grey wolf’s shirt pocket. “Honestly, there’s like a dozen different things I wanna order, oh my gods.”

“You’re going to have to choose just one of them, Little Lupine,” Hank replied with a grin I could hear. “I don’t think even a wolf my size could manage a dozen different dinners.”

“I’ll try narrowin’ it down when we get seated.” My tail started to bat against his firm but comfortable chest as I thought about so many potential choices that weren’t overcooked vegetables as a side to a concept of meat. “How ‘bout you, Hugewolf? You know what you want yet?”

“I’ll see the menu once we get there. Work was so busy this afternoon, I didn’t get the chance to nose around online myself.”

I peered up to find Hank peeking back down at me, a flash of sunlight catching the corner of his glasses as he walked the path around the side of the consulate building. The bright, verdant scent of the hedge-lined gardens there tickled my nose, lifted my spirits even higher. And based on the glow in his golden eyes, I think it did much the same for Hank.

No sense then in asking more about his afternoon’s work and running the risk of spoiling his mood.

Instead, as we thumped past those sweet-smelling, pleasant-looking gardens, drawing closer to the shiny new extension to the consulate building thanks to Hank’s far-reaching stride, I turned our conversation to another friend. “Is Pinball gonna be joining us? Just so we know how we’ll go about breaking the check.”

He snorted at that, showing a few of his teeth with his smile. “The cat is tied up this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah? What with?”

“He’s attending an integration class.”

“Wait, another one?” Hank nodded at me. “Why?”

“That last stunt of his down at the beach.”

I cringed, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “Ah.”

His smile stretched to show a few teeth more. “Thankfully, that Maleni he treated to some run-assisted paragliding didn’t end up sailing too far out to sea, otherwise it’d be more than an extra class he’d be attending.”

Hank’s walk soon brought us the whole way to the outside-facing entrance of The Crossroads: Consulate Island’s very own, brand-new restaurant. It didn’t look too busy inside. Something of a surprise for not long past 5pm on a Friday.

Still, that’d mean no issue getting a table. A thought I’m sure Hank shared as he opened the door and bounded through.

The place looked bigger on the inside once we made it there, with plenty of tables in the main Visoka-sized area organised adjacent to a fully-stocked bar. No doubt whenever this place did get packed, it’d make for a fantastic atmosphere.

I tried to scope out a Maleni area to see how things were arranged there, as well as how extensive their offering of mixed-size seating was. No luck, however. I had my view blocked by the hosting stand and the hostess standing there before I got a proper chance.

“Hello, guys,” the marten said, beaming a smile at Hank, then down towards me in his shirt pocket. “How many of you today?”

“Two of us,” I replied.

“Alrighty!” She reached over to grab a pair of menus from the Visoka and Maleni-sized stacks. “One Maleni table for one, one Visoka table for one.”

“Uhh, no,” Hank said with forceful politeness. “We’d like one table for two, please.”

The hostess’ brightness faded, a puzzled expression sweeping over her. “Two?”

“Yes. Two.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, gripping the menus tighter. “We can’t do that.”

“A table for two shouldn’t be that hard?” Hank questioned, keeping a lid on the annoyance I could literally feel bubbling in his words. “Unless you have a lot of reservations?”

“We’re not properly equipped to have Maleni sit with Visoka here. Our delivery of integrated tables has been delayed back in Bolstrovo.”

I frowned at that and took my chance to speak my mind. “Can we not just like… y’know, move a Maleni table up onto the middle of a Visoka one?”

“Oh, no, we can’t.” The marten stepped aside from the stand to give her approaching fox colleague access. “Since we serve alcohol, we need to be properly set up, inspected, and certified in full for integration safety regulations.”

“Plus,” the brown fox said, dropping off a few extra menus. “With a Maleni table sat in the middle, where would the chip basket go?”

That joke, if it was a joke, kinda knocked me back.

Hank meanwhile let out a big, loud snort, then quipped, “True. And Tirrell here would likely end up eating them all.”

I threw a side eye up at him, wanting to challenge that, but his broad smirk defeated me.

The marten shook her head and turned to her grinning colleague. “Could you please go check on the customer at Maleni table four?”

The fox nodded and whisked himself away, leaving her to settle us back down again. “I am sorry. We’ve only just opened and we’re still working out the kinks. Would you like a pair of tables that are next to each other at the Maleni mezzanine?”

Me and Hank shared one more upward and downward look, then in near unison gave her our reply.

“Yes.”

“Please.”

Our hostess guided us over to a corner of the restaurant just out of view of the entrance; an area where the Visoka tables stopped and your typical Maleni-scaled balcony area started.

I ended up riding Hank’s cupped hands down to one of the tables right next to the balcony’s guardrail.

As for Hank, once he’d set me down, he promptly took his own seat at the table right next mine, high above.

That mezzanine balcony was low. Lower than you’d usually expect this sort of area to be. Noticeably below a Visoka’s knee height, and so quite a bit below my big friend’s large thigh as he moved to get comfortable, his chair shifting and creaking adjacent to mine beyond the metal railing.

“This is bollocks,” I moaned from my seat way below. “I wanna be sitting up there with you. Like proper. Normal.”

“I know,” Hank replied, bringing his big, sweeping movements to a stop. “But it’s fine.”

“It’s also bollocks how they’re not helping by moving one of these tables up there. It’s hardly dangerous, and it ain’t like the tables they’ve got back in the canteen are anything special, either.”

“Susan has always been militant about health and safety,” he said with a small-for-a-big-wolf sigh. “I suppose she decided to move that militancy from the facilities department into a new side-calling.”

“Wait, that’s Susan? I didn’t recognise her all dressed up like that.” I slumped back in my seat and found a sigh of my own. “No chance of trying to ask again then. More chance of getting blood from a stone than having her go outside the rulebook.”

I expected a reply of further complaint to my complaining, but nothing came.

At least, not verbally.

I craned my neck way up from my stupidly low position to find Hank flashing a huge grin right back down.

With the mood those first minutes in that place had put me in, it bent me so far out of shape that I snapped back, “What?”

His sharp smile softened. “I’m just thinking about how much littler than usual you look down there, Little Lupine.”

“Gods,” I grumbled. “I’m not little, it’s just… you and all your oversized lot being so large that’s skewing things. That and Susan fucking us about like this.”

Hank snorted, easing his smile even further into a smirk. “Maybe so… but you certainly are still quite little.”

“Pfft.” I tried to hold onto some of my annoyance, but the urge to smile back proved too strong. “Don’t help that you’re even bigger than most other Visoka, Hugewolf.”

I heard his tail swish and thump against his chair leg. A sound that sent my own into a flick.

“It’s a shame,” he said with a rub of his chin.

“What’s that?”

“This restaurant not having proper integration for Maleni and the Maleni section yet. It’s quite a fine place otherwise.”

“I’ll haveta take your word for it,” I replied with a chuckle, looking up and down the towering wall of grey-shirted grey wolf I had rising up beside me. “Can’t really see much of it past you.”

“Oh?” Hank shifted, leaning to move more of his large self above me. “I’ve never heard you complain about me taking up your view yet.”

I couldn’t resist a smile upon seeing his own beaming grin overhead. “Well, I ain’t never had to worry ‘bout neck pain while trying to chat with you before.”

“And how do you think I feel, hmm?” He moved again, filling even more of my view as he leaned down further. “Having to look all the way down there…”

“Pfft.” I batted a hand up at him. “Whatever.”

With a snicker I just couldn’t hide, I turned my attention to the now-overshadowed basket of chips on my table.

I grabbed one of them, plunged its warmth into the accompanying cup of salsa, and took a big bite out of it. The spice hit hard but appealingly, while the taste of the sauce and the chunky vegetables added to the grumble-worthy experience. “At least these are good… No doubt well worth the real estate they’re filling to keep me from sitting with you up there, according to that fox.”

I glanced up to see Hank throwing a salsa-soaked chip the size of a serving tray into his maw. After a good, forceful chew, a large swallow, and a loud, approving grunt, he said, “Well worth it indeed.”

“You’re not supposed to agree,” I shot back. “Damn.”

“Hah…” The big wolf leaned down, overtaking even more of my surroundings. His huge hand reached out, a finger extended, and with a deft touch, he treated me to a soft, fur-ruffling petting between my ears. “If it helps cheer you up, as I’m taking up so much of your view, perhaps I can shift myself to offer you a bigger one?”

“Bigger?” I leaned up to nuzzle at his leathery finger pad before it pulled away. “Don’t you mean ‘better’?”

“You tell me…”

With another suitably sizeable grunt, Hank started moving for real, shifting and shaking his broad hips, rising and falling out of and into his seat.

Heavy crackles and creaks burst forth from the woodwork supporting his large-than-most-Visoka-sized frame, echoing in my flicking ears while I watched his pants react to the rolling of his thick thighs and well-rounded rear.

With each and every motion, more and more of him bulged over the side of his seat, teasing me as he slowly rumbled closer, turning in his visibly-trembling chair.

The broad width of his backside presented itself, pushing and straining fabric that looked increasingly ready to surrender to the ample curves they struggled to cling to. Curves that outsized me with ease.

And good gods, how much would I have given to see that happen right there, right then.

To see his belt buckle break.

See his pants relent and give way.

And see an unstoppable double avalanche of soft, crushingly weighty grey come pouring over and thundering down all over my utterly helpless self.

The biggest, harshest thud yet pulled me from the starts of my fantasy.

A stiff shuddering of everything around me followed; the aftermath of Hank crashing down into his chair one final, heaviest time.

“How is it?”

“Fuck me,” I muttered, grimacing in delight as my chip basket bounced, my menus moved, and my cutlery chattered.

“Maybe later.”

I snorted hard, face warming. A guilty glance around the Maleni mezzanine told me mine was the only occupied table there. The one with a quizzically-staring wolf-otter aside. “It’s bigger… and better.”

Hank’s huge tail lopped about heavily, his grin-creased eyes peering down over his shoulder at me. “Very good.”

“You’re gonna distract me from ordering, though, rumbling about like that.”

“I’m sure you’d be devastated, so.” He shifted again, closer still, forcing another wonderfully massive crackle from his struggling chair. Deep enough to make it sound as if the ground itself was giving way, and loud enough to force my Normaliser to really put work in. “Much like that little seating section you’re in would be… if I were to use that for a seat instead.”

“Oh my gods,” I choked out, only too aware of how incredibly tight the crotch of my jeans was getting. No wonder, having so much of his enormous rear in reach, spilling heavily over his seat and approaching the edge of my table. “I’d ask you to test that out, but I ain’t feeling flush with enough cash to pay for all the damages you’d cause.”

“Hmm… That’s a shame.” Hank slid back into his seat, turning around to retake a more normal sitting position. His grin remained, though. A sight that helped ease any panging disappointment. “But that just means we’ll have to think about that more once we’re back at the apartment. And I’m sure Pinball would be happy to join in once he’s back. Perhaps Juro, too…”

Contentment growled in my throat. The tightness below refused to relent, even with my far larger friend and his plentiful assets far less in my face. “I’m well up for that.”

“Oh, I know you are, Little Lupine.”

My crotch pulsed, growing into an even taller tentpole. Pushing down on it in an attempt to correct myself proved hopeless. “I’m gonna need not to be once the server comes back ‘round.”

“Do try not to come around before then… or before we do get ourselves back home.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” I less said, more gasped, dipping my head, cheeks leaping from warm to burning with certain redness.

Hank burst forth with a chuckle, right before he offered another delicate stroke between my ears, then over the back of my sunken head. “Perhaps the seating setup is better this way, after all.”

I grinned hard enough to see it through narrowed eyes, pushing my head up into his petting as I reached to offer a rub of my own at his large, grey-furred finger. “You might have a point, Hugewolf.”

“Actually…” Hank’s petting stopped. That finger of his eased my hand aside as it moved down to my lap… and pressed. “I think it’s you that has the point right now, Little Lupine.”

A hard, bass-filled grunt forced itself free, rising from the electric sensation of my friend’s deftly teasing touch at the whole of my steep-peaked crotch at once. “Godsdamn it… Are you trying to have me make a mess?”

Hank didn’t reply.

At least, not right away.

Instead, he pulled me up and into a lean towards the railing, and my cheek into his thigh, bending fingers until he’d fully wrapped me up in a firm hug.

We held positions for a time. A few seconds or so. Enough for me to be able to nose at him and enjoy his scent and his warmth.

Until he finally spoke up to say, “Our server is on her way.”

He let up the closeness of his grasp, guiding me back into my seat with a helpful hand.

I sensed the presence of his muzzle before I peeked up to see both it and his smile approaching.

“Let’s hold onto all these lovely thoughts,” he whispered into my ear. “Really work out the details at home together, hmm?”

I huffed breathlessly, heart still pounding from the effects of all his teasing and toying. Nuzzling into his hovering hand felt good. Right. And I kept at it right up until I heard our Visoka-sized server’s approach.

“Well?” Hank cocked his head, his smile evolving into a grin once more. “Does that sound good to you?”

I scooted myself forward, negotiating both my chair and the contours of my lap even further beneath the table. My answer to that question came easy.

“Oh, abso-fuckin’-lutely.”