The Love we Hide (Gay Furry Romance/Thriller story) MA15+

C3P5 - scratching

4 weeks after Reverse began

Fetch, without realising, was sitting on the exact same bench as Twig and Grace were merely three days before. In one paw he held his phone with an ungloved paw, the screen showing a group chat with a single message he had sent to it: "Meet at the park, 7 am, don't be followed".

Hopefully, none of them would be.

Maybe this whole thing would have been less stressful if he wasn't so tired; the previous night he had lain awake for hours on end, anticipating his veins going blue again and blood to come racing up out of this throat. Luckily, this hadn't happened. But he wasn't exactly feeling 'over the weather' as well.

"How long have you been sitting here?"  Said Dusk as he approached the bench from behind.

Fetch chuckled, and tried to turn around to face him but a kiss on the lips stopped him midway. He would have slapped the wolf across the face if he had the right angle, instead he only shoved the lusty canine away.

"Not in public you jackass." He said with a harsh whisper. Gays were probably accepted in this region of the town, but the whole point of this 'group-operation' was not to avoid attention. Hence doing it in the middle of a big fucking park.

Dusk rolled his eyes and sat beside him on the bench, close enough that his mint-but-not-mint cologne caught itself in Fetch's muzzle.

They sat there a little while, just taking in the atmosphere around them. The old and musky smell from the pine trees had been pissed down by so much wet-snow that the pine needles looked like chandeliers of bright morning light. No pups or cubs were skating this morning - the wet weather made it too dangerous, well, dangerous enough that all the helicopter-mums would freak out about it - so the two dog's on the bench were engulfed in cold and uneasy silence.

Dusk needed to ask-

"Did you-" His voice cracked, so he started over. "Did you have anymore... incidents?"

Fetch sniffled, a symptom of a sickness that would lead to his downfall less than half a year later.

"Not really. I barely ate anything last night because of it, in case it came out as the pasta did..."

Another silence. There were a few teenage cats hiding in between a few of the trees off in the far corner of the park. The faint yellow light of matches lighting up cigarettes explained their intentions.

"What's up fuckers!?" A rough voice yelled from their left, the same direction of the park's car park.

Fetch and Dusk snapped their heads around so fast that whiplash teethed at their necks. To their left, somehow predictably holding a baggie of cheap-wine, stood no other than Vincent Sate. A full six-foot demon-wolf with an expression on his face that came across as a troublesome smirk.

Dusk turned his head and faced down. The last time he had seen his brother was in the hospital waiting room as Twig was wheeled past, blood-soaked bandaged wrapped around him like a lizard-mummy. And those memories weren't too pleasant too think about.

Fetch quickly looked down as well, pangs of guilt setting off in his chest: for he knew how the demon's lips tasted, and how his bitter-sweet scent clouded up his senses like nothing else. And what could make it worse, like sitting next to the exact wolf he had betrayed in that dream (Was it really a dream, though?) for the arousing-demon. He had read about stuff like this a lot in love stories: the main character had to choose between two potential mates, and the other would find someone else and they would all live happily ever after. But he had already chosen, hadn't he? He loved Dusk, not Vincent. The only thing he so much as liked about Vincent was how he cared for an abused coyote.