"Did you notice your girl's been keeping an eye on you for the last day or so?" I look up at Marv who is pointing over his shoulder. I shake my head, I haven't. Honestly I have been occupied with other things the last few days. Things that make me wag my tail when I think about him and apparently make me seem 'revoltingly happy', according to Sigrund. To be honest I wish Marv hadn't mentioned it, because now I do notice her, sitting at the other side of the bar, in the far corner, sipping a drink and pretending she's not watching me, which maybe she isn't and I'm just being paranoid. Though I do wonder why on earth she is still here. Her folks don't live here anymore, I do not believe she has any friends, or at least she claimed they aren't here this summer. Perhaps it was a trick to convince me to let her stay longer and, I don't know. I try to forget about her, which is harder then it seems at first, because from time to time my eyes keep drifting over to her. Is it really her, or just someone that looks like her...and smells, sits, and moves like her? Ok it's her. What on earth is she doing here? She cannot possibly think we'll still get back together... can she?

	Luckily I can stop wondering and forget all about her, because I catch sight of a familiar tail swaying through the crowd. No, I don't see it, I know it is there even before I see it; it draws my eyes to it as sure as any magnet will draw a nail. It sucks me in, grabs my attention, then lets me follow it up to the curve of that ass, the gentle arch of his back, up until I catch sight of two mischievous eyes twinkling merrily at my interest. He looks good, no, he looks great, not that there is ever a moment he does not look great, but tonight... I sigh. His taste is immaculate, always groomed, the embodiment of perfection. Not that he is vain, he is just always.... Perfect. Tonight he has chosen a pair of black shorts, that follow his natural curvatures, while not being too snug, and a white cotton shirt with a deep cut at the front, a leather thong keeping the two sides from falling apart too far. It screams sex, to me at least, though I doubt anyone would not have that same experience. As I said before, immaculate and perfect. It is the perfect balance between revealing and keeping hidden. Seeing him dressed like that makes me want to tear those clothes off, tearing it to shreds to get to that soft yet firm inner layer. 

	Our eyes meet in the briefest of moments. Judging from the smile that winds itself around his lips he has read my mind. Good, because last time he was with me it had been a horrible shift and I had fallen asleep halfway through the undressing. He hadn't mentioned it and acted the same as if I did tear his clothes off, and had him whichever way I could. It is rather embarrassing. However tonight I intend to make up for lost time. He's not going to be here for long, so we need to make the best of things, spending most of the time we have together, correction most of the time I am not either sleeping or working together. 

	He sits down at the bar, in the furthest corner, back against the wall, largely out of sight but in a position to quietly observe the whole bar. It's always the same spot. I'm still serving drinks, going through the motions on autopilot. I've done it all before and it has become a routine which I can perform in my sleep. There is a certain logic to it all, the remembering, the serving, the prices. First the mix drinks, then the liquors, the wines, the beers and the sodas. No matter how they are order, you serve them in that order. You remember the face, you demand the costs, they pay, you quickly check, you drop it off under the bar. It's fast and methodical. In the corner of my eye I see him, I always see him. He watches me as I work, and the first chance I get I come over, placing a drink in front of him, same as the night before, simple soda, light vanilla taste, a taste I'll drown myself in later tonight. The suggestion presents itself that he might drink it because I so seem to enjoy it. I don't ask. Our paws briefly meet, our gazes cross, then I pull myself away and he lets go and I disappear again under the waves of my task, the demands, the loud voices, the music, the drinks, the numbers, the money, the repetition. 

	I can do it; I can combine my work with my musing, with my fantasies, with my constant checking on him. He does not demand my attention, but I give it freely, every spare ounce of the stuff. I work hard, twice as hard in fact, if only to keep the others off my case, to keep them from guessing, to keep them from prying. For the life of me I wouldn't know why I keep him a secret. It is not for shame, or insecurity. I think it is simply because I am possessive. I'm a possessive boyfr- lover. I want to keep him for myself, all of him. He can go out into the world he can have fun, do whatever he does, but once he is with me he is mine. This too is new for me. Previously, before him, pre-Aeson I was a 'do whatever you like' boyfriend, you want to hang out with your girlfriends? Sure. You want to hang out with other guys? Fine. You want to hop on some plane and head to some university far away only to visit during the holidays? Ok, whatever tickles your pickle. My girlfriends, or girlfriend, the one actual long relationship I have had that lasted longer than a few months, were always just there, things I seemed to forget until I saw them again and then they were there. Not that I forgot about anniversaries, birthdays and what not, no I am a genuine romantic when it comes to those, as in; I remember them and do go out of my way to get something nice, just don't expect me to go too far out of my way to get you a gift. I just didn't think about them, did not wonder, they were only important or worth noticing when they were there. But the post-Aeson me seems to be surrounded by him. He is an omnipresent in my life. I can't stop thinking about it, what is he doing? How is he feeling? Does he care about the fact I fell asleep right in the middle of sex? Does he like his drink? Why is he smiling? Does he think I'm an idiot? Why am I pouring a drink over my paw?

	I curse, shake off the access drink, toss it on the dump-pile behind me and pour a new one. I give the client an apologetic look, and he gives me one in return which shows he doubts I am a real professional. It seems I'm not as good at multitasking as I first implied. Well, fuck it. I can be, just not with him, mostly because I would love to grant him all of my attention, but can't, not right now. I try and shake it off, keeping my mind on my job, trying not to fuck up again, which I manage to do pretty well. I bring him another drink. There again is that subtle exchange of looks, smiles, touches. It is like the moments I have experienced a thousand times behind this bar, usually ending up with either a slip of paper underneath the glass, ending up in the jar, or me fucking some girl's brain out, out back. I think he guesses where my mind is wondering, because his tongue darts out, dances over his lips before sneaking back inside, stirring something primeval deep inside of me. Unfortunately I am forced to look away and get back to my job.

	Its late there are only a few stragglers still inside. We start our cleaning work, only one of us tending the bar. Someone flips the light switches. He gets up, and leaves, dragging my gaze with it, as if it is glued to his rump. By the door he turns around one last time and flashes me that flirty smile.
"It seems you have a fan?" 
I get snapped out of my trance. 
"What?" I snap, a bit too harsh and too fast. Marv snickers. 
"It is the third night in a row that guy has come here, always sits at the same place, asks for the same drinks and leaves only at the end."
"I had not noticed."
"I bet you didn't. And he only wants to be served by you, have you noticed that?"
"Not really."
I duck away from him, getting the large stack of glasses, heading to the storage room where they are collected and readied for washing. I hand them over to Twist who quick and efficiently stacks them in large brown coloured crates. Back in the club Marv is waiting for me.
"Our friend keeps giving you these long lurid looks, he seems to undress you right there while you are working. It is quite compelling, makes me look at you in a completely different way."
"Well he hasn't left his number for me to find so far."
"Maybe he is a stalker, some serial rapist."
"I doubt it."
"Or maybe you already have his number and you are just keeping it too yourself, not wanting little old Marv to find out you have been trying to play the other side for a change."
"I don't have his number." 
I don't, I honestly don't... Fuck... No time. Marv doesn't leave so I take his stacks of glasses and go instead. 
I work fast, for two reasons. One; if I keep busy and moving Marv will have a harder time harassing me. Two; the sooner I am done the sooner I can leave, and the sooner I'll have an early breakfast with the pup waiting for me outside. It was his idea. He suddenly offered it to me today. Perhaps because of last night's fiasco, I look at my watch, the fiasco of two nights ago, technically. I leaped at the chance. Perhaps I seemed too eager... Oh crap here comes Marv.
"Let me get those." I practically snatch the glasses from his paws, making the whole stack teeter dangerously. We're done. I start snatching up the last bottles from the corners of the hall. Marv eyes me from across the room, but does not say a word; that is, not until I leave, grabbing coat. 
"Say hello to your lover for me!"
It makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I try to ignore it. Why does it suddenly frightens me so?

	He is waiting for me, leaning casually against the side of a building across the street, just from view. I see him of course, my eyes homing in on him as if I were a heat seeking missile. I practically skip to the other side where he steps out of his stakeout position. We walk down the street together, and I, inconspicuously (not), wrap my arm around him, dragging him closer, finally satisfied with feeling his warmth pressing against my side. There's this little place not far from where we work, it's open almost twenty-four-seven and I sometimes go there after a late night for some breakfast. Playfully I nuzzle his ear that twitches while he walks, giving it a few joyous nips, provoking a cute little squeal from down his throat.
"You seem awfully happy." He remarks, glancing up at me.
"I'm with you aren't I?" 
He laughs. I wish I could record that sound, to have it played back to me whenever I want to, though it is the unexpectedness of it that is part of the fun. My friends are right, I'm disgustingly happy. If I wasn't me right now there is a pretty good chance I would punch myself in the face. I have become what I always so loathed in others, I'm a walking cliche of overly romantic and poorly written paperback novel. 
"You know some folks would consider this happy stage of you annoying."
"Do you belong to that particular group, because if you do, I'll change."
He shakes his head, "No, don't do that, don't change." It is touching, the want with which he says it. I stop. He turns around. "What?"

	"I-I, we've known each other for just a few days."
"So?"
I'm grappling for words. He stares at me with those blue gazers. Take a breath, relax, formulate your thoughts. 
"It's just," pick your words carefully now, "I... I really like you." 
There's that smile again, that bit of teeth. "I like you to." 
When he says it his head cocked slightly to the right, like he is listening in the wind. I think, when I get asked 'when did you know?' I will answer with: this moment.
"If you would ever leave, I would really miss you."
He leans forward, my paw in his, tugging me down, giving me a little peck, which I quickly let escalate into a good old French kiss with him pressed against the wall of the nearest building.

	When we finally part, breathless by this sudden moment, he has that look in his eyes like he knows something I don't. I search his eyes. 
"We're almost at the diner, think you can make it till breakfast?" He asks with a little laugh.
"Mr Smarty pants." I nip at his nose. He laughs again, and suddenly I am so very conscious how close he is, where his paws are, where mine are, only a few inches from his tail and what lies beneath. I'm beginning to reconsider breakfast. His stomach growls, so does mine. Skipping breakfast isn't really an option.
"Let's eat."

	The artic fox behind the counter barely looks up when we give him our order. He even pays less attention to us the moment we've paid. Pretty sure that if someone would get a heart attack right here and now he wouldn't even notice, perhaps look a bit cross the moment the paramedics would get in the way of him seeing whatever is on the telly. Now would be the moment to say how we find a 'quiet' place somewhere in the corner, but the place is almost completely empty, with the exception of a group of rowdy girls that are eating the last of the pumpkin cream pie, almost everywhere is 'quiet'. We sit down behind our breakfast and he starts sipping from an unseemly large vanilla flavoured milkshake. I watch him, trying not to think about anything sexual, just to keep my boner from showing, which is hard seeing him with his lips wrapped around a straw sucking at it like his life depends on it, licking his lips and swirling his tongue around the...
"Are you teasing me?"
"Maybe." It is the mocked innocence that does it really. 
I try and focus on my own plate, before it gets cold and the chances of finding anything sexy there seems doubtful. 
"So who is the girl who keeps eyeing you from the other side of the club?"
The question startles me. He must see my surprised look, but he pretends not to, casually glancing past me at the television screen. "It was your ex, wasn't it?"
I nod, I see no reason to lie to him. "Marv pointed her out to me last night."
"He the bunny?"
"Yeah."
"Seems cute."
"He's just a friend."
"A cute friend."
"A good looking friend."
He chuckles, I laugh sheepishly. The idea of discussing Marv in that way makes me uncomfortable. 
"He's one of my best friends."
"You punched a guy on the nose for him, 'cause he called him a faggot."
"You know about that?"
"Some girls where talking about it. You have quite the group of fans."
That makes me blush. I don't really think about those kinds of things, and I prefer not to.
"They seem to have a theory you two are lovers, only society keeps you apart."
I nearly choke. Bits of food are launched over the table when I start coughing and sputtering and regurgitating part of my breakfast. He laughs, loudly. 
"It's not funny!" I exclaim, but pretty soon start laughing as well, till I choke a second time and more of my breakfast gets launched across the table.

	Finally things calm down and the rest of the patrons stop staring at us. 
"You're cute when you are embarrassed." 
This time I manage to keep it in, only I stare at him with my mouth slightly open, the food nearly trickling down back on my plate. My ears burn up. I stare down at my plate. 
"That is, when I'm not spitting food all over the table."
"Even then."
Resting his cheek against his paw he stares at me, absentmindedly taking a sip from his soda, somehow managing to grasp the straw without lifting his head.
"So he's just a friend, huh?"
"Just a friend, a very good friend, but just a friend. I..." I fall silent unsure whether or not to touch upon this particular topic right here and now. He isn't in a hurry, quietly observing me while I have a thousand concerns flashing through my mind.
"I'm kinda really new to this."
"You seemed awfully proficient the other night." 
I don't know if I should sink under the table from embarrassment or be honoured by this compliment. 
"Thanks... I guess."
"You're welcome." 
If I didn't know any better I would say he is doing all of this on purpose. Then again, I do know better and that look he gives me tells me that he is doing it on purpose. I wonder with how many guys he's been, probably a lot, he does not strike me as a person who settles down easily, if at all. 
"Though it helps that the heavens have gifted you with the right tools; Cute face, athletic body, big dick." 
He laughs. I start coughing again and for a moment I cast a nervous glance around the place, but the others are far too busy with their own conversations to notice ours. 
"You are enjoying this far too much." 
"I know right."
Though for the sake of appearances I try and supress a smirk, but his laughter is infectious. Does he expect me to reply to that? Usually I can think of a cheesy pickup line or two, but now I'm drawing complete blanks. Think of something smart to say, something witty, something that makes him laugh like he did before, preferably something lewd... C'mon, I hear a hundred of these stupid remarks at all the time during my shift, how hard can it be? It is not like it is rocket science.

	He still is chuckling softly, watching me fidget under his lurid gaze. I do not believe that in my life I have ever been so objectified as in this moment. Not in a nasty and creepy way, mind you, but there is this undertone, this pull in his eyes that tells me he's ready to jump my bones the moment I let him. It is quite charming in fact. It is like something is clicking inside of me. Something fits, making me feel less uncomfortable with what we are doing, what he is doing. I look up, meeting his gaze boldly. His cheeky grin, his eyes that sparkle happily above it. 
"You've forgot to mention my natural gift for making the right moves." 
"There is that too, of course."
"My charming smile, kind eyes, and funny demeanor."
"Not to mention modest."
"But of course. All in all I am the perfect boyfriend."
"You... you are more than perfect."
"There is a neediness in that I like."

	He leans back, his feet bump against my legs under the table as he observes me from a small distance. There is smugness in his look. I realize he is putting on a bit of display for me, allowing my gaze to rove over his body, but I won't, I keep looking him in the eye. Mentally I'm sending him the message that whatever he's thinking off I'm up for it, I want him as bad as he wants me, and then some. It's like when I first put on that mask, the thing that hid me from what was going on, allowing me to just let it go and tap into that feral side of me. 
"You know I have no idea who you are." I don't think any more about my words, I just let them go. "I mean, I've gotten to know you these last few days, but I have no idea. I don't even know what your favourite colour is, but there is something... Something that makes me feel like I have known you for years. I want to know you; I want to know you for a very long time." 
He shifts in his seat, his expression changing, looking interested in what I have to say. It encourages me, makes me bolder. 
"We could sit here all day talking, about god knows what, getting to know each other. But right now there are other things I want to know about you. So let's skip the rest of the get-to-know-you tour and jump to the sex."
Finally I've managed to make him laugh, laugh when I intended him to laugh, laugh because I want to hear him laugh, not because I feel stupid or did something odd. 
"Will you still let me get to know you after?"
"I was counting on that actually."
"Great. Then let's." He says, rising from his chair. "By the way, my favourite colour is blue."