A black 1989 Dodge raider sat idling outside the Sionnach household as last minute preparations were being bagged and decisions were being made. A single wide trailer amongst many other single wide trailers in the Mount Pleasant Trailer Park, it was currently only occupied by two men: Ganymede Sionnach and his teenage son, Nico, a runty red fox with messy black hair, spots of stubble under his nose and on his jawline. As Nico was in his bedroom making sure he'd packed up enough clothes (while also making attempts to sneak some form of entertainment into the bag), Ganymede stood in the living room with his father, Tros, discussing the upcoming plans for the next week.

It was the summer, specifically July, two months after Nico had turned 14. Anthros typically start their puberty in their late pre-teens or early teen years, with heat cycles beginning typically a year after puberty starts. Depending on the species, the length and frequence a heat cycle can be from a few days to three weeks, and they can come anywhere from once a month to twice a year. During this period the hormones already being produced through puberty surge and result in a myriad of emotional responses, not limited to but including: moodiness, restlessness, impulsivity, attention issues, irritability, sexually abnormal behaviors, and so on. Alongside this, typical pubescent body responses spike, and can result in increased sweating and body odor, increased hunger, and increased sexual appetite. This is typically when many anthros lose their virginity, as the impulsivity and desires tend to lead them to mingling and satiating desires with one another. Intercourse, of course, stifles the desires typically for the heat cycle, reducing them back to the level expected of puberty. The heat cycle for foxes, unfortunately for Nico, lasts about one week, and occurs every three months. 

Nico's last heat cycle had been a miserable one, his father Ganymede noticing how irritable Nico had gotten, clearly stir crazy and full of pent up energy with no means to relax. The boy was not particularly sociable at school, and was far from having any sort of potential partner, and that restlessness had only been compounded by how he didn't have many close friends in the neighborhood with which he could hang out, which is how Ganymede ended up deducing a plan with his father Tros to take Nico camping, to teach him how to shoot guns and fish and live off the land, to occupy his mind through his next heat cycle and hopefully impart to him skills that would guide him later in life. Anything to distract the boy, at least, until his hormones subsided and he found himself able to relax again. 

"C'mon, shrimp, the road's'a waitin'" came a middle-aged voice from the living room, and Nico found himself zipping up his duffle bag without packing any sort of entertainment or distraction for the dreadfully boring nights when Tros falls asleep and he's left with his desires and his own boredom. Nico would come out of the bedroom with his bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face, though, always happy to be around his grandpa even if it was amidst the moodiest times of his life. Tros was there, waiting for him, wearing a similar smile, excited to see his grandson again. Tros was pushing 60 at this point in his life, and his body wore that age well, an older red fox who's fur had started to desaturate, his face, neck and belly starting to turn a greyer pink, white around his muzzle, fur thinning somewhat on his well-used hands.

Tros stood at the front door in his usual attire: a black t-shirt tucked into blue jeans, and a green-and-blue flannel shirt that always had a pack of cigarettes in the pocket, a black hat that sported some sort of wording about how he was a veteran. He had glasses that concealed the wrinkles around his eyes, similar to Nico's, grey with the red ring around the pupil. Despite being Ganymede's son, Nico looked a striking image of his grandfather, who was far shorter than his son Ganymede and thinner as well, standing about 5' 8" compared to Nico's 5' 2", not yet having completed his growth spurt (though it is worth mentioning, Nico enters adulthood at only 5' 4"). Tros always smelled like cigarettes, a chronic smoker that had a mingling of aftershave aroma around his neck but otherwise didn't wear fragrance, and as he saw his grandson he'd cross his arms and ask "y' ready, polecat? We gotta get there 'fore nightfall so we can get the tent set."

Polecat, it was Tros' nickname for Nico. Despite no one in the family being skunks, it was an affectionate name he'd given his son due to the vulpine musk the family all sported, fox musk smelling strongly similar to skunk musk. Or so Nico assumed, at least. It always made Nico smile, even bigger than he was already smiling, and the young boy would glance away as he said "ready as i'm gonna be, granddaddy".

After giving his hugs goodbye to his father and tossing his bag among other camping supplies in the trunk, Nico would find himself in the passenger seat of the dusty Dodge raider in his favorite outfit: his blank tank top and blue jeans that had been hemmed for his short height. The raider always smelled of stale cigarette smoke, sometimes of a bit of bourbon, and it had that unmistakeable musty smell that all older cars tended to have. The floorboards were dusty with dirt, the windshield had mud around the perimeter where the windshield wipers couldn't reach, and the radio had a tinniness to it as Tros put on his seatbelt and looked over to his grandson, sizing him up before remarking "every time I see ya, y' get a little bigger. Worried you're gonna outgrow me before you're 18!"

The younger fox would look out the window and show a smile of pearly whites, his eyes rolling at the compliment as he replied "gym teacher says he thinks I ain't gonna get above 5' 5" 'cause my feet's too small."

"Well tell your gym teacher t' kiss your ass. He don't know shit." the older fox would say as he cruised down the road, the windows down. Tros swore that the air conditioning "wasted gas", so the windows were always down in the summer in his car. His son, Ganymede, would always fuss with Nico around, arguing "no, the drag from havin' the windows down wastes more gas than usin' the A/C, your granddaddy's full'a shit. Don't tell him I said that though".

Nico liked the windows down more, though, because he could smell the trees and flowers as they drove by them. It was also convenient for Tros, who didn't have to deal with a confined space full of pubescent fox musk, which had already tickled at his nose quite a bit during the time he'd spent with Nico so far.

"Y' keepin' your grades up?" Tros would ask as they drove along.

"I guess. I hate school" Nico replied, unsurprising for a boy his age.

"I hated school too, but I finished with good grades. Yer daddy dropped out. Don't let me catch you slippin' like he did" Tros replied, his eyes glancing over to the boy as he drove, "or i'll tan that hide'a yours right off."

The conversation carried on in a typical fashion, grandfatherly advice about not making the same mistakes that Nico's father made, being better than his dad. Nico was a smart boy, though, Tros could tell by how he talked and held a conversation that he was mainly restrained by his own insecurities but not by any sort of intellect defect. He was going to be fine, Tros thought, so he spared Nico lectures about school and grades and instead decided to pluck at his social life a little bit.

"Your daddy told me y' like boys. Y' got a boyfriend yet?"

"No," Nico replied, "s'hard enough makin' friends."

Nico had always struggled socially in school. Foxes tended to get picked on throughout their school years, as did most "fragrant" mammals. In anthro society, there are hierarchal species structures, various species doing better socially than others. The top tended to be mammals seen as "strongest": wolves, tigers, horses, lions, bears, and so on. The bottom of the barrel, though, the most ostracized, were mammals such as skunks, foxes, coyotes, opossums, the sort sometimes (offensively) referred to as "vermin". These mammals have been unfairly cast into certain ranks for various reasons, but the one of most relevance is smell. Smell is a crucial part of anthro society, which should mean that naturally aromatic anthros should be allowed some modicum of respect to their natural musks, but it often works in the opposite direction, where "vermin" mammals are expected to suppress natural aromas in ways other mammals are not. It is seen as powerful for a wolf to radiate musk after a long day's work, but a fox is likelier to receive some sort of rude remark from a stranger, or even a coworker or classmate. This is, of course, far worse in the unforgiving wild that is the school years, where children can be more ruthless than an adult's worst enemies.

The pubescent years, tragically, were hitting Nico hard, and he'd found himself only struggling more to socialize as his body began to change. He had a few friends, mostly other "vermin" species, but romantic prospects were slim pickings. Anthros tend to mingle best with their own species, and during puberty it's common for females of a species to develop a rising attraction to the musks of males within their species, but Nico's longing for a fellow male didn't offer him as convenient a situation. He was almost exclusively was attracted to fellow boys, who didn't seem to find much interest in the new pheromones the boy was sporting. Nico didn't much mind women, but he'd certainly not found himself longing for any sort of woman in the ways he'd been thinking about men.

Despite that, the young fox did have a social group, but none of them seemed to live in the trailer park. With all of them too young to drive and Ganymede never "having time" to take Nico anywhere, it had resulted in a rather socially ostracized summer the year before, and with this year including his heat cycles, Tros felt sure he would need some time away from things now more than ever.

"I remember my school years bein' hard too. The first year or two of high school are hard, but it'll get easier. You'll make friends and find yourself somebody. I had trouble like that at your age too, most foxes do" Tros replied, half-lying. Tros had actually fared well in high school, especially being entirely straight at that point. He'd been taller, more athletic, more active, and the town was more socially connected. He'd had steady girlfriends all through high school, but he did get his fair share of bullying about his species as well. The difference between he and Nico, though, was that Tros was quick to start a fight and handle it. Nico, on the other hand, being waifishly thin and very small, had adapted to trying to socialize his way out of situations like that, if not just accept them entirely.

Nico looked to his grandpa as he drove, watching as the left sleeve of his flannel rippled in the wind from Tros keeping his arm leaning out the car door, his right hand on the wheel, his eyes remaining mostly focused, only occasionally glancing in his grandson's direction. He was a portrait of what Nico wished he was, taller and stronger and so naturally capable, so thoughtlessly male, no insecurities or shortcomings visible on his demeanor. He just always seemed like he was fine, even if he wasn't. He had always been Nico's inspiration as a child, far more than his own father Ganymede, and he always looked forward to the weekly visits his grandpa made to his house. Usually, it was to sit around and talk, but this was new. This was Nico's first time going camping with Tros, and he was excited enough that it kept him mostly occupied chatting with his grandpa and watching the world pass him by on the passenger side. They stopped at a stoplight and Tros lit a cigarette, pulling open the ashtray with an old metal squeak before starting to drive again.

"I'm gonna teach ya this weekend how t' pitch a tent and how t' hunt. We're gonna go lookin' for deer, and when we find ours we'll skin it and i'll cook it for ya. I have faith you'll be able to do it." Tros rambled as he pulled his cigarette from his mouth and held it between the fingers that gripped the steering wheel, the smoke rising to the roof of the raider before it was pulled out the window. The car immediately hung heavy with the scent of tobacco, a smell that Nico had associated with Tros for as long as he could remember, comforting, attractive.

It was something that Nico had noticed in the past year, this new idea that he found in his head, an itch that never quite felt like he could adequately scratch it. It started on Tros' weekly visits, the way his grandfather looked, the way he smelled, the way he behaved. Nico couldn't find himself having any interests in boys his age, but when Tros was there in his Sunday casuals, often a tank top and sweatpants, the young boy found himself with his eyes drawn to his grandfather in the same way other boys found their eyes drawn to women. He tried not to dwell on it, though, and found himself conveniently given a moment of reprieve while they were passing through town currently, Tros pulling into the nearest Saver Dollar and remarking "gotta take a piss real quick, y' want snacks or anything while i'm in here?"

Fifteen minutes or so passed with Nico sitting alone in the Raider, the windows down, his curiousity finding him opening Tros' glove compartment and riffling through his papers and belongings. His grandpa kept the raider's manual and some other documents given at purchase in the glove compartment along with, unsurprisingly, work gloves, a knife, a spare lighter, his old work badge from the factory job he'd retired from four years earlier, some stale cigarettes he'd probably forgotten existed, straws, plastic utensils, the sort. It was all quite forgetful, but Nico found himself picking up the work badge and looking at the photo of Tros on the ID, which had been taken in Tros' 30s. He looked just like Nico imagined himself looking in less than two decades, and Nico found himself imagining what life would be like when he was an adult, what he'd do, where he'd be. Tros had a sly smile on his face in his ID, like he was proud to be there, like he felt comfortable in the place he was in, with the people he was around. It radiated such an easygoing nature despite his often stern demeanor, and in the silence of the car, Nico would pull down the sun shield and slide open the door to reveal the mirror, practicing mimicking Tros' smile on his own. He'd even push his hair back so it looked shorter, like Tros' was in the picture, combed backward and slicked down, and he found a strong confident feeling swelling in his chest as he realized just how much he looked like a younger version of his grandpa, to him at least.

A few minutes passed and Nico looked out the window to the front door, wondering what was taking Tros so long, not really concerned but definitely getting bored. He'd find himself fidgeting in his seat a bit, feeling that lusty itch striking him, the silence of a mostly quiet parking lot incapable of distracting him from the return of those heat urges. He found himself shifting his posture around, spreading his legs, closing his legs, trying to find a position that was comfortable and the fabric of his boxer briefs didn't bring a dreadful awareness of his own body. All the fox wanted to do when he was alone with his thoughts was stick his hand down his pants. Thankfully, before that urge could overwhelm the impulsive teenage boy, he saw his grandpa exit the store, heading toward the car, which would prompt Nico to put away the sun shield and close the glove compartment, looking down at Tros' old work ID still in his hand and choosing instead to tuck it in his pocket to keep. Tros would then, moments after, open the door and give Nico a brief explanation of "sorry! when y' get to be my age, bathroom trips take longer and i couldn't find the damn popcorn" as he set the bags of snacks and other things behind the driver's seat, Nico looking back at it to try to see what all Tros had gotten.

It was around midday when they got to their camp site, a private area Tros had known about since he was a young man himself, far out on the opposite side of a pond owned by a Sionnach family friend. No one but Tros and the guy that owned the pond really knew about it, and as Tros parked the raider, he'd hop out to show Nico around to the area where they'd be camping. It was waterfront, the pond surrounded by trees, a totally private oasis where the two could swim and enjoy each other's company with no concern about anyone else bothering them. Even the owner never much made it to the pond anymore, as he was in his 80s now, and as Tros opened the trunk to start getting out tent supplies, he'd pause to look up at the sky and see they still had plenty of daylight left, with it being summer.

The camp site had a large dirt patch clearly worn down by years of being used, and Tros was already throwing out the bottom tarp for the tent as he looked to Nico and had him grab the next piece, showing him how to connect the rods, how to thread them through the plastic, his details full of playful euphamism as he joked with his grandson while assembling the tent together. Partway through the process, the older fox would lose his flannel and hat, tossing them up into the trunk of the raider before calling out for Nico to hand him stakes. Tros had little patience for dawdling around, and as he called out a second time for Nico to hand him stakes, he'd look over to find his grandson staring off into the sky, and he'd have to bust out that patriarchal bark that had always shaken all his offspring to attention. He'd learned it in in Vietnam from his drill sergeant, and that barking voice would continue until Nico brought him the stakes.

What followed, though, was an equally bellowing praise, a strong-hearted praise and a firm few smacks on the back, Tros grinning ear to ear as the strength of his voice told Nico "attaboy! Gotta stay focused on team work!"

It was something about the duality of Tros' persona. He had a temper to him, he'd always had a temper, but it was so easily balanced out by his pride for his family's success. He'd yell at you for making mistakes, yes, but what followed would almost always be equally empassioned congratulating on success, pats on the back, tousles of the hair, the sort. 

"Back in 'Nam, drill sergeant used t' stand toe-to-toe with us and make us hold eye contact. If he saw your eyes wanderin', he'd yank out a whisker. Son of a BITCH it hurt. Mean motherfucker he was. I learned to keep eye contact damn quick though. Guys in my squad, though, some'a those fools'd not have a whisker on their face. He ain't pull 'em out fast, neither, they'd get 'em pulled out slow. Hand me that there mallet."

Nico didn't miss a beat with that order, handing over the mallet as Tros continued.

"S'one time me and one a' my buddies, Beauregard--everyone called him Ardy--anyway, me and my buddy Ardy snuck off base t' go into town and see some girls we'd met, right? Met 'em at a bar and they said they wanted t' see us again the next night. We're young, dumb, full'a--anyway, so we get out. Go see these girls, go have fun, have some drinks'n'all that, and when we try t' sneak back into our bunks, there's someone layin' in my fuckin' bed! I pull it down, and who do I see? Fuckin' sergeant. Waitin' on me. Boy I turned around so fast t' head out and the next thing I know that meaty-ass hand'a his is squeezin' my head like he's tryin' to break it. No words, just walks me back outside. S'like four in the mornin'. I'm tired. I'm drunk. He has me and Ardy go out and do pushups in the field. It had rained earlier that day so it's cold, it's wet, and he's yellin' at us now that he ain't near the beds, cussin' me out, cussin' Ardy out, I gotta piss and I feel sick from drinkin' and the next thing I know the fucker pushes my head in the mud. Ardy's too. Sends our sorry asses to hose off in the middle'a the night with cold-ass hose water. Didn't go see those girls no more after that."

Tros had, throughout that story, continued to build the tent while Nico sat and listened. Unfortunately, though, he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be teaching Nico how to pitch his own tent, and as Tros pushed himself to his feet to admire his work, he'd come to that exact realization, remarking "aw hell, i's supposed t' walk you through that. Oh well, next trip I'll have y' do it."

"Didja always have t' rinse with a hose? Or did y'all get nice showers?" Nico asked, Tros turning with excitement as he realized Nico'd actually been listening and interested in his story.

"Depends. When we were on base, we got a shower 'bout once a week. In combat, though, no bathin'. You'd get in water but y' ain't wanna wash in it, might not be clean, lotsa times had leeches in it. The hose was awful that night when it happened, but when I was out in the field I would'a done ANYTHING for that hose. We stunk t' high heaven, boy, I tell you what. Don't know how any'a them girls overseas saw anything in us."

Tros would make his way to the trunk of the raider and dig around in some bags he'd packed, leading with "speakin'a stinkin' to high heaven," before he would turn and throw a bar of soap at Nico, followed by a towel, his grandson catching both of them as Tros informed him "go wash off in the pond. Y' smell terrible."

"Wh-wh--I do not!" Nico would bark back, embarrassed but knowing, deep down, that Tros was probably right. Like all teenage boys, he skipped showers whenever possible, and had gone well over a week himself without one, which was surely only making that heat smell worse, and though Tros tried to be nice about it, he could still smell how ripe Nico was. 

"Y' do. Y' smell like sexually frustrated roadkill and I gotta share a tent with y' tonight. Go bathe. Now."

Once "now" was thrown in at the end of a sentence, there was no more arguing. Tros meant business at that point, and Nico knew it, so he'd respond with a "yessir" as Tros went about unpacking things from the raider, tossing out some equipment for starting a fire, brewing coffee, cooking dinner, that sort of stuff. As Nico was in the process of undressing, though, Tros would look to him and catch him with his shirt in his hands and ask him "hey? Your daddy talked t' you about, like...this part'a your life? The changes you're goin' through?"

"No," replied the younger fox, who'd stopped to look back at his grandpa now, "we learned some stuff about it in health class though."

"Well," Tros began, "s'prolly a bit more y' could learn, but we'll save that for later. For now, make sure y' wash your hot spots real good. Y' stink. I love ya, polecat, but y' stink. I'ma go get some wood t' start a fire, don't drown."

"Yessir," Nico said as he stripped down, losing the underwear and pants and wading into the cold water of the lake, shivering at first but easing into it as he stepped down to where the water was above his waistline before he'd turn around to see Tros was gone. He could hear the footsteps in the nearby woods but it was evident that Tros had wasted no time in heading into the forested area for fallen sticks and branches to collect, leaving Nico alone to slather soap on his wet paws and scrub himself, face first before his pits, his chest, then the parts below the water. He, like many boys, only scrubbed the dirtiest parts, not even bothering to do his hair at the moment since his shampoo was in his own bag. Instead, after he was done cleaning himself, he'd wade a bit deeper into the water, up to his shoulders, and stealthily watch the shoreline as he too tended to male desires that had been rising the entire day, thankfully finishing before Tros would return, giving himself one more good soapy scrub before he would approach the shoreline a bit and tell Tros to "look away".

"What? Y' ashamed of yourself or somethin'? I seen whatcha got down there." Tros said. He was barely even looking at Nico, the older fox squatting with his right side facing the fox as he arranged sticks inside a stone circle he'd made for a fireplace.

"No, but, like...s'weird..." Nico would reply, Tros giving a knowing "fine, fine" in reply. He was only teasing Nico any way, and he scooted to where his back was to his grandson as the younger male dried and dressed himself. Once he was done, he would help Tros unload some fold-up chairs and set them around the campfire facing the water as Tros went about deciding what was going to be for dinner tonight, deciding on fire-warmed canned pork and beans. The old fox was starting on the fire as Nico took a seat in one of the plastic chairs, making himself comfortable before asking "did you see a lotta combat in the war, granddaddy?"

"Not a lot, but not a little neither," Tros said as he struck a flame and got the fire started, stoking it until it rose before he would dig around in a bag set nearby for a cooking pan, "I ain't got many stories where I saw face-to-face combat, I sure wasn't on the front lines or nothin', but I was in the jungle shootin' and being shot at. I wasn't a marine like ol' Crowe was, but I also didn't have a desk job. I'll tell ya some of the stories as ya get older but they ain't much fun for a campin' trip."

It was true, not that it bothered Tros to discuss it, that he'd seen combat, much of it grisly. He'd seen men die on both sides, and he'd lost friends. He'd survived well, though, and came home with struggles of his own but ended up being rather well adjusted for a veteran of such a grisly war. There were men in their neighborhood who'd also been in the Vietnam War that were not so well adjusted, like Crowe for example, and Tros considered himself blessed that he could get a good's night sleep without nightmares or flashbacks. Even fireworks didn't bother him. Something about it, he'd tell older men when they discussed the war, just always told him he'd be okay. Even when he had his back to concrete with gunfire on the other side, he just told himself he'd be fine. Maybe it was bull-headed arrogance, maybe it was sheer delusion, but it had worked. He was okay, after all, and as he took a seat in his chair and sat the pan in his lap, he'd ask "wanna hear a funny story about bathin', though?"

Nico, who'd taken to playing with a loose string on the arm of the fold-up chair, replied a curious "sure" as Tros was pouring the contents of dinner into the pan, setting it on the stand over the fire as he started to stir it.

"Back in 'Nam, yaknow, when we got hot showers they were often communal, a whole gang'a us showerin' together. Six of us, naked as jaybirds, scrubbin' off together when suddenly this gangly ass rat named Lucas Marshall jumps back so fast we thought he was gonna hop right out his damn pelt. He's back against the wall'a the shower screamin' like a gal and lo and behold I look down and there's a fuckin' cobra pressed belly-first against the corner of the floor. See these showers were set up outside and were made'a bamboo and wood floors, so they won't protected from the elements, and that li'l cocksucker musta wanted somewhere warm to be. So we start movin' around and he gets feisty, right? Thinks he's gonna die, so he coils up and a'course at this point all of us are still butt-ass naked keepin' a wide berth 'round the bastard. The way the shower's set up is like...we're all right on top'a eachother in this little bamboo box with these two showerheads sprayin' water down so it's all in your eyes and you're supposed t' make it quick and there's ol' Lucas screamin' for help."

As he stirred the pan, Nico was sitting forward now, totally engrossed in the story, his eyes big and attentive and his ears upright. Tros loved that about Nico, the kid loved a good story.

"So i'm about three seconds from just sayin' 'fuck it' and runnin' out without finishin' when this mongoose motherfucker in our platoon--uhhh, name was Sammy somethin'. Sammy, uhhh..." Tros would drone off on a long thought, unable to find the name of his fellow soldier as he stirred pork and beans around in their now bubbling sauce, "Sammy WILES. Wiles. Anyway, Sammy Wiles comes up and grabs the snake by the back'a the neck, yanks it up and bites it's head off. We're all freakin' out, Lucas ain't stopped screamin', Dan McClure is next t' Sammy cussin' at him about how cobras are venomous while the fool just stands there chewin' on it's damn head. S'when I come to the realization: he's a fuckin' mongoose! He's immune t' cobra venom!" Tros says with a snicker, "Sammy ate that whole damn snake, too."

Tros was laughing as he dug up some paper disposable bowls and served pork and beans and a slice of white bread to Nico before serving himself as well, the old fox sitting back as Nico continued to chat with him about the story, asking questions about the war, about what the showers were like, if the water was cold, what his friends were like. The fox had a hundred questions for Tros and his grandpa was happy to answer them all, though he'd cut him off toward the end of dinner with "save the questions, bud, we got all week!" as he tossed their bowls into the fire once they were done.

The sun had set at this point, and the two continued to chat as Tros produced marshmallows for them to roast as well as a beer for himself, looking to Nico as the young boy started to roast some of his sweets over the fire. Tros cracked his beer and Nico would look back at him, watching as his grandpa took a sip without saying a word. Tros saw it in his eyes, though, the look, and he'd take another swig before asking "y' wanna try it, don'tcha?"

"I, uh...I mean, if y' wanted me t' try it I guess I'd be down," Nico would reply, acting like that wasn't exactly what was on his mind.

"Oh bullshit kid, I was your age once too yaknow. Here. Don't drink it all." Tros would say as he offered his beer to Nico, who took it in his hands and sniffed it with scrunch of his nose as he replied "kinda stinks" before taking a sip of it. The wheaty taste alongside the strong carbonation and the smell had the fox wanting to spit it out, but he swallowed, then took another sip before looking to Tros with an entirely unconvincing grimace across his face as he practically coughed out "tastes good" to his grandpa, who would bust out laughing and reach down to a cooler by his chair for another beer, replying "okay, y' can finish it. Don't tell yer daddy."

A responsibility had been just handed to Nico, a big responsibility, so much so that he'd forgotten he was roasting a marshmallow that had all but turned to charcoal at this point as he looked to his beer, his grandpa's beer, given to him. He had to drink it, of course, to prove himself to Tros, so he'd start to sip at it more before using it to wash down a blackened marshmallow before squishing another onto his stick and roasting it as well.

"So y' had t' shower with a bunch of guys at once?" the young fox asked as he worked on his beer, feeling the carbonation settling in his belly, a very filling sensation to be poured on top of dinner.

"Yeah! S'pretty normal stuff. Shower together in gym class, in the military, at the YMCA. Hell, I showered with your daddy and his brothers when they was cubs, and I showered with you when I'd watch y' when you were a cub too. Stuff like that's only weird if y' wanna make it weird, polecat." Tros said as he drank his beer, much faster than Nico was drinking his. The young fox was lost in his own mind after that last statement. Gym class was a weird time for him, because he'd asked to get to change out separately due to having been bullied more than some of the other boys, and so after all the boys had left the changing room, Nico was given a minute to change out himself. After all the boys had left the shower room, Nico got to shower. He'd never really gotten to experience the camaraderie of male bonding in that sort of way, casual nudity between men and the bond that is formed from having that trust respected, letting yourself be vulnerable around your fellow man. He'd been too scared, and no one had ever tried to push him out of that fear.

"I ain't never done nothin' like that outside'a with you. I change out alone at school", Nico replied, Tros having not even considered that Nico perhaps would've not had it as easy as he did. There was a bit of a sinking disappointment in Tros' chest as it was made more obvious just how hard a time Nico had fitting in with the boys around him, being smaller, being shy, being nervous. Here his grandson was, entering the throes of puberty, when boys should be bonding with other boys also going through similar experiences, but Nico was more lonely than ever, and it showed in how quiet the boy was, how responsive he was to conversation but how otherwise unengaging he was. He did very little talking of his own, preferring to take a receptive role, and Tros was noticing it pieces at a time. 

"Yaknow what, buddy, tomorrow? Tomorrow we're gonna have fun. I wanna show y' some of the stuff you been missin' out on and, by the end of the week," Tros belched, "you're gonna go home feelin' like a man, and you're gonna change clothes with the other men and shower with 'em just fine."

Nico had been working on his beer as they talked and had gotten about halfway down, but the goading his grandpa was giving him was inspiring him, a warm feeling in his belly as sat there feeling like Tros had faith in him. He'd toss his beer back and guzzle down the rest of it, crushing the can against his head as his grandpa's eyes shot open at how fast the young teen boy had slammed his first beer. Nico would then pat his chest and belch as well, leaning back in his chair as Tros gave an approving nod. 

An hour of so of conversation later, it would be time for bed. Tros would brush his teeth by the fire with a bottle of water and toothpaste, Nico sitting close to him as they both went about their pre-bed rituals, the older fox having put away their gear until tomorrow before he found a flashlight and informed Nico he was off to take a pre-bed leak before asking his grandson "y' gotta go too?"

Of course Nico did, but he'd ask "yeah, where can I go?", assuming there to be some sort of port-a-potty somewhere around but unsure how all this worked. Sure, he'd had his fair share of outdoorsy excursions as a child, but he'd never camped before, he'd never been away from civilization long enough to really have this situation arise. Public parks and trails always have at least one public restroom somewhere around them...

"Where? Wherever y' want bud, you're a man! S'what we do!" Tros said as he made his way over to the treeline, stepping up to a tree before he'd wave Nico over to follow, "No one's lookin'!" the older fox would say as his grandson joined him one tree over. Indeed, no one was looking. Tros had flicked off the flashlight and could be heard unzipping before liquid could be heard splattering the tree, his new territory, a sigh of contentment from the old fox as Nico mustered up one beer's worth of courage and did the same, unzipping and emptying himself on the tree next to his grandfather. It felt so liberating, he though, to be letting loose like that, to mark his territory, to feel like a man. 

He would eventually zip up and the two would find their way to the tent, where Tros had already laid out sleeping bags and pillows, thankful that the confines of the fabric bags would do well to keep his grandson's heat musk in check until tomorrow, especially with that much needed bath he'd taken earlier. Tros stripped down to his underwear before crawling into his bag and zipping up, Nico following shortly behind, neither of them able to see eachother now that the flashlight had left them in the pitch black night air, illuminated only by the moon over the pond casting vague silhouettes of eachother in moments before they'd found themselves on their sides in their respective sleeping bags, facing eachother but unable to see one another.

"Granddaddy?" Nico would ask.

"Yea, bud?"

"Thanks for bringin' me on this trip. I'm already havin' a lotta fun."

Tros would take a moment to react, completely caught off guard at how Nico had thanked him. He'd tried many times with Ganymede as a child to take him out camping, to take him to do "boy" things together, and Ganymede had always been bored and disinterested, complaining about how it was hot or that bugs were biting him, and he'd felt certain Nico would be the same, if not worse. Hearing Nico was enjoying himself felt almost like it had thawed a hardened part of Tros' heart, a part that had long since thought of himself as too old to be fun anymore. Nico wouldn't be able to see it, but he could hear in Tros' voice that the old fox was smiling as he replied.

"Love you, polecat."

"Love you too granddaddy, g'night."