The morning confines of a sleeping bag offered a warm shelter from what was otherwise a slightly brisk summer morning, warm but secluded by the forest enough that there was a slight chill in the air. Even inside the tent, the air felt dewy, comfortable, and as Nico found himself stirring awake he'd find himself alone, the bag next to him empty. Tros was already presumably outside, Nico thought, and as the boy sat up and unzipped his bag down to his waist he'd sit there for a moment, blinking the tired from his eyes, stretching, yawning. Eventually, he'd find his shirt and pants and dress himself, unzipping the tent to let the fresh outdoor air rush into his space, into his nostrils, making him suddenly aware just how heavy his youthful smell had collected in the tent. 

Tros was sitting at the shoreline when he heard the tent unzip, still in his underwear, a cup of coffee in his hand as he looked over his shoulder and gave a rather calm "g'mornin'" to his grandson, who was squinting as the morning sun momentarily shrank his pupils. Nico would stagger to his feet and pad over to Tros, who was just sitting there in his honesty, sipping a brew that smelled incredibly strong.

"There's coffee left in the pot. I brewed it cowboy style so it's gonna be strong, but I brought cream and sugar if y' want some. Getcha a cup and pull up a chair." Tros said.

"Okay, why ain't y' got dressed though?" Nico asked. It was, after all, a little chilly while the sun was still in the process of waking up as well.

"Nothin' feels quite as good as the mornin' sun and dew on the body. S'good for your fur," Tros said, another sip, "I can get dressed if y' want me to, though."

"No," Nico replied, a quiet settling on his mind as he asked "but dont'cha feel, iuno, exposed?"

"Why should I? Ain't no one out here but us! Besides, i'm gettin' old, my bones need some direct sunlight or I get all stiff."

Nico didn't reply to what Tros said, instead he found himself sinking into his own mind, the thought of what it would feel like to be so comfortable with himself. He'd always been so guarded, but Tros didn't seem to have any sort of worry like that, even though his skin was wrinkly and it gave him a little paunch when he sat down, the tired muscles of his old pectorals sitting with creases under them on his body. His body hair had gone largely silver, clearly on it's way to pure white with remnants of black amidst it, having thickened in his old age but only making it more obvious he was getting older, and yet he seemed to have no shame about that. Nico took off his shirt without a word, balling it up and stuffing it in one of the chair's two cupholders before he would bend over and pull down his jeans as well, folding them and laying them over one of the chair's arms before padding in his underwear over to the coffee to pour himself a cup. Tros had noticed he'd done it, and he'd cracked a grin, happy Nico had taken the plunge, but he didn't say a word, no attention drawn to it, not yet at least.

As his grandson returned with a cup of strong coffee, tan with lots of cream and sugar, Tros would look surprised and remark a enthusiastic "hey! look'it you! Damn you're growin' up."

Nico had a bashful smile on his face as he took a seat, but it was indeed the honest truth. Tros hadn't paid much attention to him yesterday when he'd been undressing to bathe, but Nico was definitely changing. His previously soft shoulders were getting stiff, sharper, and the doughy features he'd had as a cub had faded into an awkwardly gaunt frame that clearly aimed at being a man one day, thin hips and ribby features, his bones and what little muscle he had on display. Amidst it all, the slightest dusting of body hair in the center of his chest and right at his waistline, a thin little trail that started from his navel down to his boxer briefs, alongside the already obvious stubble he'd gotten on his jaw and under his nose. He was growing up, and Tros couldn't be more proud as he sat there smiling out toward the lake.

"Feels good," Nico would say after a lengthy amount of peaceful silence between them, "makes me feel kinda silly for always coverin' up when i'm alone".

"Shit, when i'm home alone? Takes everything I got just t' put on underwear. Whole house is mine, right? Who am I tryin' to impress?" the old fox snickered. Indeed, it was true. Tros had lived alone for over ten years now, having lost his wife in Nico's infancy. It was during that time that Tros had gotten into this outdoor living, though. When the weight got too heavy to bear, he'd go camping. He'd "rough it", purposely underpacking and pushing himself here and there to see how long he could go. He'd show up to his son's house and tell him and Nico all about the week he'd spent in the woods and what he'd done differently this time and, though that changed over the next decade, as he "settled down" again, it was clear that he'd developed a strong sense of independence in that time as well. Though he never lost the love he'd had for his wife, he'd learn to love living alone, especially the privacy. Camping was an even more thrilling version of that, no one around but himself, nothing alongside him but what he'd brought. There was nothing to do but find peace, which is exactly what lead him to being so comfortable sitting out in the summer morning sun in nothing but dusty blue boxers, his knobby knees on display, his posture relaxed.

"So what're we doin' today?" Nico would ask as he drank from his heavily modified cowboy coffee, still wincing a bit at the bitterness that even sugar and cream struggled to hide. 

"Well, on my first day or two, I typically take it easy. Save the huntin' and sittin' still for the middle'a the week. Might go for a swim, since we got all this water. Might take y' out and show you some plants you can eat, some plants you can't eat, that sorta stuff. IF that don't sound boring to you." Tros replied.

"Nah, that sounds pretty cool," Nico replied, rather excited at the thought of learning some cool skills he could talk about to his friends back at school. Plus, he'd not been swimming in years. His dad used to have a friend with a pool that Nico would go to when he was a kid, but after the guy got divorced he ended up selling the house and moving somewhere smaller, which Nico was too young at the time to understand as more than "no more pool". 

"Yaknow, when I brought your daddy out here, we went over what we can and can't eat and your dumb daddy ain't listen to a word I said. I leave him alone for five minutes and the boy's stuffin' pokeweed berries in his mouth. Thankfully he only got a few down, but we had t' cut the trip short 'cause he was pukin' his guts up. Boy had it comin' outta both ends for the rest'a the day AND the next. Thought I was gonna have t' take him to the hospital but he never stopped eatin' anyway. You know your daddy." Tros said to a laughing Nico. 

"One time," Nico replied, "dad was makin' grilled cheeses for lunch and the bread had gone all moldy, but he swore grillin' it would kill the mold. So he ate it anyway. I had soup instead, and he was all 'you're missin' out on these cheeses man' and he had diarrhea all night that night."

"The boy never learns. I'm almost worried about leavin' him home alone for a week. Maybe we should'a put them little safety caps over the electrical outlets too like they get for babies" Tros joked to Nico, who was cackling in response as he cut back "and them li'l foam pads they put on the corners'a tables so he don't bump his head."

Ganymede, though a good-hearted man, made a great butt of a joke for the elder and youngest Sionnach, mainly because both of them were more familiar than anyone else with Ganymede's perpetual immaturity and how he never seemed to grow from his mistakes. It was hard not to want to laugh about it with someone else that understood him and his...unique personality. Nico, it seemed, had learned early from Ganymede's mistakes as to what not to be, and it seemed, much to Tros' comfort, that he'd grow up to be more like his grandfather than his father. 

Eventually, Tros would prepare breakfast with the same portable burner he'd used to heat the coffee, toast with peanut butter, and Nico would wash it down with water and the last of his coffee before dishes were put away until later. The sun had eventually joined the waking world with the boys, and Tros was finally getting dressed with the plan that they were about to go for a walk through the woods, the older fox pulling his old work boots out from his trunk along with another pair of boots and thick socks, which he handed over to Nico.

"Your daddy's hikin' boots. Your daddy was the size'a a horse at your age so those might be a little big for ya, so I got some nice thick socks t' pad your paws. Y' wanna protect yourself from snakes an' give yourself a little extra traction." Tros said as he sat in the trunk of the raider, pulling on socks then boots. It was rare, in their society, for anthros to wear any sort of shoe. Their feet and pawpads evolved naturally to be sturdy and to handle the world around them, but modern society had brought with it unique issues that evolution had not prepared them for, such as hard labor, wherein work boots were a typical norm. Men who worked manual jobs often had boots, and they had become popular for heavier outdoor activity such as hiking because of the added protection. Tros liked to go barefoot himself, but he wanted to set a good example for Nico, so he'd joined him in boots today. Nico was lucky Tros brought those thick socks, though, because twiggy ankles and adolescent feet would've indeed fit loose in his daddy's teenage boots without them.

As the two started to hike, Tros kept the conversation casual. He'd sometimes show Nico plants that were good to avoid, but he didn't want to overload or bore the fox with too much detail. He kept a compass in one hand and walked them in a straight line away from camp, making it easy for them to return if they got a little too far out of view. Despite how scientific some of Tros' explanations had gotten, Nico didn't find himself bored in the same ways he would've been learning about flowers and trees at school. It was cool, being there, feeling like he was learning something that would make him more useful, knowing what he could and couldn't eat. A snack of dandelions and wild blackberries would sit well on the stomach after they eventually found both of them in the woods, Nico eating enough blackberries to sate him well into lunch, though he only had one or two dandelions.

Eventually, the two would fit a place to sit out in the overgrowth, both together on a fallen tree amidst the lush greenery, in the shade of a protective canopy. It was muggy, but neither of them felt fatigued from the coolness the forest provided, but as the two sat together, some of the greenery near their ankles stirred and moved with life beneath them, and Tros would give an excited "ooh!" before squatting down to see what it was, finding a garden snake slithering away from the imposing giant shadows they cast upon it. Tros, of course, was quick to snatch it up, careful use of his fingers behind the head to bring it to Nico's line of sight while his second hand would raise to let the snake slither over him. It was, of course, startled, but as Tros stood there letting it glide over his aged hands, it seemed more annoyed than afraid, and did not strike.

"Now see this little fella, he's just a baby, so if'n he was venomous this'd be even more dangerous than handling him as an adult! But since he's just a li'l grass snake he ain't gonna do me no more harm than maybe a little nip, but I been through worse."

Tros would then begin to explain how venom worked, explaining how the young ones were more dangerous, and how to safely pick up a snake like he'd done as Nico watched intently, starry-eyed and leaning physically into the lesson, wanting to look closer at the snake before finally offering his hands cupped together for Tros to let it slither into, the moment between them quiet as Tros kept his voice low, the bright green reptile slithering off his fingertips into Nico's hands, up his arm a bit before the younger fox used his other hand to keep it from slithering under his shirt sleeve. Nico seemed to enjoy the moment, as he continued to let it crawl around on his hands until finally letting it go back in the grass, where the snake would hurry off.

"Don't be afraid of nature, but always respect it," Tros said as he stood facing Nico now, "the thing about nature is that it don't feel either way 'bout us. It can be both safe and dangerous, so you should always be brave, but smart. Know what will and won't hurtcha. You're a smart boy, though, I know you're gonna learn that."

Be brave, but be smart. It was such a hard lesson to learn for the younger fox but one he wanted so badly to understand. The world had always felt so scary, yet he knew was often overthinking things, worrying too much. Being outdoors with Tros though, things had felt different. Holding the snake felt like taking off his shirt, which felt like his first beer, which felt like sleeping outdoors, all things he would've been terrified to do at an earlier day but he'd done so thoughtlessly with the right encouragement. Each experience had brought about a trembling in his chest, a sweatiness to his palms, a rise in his heartrate that soothed into some sort of full-bodied joy. Tros could see it in Nico every time, too, the way the boy seemed to light up, as if switches in his brain that had been flipped off were suddenly stirred to life.

Tros returned to his seat as they talked a bit more, the old fox adjusting the hat on his head to slick back sweaty hair, some of the loose silver strands having slid down onto his forehead. The forest had been cool and comfortable, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the two found themselves succumbing to the mugginess hanging in the air, and Tros was getting eager to take a nice dip in the pond. He'd be the first to rise, Nico following behind as Tros told him a story about when he was a boy, about his younger years with his father Dardanus and mother Reta Mae.

"Your great-granddaddy was a sonofabitch, bud. Y' ain't had to deal with him in the way I did, he was so old by the time you were born. But lord'a'mercy boy, he and momma had this house off over off'a Penmar Avenue and I remember bein' a boy and havin' to go out and scrape the ice off the cars for them in the winter 'cause daddy had that bum leg. Y' remember it? How he always walked with a cane? He did that when I was little, fell off a ladder an' broke his leg and it never healed right, and even though his ass could get around just fine in the summer, it locked up on him in the winter so he'd have me go out and shovel the sidewalk and clean the cars. He'd sit on the damn porch with a blanket on his lap watchin' me though, bustin' my ass for missin' spots and hollerin' about not scrapin' the paint. THAT won't too cold for him."

Nico did remember his great-grandparents, they'd both been around for a little while after he was born, longer than Tros' wife. On Saturdays, Tros would visit Ganymede and Nico, and on Sundays they'd all go visit Tros' parents, especially after Reta Mae passed and Dardanus was there alone. She was a small woman, she'd always been small, but by the time Nico met her she was tiny, but feisty as ever. It was like all the temper she'd had in her body got energized the smaller she got, Tros would say, all concentrated in that little lady. He'd accidentally cuss around her and get a backhand to the face that left an imprint on his cheek from the rings she still wore, then she'd turn around and be the most docile, doting woman to little Nico. Dardanus was different. He sat around, mostly, in his recliner, not saying much of anything but always wanting to be around the conversation. When they'd visit the old home, they'd all sit in the living room together to talk, because Dardanus had a hearing aid he wouldn't wear so you couldn't talk when he was around or you'd get interrupted by a loud "HUH?", even if you weren't talking to him. He'd lost a lung to cancer and his leftover one wasn't in the best of shape, and lots of times he'd hock and spit into the trash can next to him while someone was talking. Despite that, they all seemed to remember him fondly just as much as they did Reta Mae.

"Y' ain't met all my siblings. Two sisters, two brothers. 'Course you ain't ever met three'a my kids neither," Tros said as they entered the clearing where their camping setup was waiting, "would be nice if we could have some sort'a family get-together, but you know how folks can be."

Tros took off his boots and socks, leaving them out in the sun to dry from the sweat that had built up in them, and Nico followed, his bare feet feeling comfortable in the warm, slightly wet grass in the sunlight. The older fox talked a bit more about his children, two of which Nico had met. Tros had had four sons and a daughter, two of his sons and his daughter having moved away in their 20s, keeping little to no contact with Tros. Ganymede, Nico's father, and his brother Rufus were the only two that remained, Ganymede settling in town and Rufus having gotten in a car accident that left him disabled, leaving him needing to stay close to his family. The other three, (Tennessee, Rudolph, and Hersent), had moved all across the country, and grief was audible in Tros' stoic details about where they'd moved, the last things he'd heard from them, and some stories about their childhood as well.

"You shoulda seen 'em, all five of 'em runnin' round the yard together. They were thick as thieves. We had such a good life together, me an' them and their momma. Don't know why no one calls nowadays. The boys've got kids of their own, hell, i'd love t' meet 'em." Tros said as he rummaged around in his own duffel bag of clothes, pulling out swim trunks before rather shamelessly undressing and changing into them, turning to Nico with a conversation-closing "well," as he looked to his grandson, essentially his only grandson, and a smile returned to his face. 

"That's life though. I got all I need here in town with me. What say we go for a dip in the pond?" the older fox asked, standing there in just his swim trunks, beachy blue with oceanic aesthetics on them. Nico was more than happy to join, but as he went to his bag to get his own trunks out, he realized he'd forgotten them. He'd packed only three sets of clothes, not really imagining just how sweaty and dirty he'd get during a whole week out in the woods, and as he looked to Tros he'd inform him "I ain't bring no swim clothes."

Undeterred, Tros would make his way to the water as he called out to Nico, "well y' ain't even gotta wear none 'less y' wanna! S'just us!" 

Indeed, he had a point. There was no one but Tros to see him, and it wasn't like Nico hadn't been nude around his grandpa in his younger years, but being older now made it feel a bit weird. That weirdness, though, was a brick wall between him and getting to dive into a refreshing pond, and he'd decide to at least strip down to his boxer briefs before Tros would look back, up to his knees in the water as he called out "y' can wear mine if y' ain't comfortable!"

"What'll you wear?" Nico replied.

"Nothin'! Hell, i'm in the water anyway, ain't no one but the fish gon' see and I doubt they mind too much."

Tros had a point. No one was around, and it wasn't like the pond water was exactly clear anyway, especially not with the two of them wading around kicking up the sediment on the water's floor. Before he could decide, though, Tros would have already waded out to his navel and had bent over, tossing wet swim trunks onto the shore that splat in the grass as the old fox called out "here, polecat, don't wantcha feelin' uncomfortable."

Nico took them in his hands, realizing they were a bit big for him but the drawstring should suffice, and Tros was already dunking his head under the water as the younger fox undressed, standing there holding the swim trunks in his hands as he thought about the stories Tros had told him about he and his war buddies, showering together, carefree, comfortable, trusting. How nice that must've felt, Nico thought, no sense of discomfort nude among your fellow men. 

Tros would splash up out the water and slick back his hair as he leaned up to look to the blue sky as Nico waded in behind him, the older fox turning just in time for Nico to scoop a splash of water up at his face, Tros squinting as he took the brunt of it, wiping his eyes and blinking. He'd left his glasses with his clothes on the shore, and he'd squint a bit, able to make out Nico just fine but looking past him to see the oceanic blue trunks still on the shore as well.

"Y' wearin' your undies in here, bud?" Tros asked, surprised, but even more surprised when the fox would confidently shake his head 'no'.

"S'like we're war buddies" Nico replied, Tros' poise stiffened up, a vigorous energy about him, delighted to see Nico so comfortable and to know he was taking those stories to heart.

"We sure are, scamp!" Tros replied. Tros would wade out a bit farther, up to his shoulders, looking so much livelier in the water. Even though he was in good shape, he couldn't deny that age left him achy, especially in the mornings, but the weightlessness of the pond really made him look as though he was barely over 30, especially when he would kick off and go for a swim, farther out into the deeper waters. Nico would follow, but only to a point, not nearly as good a swimmer as Tros, who caught onto that and would eventually rejoin Nico where they could both stand, the water up to Nico's neck.

"We'll work on that over the week, how's that sound?" Tros would ask, wading around behind Nico.

"Yeah, I learned t' stay above water a few years ago, but I ain't learned t' swim good ye--" the younger fox began to say before he would feel a body suddenly rise from under him, catching him totally by surprise. Tros had dunked under the water, his shoulder braced against Nico's ass as he brought the boy up out of the water, tossing him upwards, "THINK FAST" barked from the old man behind him as Nico found himself thrown out into the deeper water, the fox's feet unable to find the floor of the pond as he scrambled a bit, his arms flailing, his snout upward.

"I'm an arm's reach away, bud," Tros would say as a frantic Nico reached out, finding Tros' hand in the water and using it to tug himself back close to his grandpa, finding his feet on the floor again as he shouted "DON'T do that!" to the older male.

"But see? Y' lived. Now try it again, this time I ain't gonna throw ya" Tros would say, giving Nico a push on the back to scoot him until he found his toe tips unable to grasp at anything. The younger fox would struggle at first, but as Tros was behind him coaching him, he'd eventually find his breathing keeping him afloat, his body stable, his limbs organizing into a rhythm that kept him steady. As he found himself treading water, Tros would nod for him to go a bit further, to swim, and as he did so the older fox would praise him enthusiastically.

"I'm here if it gets too deep, but see if y' can't move around some. I'll grab y' if you start struggling" Tros would reassure as his grandson went out a bit farther. At this point, he was only in about six feet of water, and it would've been easy to pull him to shore, but it was a start, and he seemed to find a lot of comfort in his ability to do it himself at this point. There were moments when he'd thrash a bit and his arm would reach for Tros, who was quick to let the boy find his fingertips, to know he was right there if he needed him, but after a few attempts, Nico was stable, and he was swimming, and he would swim for quite a while as Tros joined him, the two enjoying the cool of the water against the heat of the noonday sun.

The two of them smelled heavily of pond water as they both waded back up to waist level water after what felt like an hour or more of swimming together, soaked to the skin, glistening with water that trickled off the two's respective pelts as Nico looked to Tros, to his aged body, wet, his skin so much more visible in the thin spots of his fur. Tros was telling a story about when Ganymede and Tennessee nearly drowned eachother when they went too deep one time in the same pond, but it was the first story he'd told Nico that the young boy only heard as white noise as he found himself admiring the way Tros' silver body hair was thick around the chest, thinning to a strip around his ribs, branching out in spaces on his belly before thickening up immensely at his waistline, silver, black and white mixed together and soaking wet, the tips of the strands floating free in the weightlessness of the water as the murky opaqueness censored what was below the surface. Nico wanted body hair like that when he grew up, he thought, and he also wanted strangely to see what was below, also floating free just out of his sight between Tros' legs. 

He'd shake that thought from his head quite literally, though, and Tros would pause mid-sentence to ask "y' listenin' to me, boy?" as Nico apologetically answered "s-sorry, got distracted".

"Well," Tros began, "least you're honest. What're you starin' at?" he'd ask, Nico unaware that, though he'd shaken the obscene thoughts from his head, he had gone right back to looking at Tros' belly hair, at the way his soft skin hung honestly on his muscles and bone, wrinkled and wet, aged.

"Y-you, uh," Nico stammered out, "I, uh...I just...hope I look as good as you when I get old."

"Old? Who said i'm old?" Tros responded with a laugh, his brain only afterward realizing that Nico had also said he looked "good". The sudden realization would cause his nose to wrinkle with a bit of confusion, an apprehensive assumption of understanding following. Nico was young, and Nico liked men, so it seemed, so it wasn't all that surprising that he'd have passing interest in any man nude before him, Tros thought. He'd reach up and pat the boy on his head, which only then seemed to bring Nico's gaze upward to look at Tros.

"Easy, polecat," the older fox said, "ain't nothin' you ain't seen before".

Tros was right. Baths and showers together had been a common thing when he was young, but Nico had so little memory of it, and he'd certainly found no interest at the time in any part of neither his father nor his grandfather's body. It was simply present beside him, caring for him, helping wash his back and hair and keeping him company as he adjusted to the process of cleaning himself. Now, though, Nico wanted to see it. The aspects of Tros he'd never noticed were so much more enticing now, but at the same time confusing. He wondered if the soldiers showering together ever found themselves staring at each other and getting the feelings he was getting in this moment.

"Sorry," Nico began. He wanted to say more, but he didn't know what exactly he wanted to say. His stomach felt warm. His forehead felt sweaty, his heart was racing, he was erect. He wanted to go back to what it was like when he was younger, when Tros would scrub his back and wash his hair for him, but he wanted to be older. Really, he thought, he wanted an excuse for Tros to touch him, but even in that adolescent confusion he knew he shouldn't say it. Instead, he said nothing.

"Nothin' to be sorry about, Nico," Tros would say as he took a few steps backwards and exited the water, his old body on display from behind, his tail fur thinning in spots. He, unlike Nico, had a tail, though age had taken it from a bushy fox tail to a much thinner, almost coyote-like thickness, and it acted well as a censor bar from the parts that hung between Tros' legs as he bent over to pick up his towel, starting to scrub his head as he continued to talk to his grandson.

"S'normal for boys your age to get those funny feelings. You're gettin' older, your body wants to do adult stuff. Hell, you're in your second heat, you know what it all means. Right? Y' know what sex is, right?"

Nico was approaching him from behind, picking up his own towel and wrapping it around his waist as Tros was bent slightly forward, scrubbing his head, Nico having a moment to glance at his grandpa's full-frontal nudity, his aged piece jiggling between his legs, before Tros would look to him and Nico would cut his eyes away, the younger fox standing sideways, a bit more bashful as he dried his face and hair as well, his expression concealed as he replied "yeah."

"Good. So y' know what your heat is and what it means. You're at the age when you wanna explore and do stuff with others. Seein' 'em naked makes you feel different now 'cause it means somethin' different to your brain," Tros continued, corners of the towel in his hands as he turned to face away from Nico, scrubbing his backside by pulling the corners back and forth as he worked it down from his shoulders to his ass.

"S'why I wanted to take you camping. I know you been restless. I knew it might be a little awkward, what with y' havin' a thing for boys instead of girls, but hell I didn't wanna treat y' different 'cause of that, yaknow? I took your daddy and his brothers out just like i'm takin' you out, ain't nothin' should be different just because y' got different interests. It's good to get outta the house and burn off that energy doing things that are good for the mind and body. When y' find you a buddy that wants to fuck around, that'll be great, but there ain't no reason t' have you cooped up in the house all stir crazy 'til then." Tros carried on.

It was strange for Nico, not only with his attraction to men but with his very specific attraction to Tros, his own grandfather. To make matters worse, the only other man Nico had had any sort of feelings for was a janitor at his school that was around Tros' age as well. Health class had already briefed them on their upcoming heat cycles and puberty in general, and it had explained sex, but it had felt very alien to Nico, talking about boys and girls and pregnancy and the importance of abstinence. None of it, though, talked about being gay and into men old enough to be your grandfather, or being gay and into your own family.

"Yaknow," Tros continued, "there was plenty'a times in the war where boys'd catch a peek of the other fellas. Ain't all that strange, especially not when there ain't no ladies around. Was a fella in my squad, Clyde Arthur, this domestic shorthair shepherd dog, real good buddy'a mine. He definitely had some sugar in his tank though, we all knew it. He could also play a mean fuckin' harmonica and he was a phenomenal shot. Boy could trim the spot y' missed while shaving with a bullet from a mile away and it wouldn't even give y' razor burn, he was that good. But he also couldn't keep his eyes off'a us in the showers. We'd get time t' wash off and we'd be chattin, he won't ever weird about it or nothin, like he'd talk t' ya and all that, but the next thing y' know his pecker'd be up. We'd ask him 'what's on your mind, Arthur?' and he'd just shake his head and laugh."

As Tros told that story, he'd finished drying, and had started pulling on his underwear and jeans, Nico having already pulled on his underwear and shirt, the two in their respective final stages of dressing in the warm of the summer sun as Tros rambled on.

"Was this one time," Tros started, then stopped with "nah, I shouldn't tell y' that."

This, of course, only piqued Nico's interest, who was practically staggering forward pulling up his pants as he whined back "aw c'mon! Tell me!". Tros had just pulled on his shirt and was using the bottom of it to wipe off his glasses before pulling up his chair, flopping back in it to let the sun dry off the last of the dampness in his fur as he looked upward, seemingly thinking about something. Nico would ask another "pleeease?" as he took his seat next to Tros as well, who had started to snicker to himself.

"Alright alright, I figure y' know how it all works, you're old enough, yadda yadda," Tros began, an amused breathiness in his voice as he clearly was trying not to laugh as he continued, "but anyway. Was one night, we were out in the jungle. It's nighttime. We're about t' try to get some sleep, takin' turns and all that. Things hadn't been too bad that day, but we were still on edge, yaknow, 'cause we're in fuckin' combat. The past few days had been pretty high stress, and we were layin' low to make a move in the morning. I'm layin' on my supplies like a pillow kinda reclined back while Clyde keeps watch, when suddenly he whispers to me,"

Tros leans in and lowers his voice a bit, mimicking the whisper Clyde had given to him all those years ago,

"'Hey, Sionnach,' he starts, 'would you let a man jerk your cock?'", Tros said, clearly already stifling his laughter, which rose as he continued, "so I said 'Arthur, at this point i'd let one'a them gooks put leeches on the damn thing just hopin' one of 'em likes t' swallow.'"

Nico winced a bit at Tros' antiquated terminology for the war's opposing side, but it wasn't all that surprising. According to him, the term hadn't carried near the same sentiment then as it did now. He also had seen combat, had been shot at, and had been through hell in those jungles, so whether it was meant with malice or not, to Nico, didn't feel right for him to criticize.

"So yaknow what he says next?" Tros asked, pulling Nico out of his momentary introversion about the morality of language.

"What?" the young fox asked.

"He asks me 'can I jerk your cock, Sionnach?'"

The honesty of Nico's grandpa startled the young fox, who's eyes practically popped out his head as he leaned toward Tros in his seat, captivated by what a vulgar and forthcoming story he was telling him.

"What'd ya say?" Nico asked.

Tros would then, abruptly, burst out laughing as he replied "a'course I told him he could! I'd gone months without anything but my own hand on the damn thing and when y' get that riled up, man, you'll stick it in anything. Woulda wound up rawin' one'a them pretty gals that hung around the G.I. bars and gettin' stuck bringin' home something I ain't want."

The younger fox was baffled, not only at how forward Tros was in telling it, but in how casual it sounded. So careless, no sense of insecurity, just men giving comfort to other men because it felt good. Nico wondered what that must've felt like, the lack of concern about one's sexual identity, whether or not it was harmed by an act like that. The boys at school, they were so guarded in their insistence of being straight, convinced any sort of homoerotic inclinations would "make them gay". Nico wished it didn't matter, and it sounded so nice to imagine an encounter between men where it didn't matter.

"Did you like it?" Nico asked. 

"'Course I did! Talk about snipers, boy, I prolly blasted the bark off whatever tree Clyde had me pointed at 'cause damn, I was pent up. Could practically hear the 'p'tew' of it ricochetin' off into the woods I shot so damn hard. He got me off, thanked me, then told me t' sleep well, and by God I sure fuckin' did. Slept like a baby."

"You didn't feel weird about it bein' a guy?" Nico asked.

"Nah. Clyde was my buddy. Sure, I ain't have no interest in screwin' him at the time or nothin', but it made him happy t' do it and it made me happy to get it. Didn't change anything between us. He made it through the war too, by the way, last I heard he's livin' with a man he calls 'his best friend', but I got my suspicions."

Tros would lean back in his seat and let his hands idly rub the plastic around the cupholders, looking up at nothing in particular before turning his focus to Nico, continuing.

"Point is, bud, it's fine y' like boys, and it's fine you're curious, even with me. Don't change anything about us. That's what I'm tryin' to get at. Just because most men like women, don't mean anything's wrong with you for likin' men, and sometimes men will do stuff with other men and still prefer women! It happens. You bein' you and likin' who you like don't have no effect on who other people are, 'less they want it to."

It was like Tros knew exactly what his grandson needed to hear, and he could see it working in the way Nico relaxed, in the way his smile looked so calm, so genuine, toothy, comfortable. Tros, on the other side of things, couldn't have been happier himself, feeling seen, feeling appreciated, feeling useful. The rest of the day carried that positive energy, meandering casually through lunch and into dinner, where more beers and talks about life were had before the two retired to bed for the night.