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  "description": "Here we are, part 2 of American Puppers: Fu and Brooklyn, my super long Fu and Brooklyn story. Enjoy, as from this point we get a lot of action and character growth before the next sexy scene. It'll be worth it.\nFu is left wheeling from his unexpected feelings for Brooklyn, a male corgi who serves as a wizards familiar. After fighting his thoughts and emotions, an unexpected visit by the corgi just might calm the storm within.\n\nEdit- found a few more mistakes, one a really big one that ruins the build up and reveal of a character in part 4…so…ignore that if you’ve read this and just pretend to be surprised. (I mean, it’s not story breaking but sad an older cut of that section ended up in here and I didn’t catch it before uploading.)",
  "description_bbcode_parsed": "<span style='word-wrap: break-word;'>Here we are, part 2 of American Puppers: Fu and Brooklyn, my super long Fu and Brooklyn story. Enjoy, as from this point we get a lot of action and character growth before the next sexy scene. It&#039;ll be worth it.<br />Fu is left wheeling from his unexpected feelings for Brooklyn, a male corgi who serves as a wizards familiar. After fighting his thoughts and emotions, an unexpected visit by the corgi just might calm the storm within.<br /><br />Edit- found a few more mistakes, one a really big one that ruins the build up and reveal of a character in part 4&hellip;so&hellip;ignore that if you&rsquo;ve read this and just pretend to be surprised. (I mean, it&rsquo;s not story breaking but sad an older cut of that section ended up in here and I didn&rsquo;t catch it before uploading.)</span>",
  "writing": "————————————FU—————————————-\n“…and for the five-borough forecast, better bring an umbrella, folks! We’re lookin’ at scattered showers this afternoon, but a strong front’s rollin’ in by evening. Expect thunder, possibly some flooded streets, and definitely ruined hairdos.”\nFu cracked one eye open, his face mashed against the now thoroughly soggy armrest of the plush recliner. A thin string of drool stretched from his muzzle to the cushion before snapping as he lifted his head. He wiped his face with the back of one paw, blinking blearily at the television’s glow.\nA perky weather anchor was gesturing animatedly at a digital map, sweeping her arm in wild arcs over the boroughs like she was trying to cast a spell on them. Her teeth gleamed with the kind of optimism only the truly well-rested could manage.\nFu groaned and sank deeper into the chair’s embrace. Leaning back, his back gave an ominous pop as he stretched, the recliner groaning along in sympathy. The springs in the footrest wheezed like an asthmatic accordion.\nHe patted around the cushions until his paw finally closed around the remote, wedged somewhere beneath his thigh.\n“Damn channel 4,” he muttered. “I was liking that dream.”\nWith a grunt, he clicked the TV off. Silence crept back into the room, broken only by the soft murmur of distant traffic and the occasional creak of the old shop settling around him.\nHe swung his legs down to the floor. His knee voiced its displeasure.\n“Well… guess I better get started.”\nBut he didn’t move just yet.\nHis eyes were still heavy, not from rest, but from the lack of it. He’d spent half the night tossing in his blankets,mind looping the same infuriating circuit. Brooklyn’s stupid, dazzling grin. That slick, teasing voice. The way his ear flopped down whenever he got flustered—like even his body couldn’t keep a straight face around Fu.\nFu had tried to distract himself. He flipped through the usual late-night garbage: Jersey Shore Babes, some kung fu rerun with questionable dubbing—but even Hogan’s Heroes hadn’t helped. The canned laughter only made the room feel quieter.\nBrooklyn’s voice had still echoed in his head long after the last commercial faded.\nScratching his rear, Fu finally trudged into the kitchen. The tiles were cold beneath him, the air still and stale in the way old buildings got overnight. Lao Shi wasn’t up yet. Just quiet, honest, weighty silence, and the hum of the city seeping in through old window panes.\nHe started the coffee maker. It chirped its usual mechanical wheeze, then sputtered out a reluctant, thin stream of brown liquid. The smell hit him with all the subtlety of a punch in the nose– burnt, acidic, and somehow already disappointing.\nThe brew caught the morning light, glinting gold swimming in brown, just like…\nFu blinked hard. No.\nNo more of that.\nThis was gonna be a corgi-free morning.\n__________________________________________________________\nThe coffee tasted like burnt socks.\nFu grimaced after the first sip and dumped three more sugar cubes into the mug, muttering darkly under his breath like the sugar might sweeten his mood, too. \nHe shuffled toward the cabinets and reached for the cereal, some off-brand honey rings with a grinning cartoon badger on the box. Fu could have sworn the badger was hiding dark secrets behind that toothy smile. Probably tax fraud.\nA generous heap hit the inside of a chipped ceramic bowl. He grabbed a second box, marked in thick marker as “Fu Only,” and pinched in a bit of kibble–out of habit more than hunger.\nMilk followed. Then the mistake: \nHe sat down before he ate.\nHis paw stirred the spoon lazily, round and round, the clink of metal on ceramic soft and distant. His thoughts spiraled with the same rhythm—slow, circling the drain.\nBrooklyn’s smug little strut.\nThat damn voice, slick with confidence.\nThe sparkle in his eyes when he got under someone’s skin.\nWho did he think he was, showing up like that—just yesterday—and now living rent-free in Fu’s head like some freeloading brownie with perfect fur?\nBrooklyn was a guy.\nYou’ve never, not once in over 600 years, looked at another guy like that.\nNow, Fu had seen his share of junk. Sniffed enough butts to last 4,200 dog years.\nWait, that’s just 600 years again…\nMath is stupid anyway.\nEither way, that’s a helluva lotta butts.\nBut this corgi, those parts, those bits and pieces, looked far more enticing in the moment than any bitch’s cookie. That tailhole practically sent him an invitation to do more than sniff. Those stubby legs–so short, and yet he wanted to climb them more than he’d wanted to scale that arachnae he met in Greece back in 1689.\nFu couldn’t help but grin at the memory. Eight legs. Too many possibilities. \nAnd now those legs were gaining paws…\nHe smooshed a paw deep into his wrinkled face, dragging it down slowly.\nThis is fine. This is just being pent up. That’s all.\nHe stared down into his cereal like it might offer guidance. The rings bobbed lazily on the surface, soaked and sunken, sad little life preservers floating in pity milk.\nBut it wasn’t just that Brooklyn was hot.\nHe was… warm. No, not quite. Easy? Maybe. Too easy to talk to. Too easy to laugh with. Too easy to picture next to him again.\nAnd worse… Fu could still smell him. Like a memory burnt into the air.\nFaint herbal shampoo. That unmistakable, too-clean, fresh-from-the-groomer scent—the kind that made a dog smell like expensive soap, confidence, and smug self-assurance.\n“Like a walking poodle salon,” Fu muttered, glaring into his bowl. “And I’m the idiot who’d still sniff it.”\nA spoonful of soggy cereal and kibble made it into Fu’s mouth.\nHis jaw froze mid-chew. His eyes narrowed in slow, dawning betrayal.\nHe leaned over and spat the whole mouthful right back into the bowl with a wet splat.\n“Ugh—blagh—” he groaned, wiping his tongue with a paw that did nothing to help. “How is it soggy?”\nThe cereal had collapsed into a sad beige mush, like it had given up pretending it was ever food. He got it.\nHe wasn’t exactly putting on a good show either.\nFu pushed the bowl away with a grunt and slumped in his seat, cheek resting against one paw. He stared into the middle distance for a beat, like maybe time would pass faster if he glared hard enough.\nBut no.\nHis mind wandered right back to that confident little corgi.\nBrooklyn had barely stepped into his life, and yet somehow he’d elbowed his way into every quiet moment since. That grin. That voice. That cocky, bouncing strut like he owned the sidewalk. It all stuck, like fur on a velvet couch—impossible to brush off.\n“You’re circling, Fu Dog,” he grumbled. \nFu’s gaze drifted back to the bowl, then he glanced at the microwave clock.\nHe’d been sitting there for nearly 45 minutes!\nHe gave the bowl one more sour glance. The milk had all but vanished, absorbed into the mix of starch and dog food until it resembled something between paste and regret.\nHe wasn’t hungry. Not really. This was all just routine.\nDistractions!\nHe needed to stay busy.\nStay occupied.\nStop thinking.\nBecause thinking meant remembering the way Brooklyn had smiled at him before he left—that gentle “see ya,” tossed over his shoulder like he knew Fu would still be thinking about it later.\n“Which I’m not,” Fu said aloud, louder than necessary.\nThe coffee machine replied with a half-hearted glorp.\nFu glared at it.\n“Don’t you start. It’s just breakfast.”\nHe looked back down at the bowl.\n“…Just breakfast.”\nHe sighed, long and theatrical, and pushed himself up from the table. No appetite. No plan. Just a morning to out-stubborn.\nAfter dumping what had rapidly evolved into his latest attempt at quick-dry cement into the trash and leaving the bowl to soak in the sink, he shuffled down the dim hallway toward his bathroom. His claws clicked softly against the worn tile floor as he turned the corner, pushing the door open with a grunt and padding inside.\nFu’s bathroom wasn’t much to look at. Just your average, vaguely beige setup, shoehorned into a space that clearly wasn’t designed with comfort in mind. The porcelain sink sat modestly at the far wall, beside a smudged plastic step stool still plastered with faded Dragons and Unicorns stickers—a gift Haley had insisted he needed when she was two.\nThe faucet dripped with a steady plink, a background rhythm he’d long since stopped hearing. The mirror above it—cracked long ago when a river troll got startled by its own reflection—was speckled with water spots and streaked with a faint smear of toothpaste from some forgotten night.\nThe toilet sat beside the sink, lid closed, a wooden shelf installed above it with a proud stack of toilet paper rolls and an aging battalion of mismatched air fresheners that hadn’t been used since the “2009 Fish Taco Day Massacre.”\nMay the old plumbing rest in peace.\nA leaning tower of magazines occupied one corner—Modern Alchemy Monthly, Dog Fancy, and several worn volumes of Magic Babes Gone Wild discreetly buried at the bottom, like hiding them under a periodical about terrier coat care somehow made it less embarrassing.\nOpposite the sink, a tub and shower combo took up most of the wall. The tub had those weird claw feet that made it look like it might get up and walk off. The curtain, still proudly bearing cartoon dragons playing volleyball, was an April Fools’ prank from a young, naive Jake. Fu had never taken it down. It made the place feel less like a tomb—and between it and the step stool, gave the room a kind of accidental decorative motif.\nFu climbed the step to the sink and stared at his reflection.\nWet-eyed. Pouchy. Wrinkles on wrinkles. His face sagged in a way that looked less “wise mystic” and more “forgot to defrost properly.” He twisted the cold tap and splashed water onto his face, watching as rivulets traced the folds of his cheeks like tiny rivers carving through worn terrain.\n“This is ridiculous,” he muttered at the mirror. “You’re 600 years old. You’ve fought shadow beasts, the Huntsclan, survived three witch councils, and made out with that Thunderbird in ’88.”\nAnother splash. A blink. Then a scowl.\n“It’s just a crush. A hiccup. A perfectly natural reaction to… soft fur, confidence, and that stupid grin that—”\nHe cut himself off with another splash. The freezing water bit into his cheeks. His face was starting to go numb. Good. Maybe it would shut up too.\n“You’re not gonna lose your mind over one cocky corgi with pretty eyes and… and… distracting thighs.”\nHe held his own gaze in the cracked mirror. Silence.\n“…Okay. You can with the thighs. Just not his.”\nA beat.\nThen a grimace.\n“And you’ll do it with dignity, damn it.”\nHe puffed up his chest, lifted his chin high—\n—and promptly slipped on the wet step on his way down, landing in a heap with a grunt and a clatter.\n“Dignity,” he muttered from the floor, “is overrated anyway.”\n————————————————————————————————-\nA few grumbles and one bruised hip later, Fu was in the back room, tail twitching as he adjusted his stool. The old wood creaked beneath him as he settled in at the potion bench, which was cluttered with glassware, jars of questionable herbs, and enough open books to constitute a fire hazard.\nHe needed something simple. Low-stakes. Calming.\nA chill draft, maybe.\nDefinitely not a libido tonic.\nFor the love of Zeus. Not again.\nHe reached for ingredients on autopilot, paws moving through motions he’d practiced a thousand times, but his brain was still full of Brooklyn. His voice. His scent. The spark behind those stupid eyes. That impossible bounce in his walk. That grin. That swagger.\nFu’s paw jerked, and he hissed under his breath.\n“Not thinking about it,” he muttered, too loud, grinding licorice root into the bowl with more force than finesse. The shredded root clumped against the side—stubborn and sticky. Just like everything else this morning.\nThe vial in his paw trembled slightly.\nHe tried not to think of the corgi-shaped reason why.\nHe tipped the vial carefully. A sharp pop followed the first red drop, and a curl of blue smoke spiraled toward the ceiling, sparkling with a cheeriness Fu did not appreciate.\nFu coughed, leaning back as far as his rump allowed, blinking rapidly as the smoke swirled into hypnotic little figure-eights.\n“Please don’t explode. Please don’t explode—”\nFWOOMP.\nA flash of light. A hiss of steam. A spitting pillar of goo shot upward, arcing with theatrical precision before landing with a wet plop right on the open doorway behind him.\nThe room instantly reeked of burnt lavender and something suspiciously close to catnip.\n“YAAAH!” came Lao Shi’s startled yelp—followed by a flurry of Mandarin curses as he stumbled backward, arms flailing like an angry swan.\nFu whipped around to see Lao Shi in the hallway, arms outstretched, dripping viscous lilac goo from his now-stained robe. His beard had gone stiff with potion spray, and his cheeks were speckled a soft, glowing purple.\n“Wǒ de chènshān! Zhè shì shénme yānmò yàng de dòngxi?!” Lao Shi shouted, trying to peel fabric away from his sleeve. “My robe! Fu Dog! Do you even label your vials?!”\nFu winced. “I mean… sometimes. I meant for that one to be a calming elixir.”\nLao Shi raised a single, deadly eyebrow as the goo on his robe began to sparkle ominously.\n“Calming?” he repeated, deadpan.\nThere was a beat. The robe’s trim gave a faint, musical twinkle.\n“Chill draft, specifically… okay, maybe I should tweak the ground cumin,” Fu muttered.\nWith a long, weary sigh, Lao Shi peeled off the outer layer of his ruined robe, revealing the shirt beneath—a bright blue silk number patterned with Asian dragons playing mahjong. A shirt he got in the ’70s. Where it should have died.\n\nHe regarded Fu for a long moment. Not angry. Just watching. His eyes narrowed, but there was a softness to it. A quiet patience.\nThen came a shift in the air.\nA soft sound, barely audible over the bubbling potion and the slow drip of goo: the first patter of rain.\nIt started light, tapping at the windows and worn brick like a gentle knock. But it was steady.\nFu tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh. Looks like the rain’s started…”\n“You didn’t sleep much last night,” Lao Shi said, not unkindly.\nFu blinked and looked down at his paws. “Gramps, I really don’t need a wise man moment right now.”\nLao Shi didn’t bite. He simply stepped forward, cane tapping softly on the floor. “You’ve been off since yesterday. And not just with potions.”\nFu scoffed, picking up a ginger root to fuss with. “Why do I even bother…”\nLao Shi chuckled quietly. “We’ve known each other for over forty years, dear friend. I can tell when you’re sulking.”\n“Maybe I’m just old.”\n“No, I’m old,” Lao Shi said, folding the goo-stained robe over his arm. “You’re ancient. But even old dogs get stuck in their heads sometimes.”\nFu didn’t answer. His fingers worked the ginger root like it owed him money.\n“That Brooklyn kid,” Lao Shi said at last.\nFu tensed.\n“He’s sharp. Clever. I’ve never seen another dog keep up with your mouth without wanting to punch you.”\nFu grumbled, “Is this the part where you tell me I’ve got a crush and should write him poetry?”\nBut Lao Shi only smiled faintly. “No… This is the part where I remind you that good friends are hard to come by. You’ve been dragging your tail for months. And I think maybe… he’s the kind of friend who could help with that.”\nFu looked away. His mouth twitched. A pause.\n“Now, what was that about a crush?” Lao Shi added, poking the tip of his cane into one of Fu’s wrinkles. “Why would a simple crush make the great Fu Dog act like this?”\nFu gave him the hardest glare he could muster.\nUnfortunately, it came off more like he’d just sucked a lemon.\nLao Shi laughed loud enough to make a few jarred creatures on the shelves chitter in alarm.\n“Fu, it doesn’t matter if you like him that way. All I care about is that you finally have a friend who doesn’t smell like cigarettes.”\n“Says the dragon.”\n“That doesn’t disprove my point.” Lao Shi turned to leave, but paused at the door just as thunder cracked outside—loud enough to rattle the windows.\nHe glanced back, one brow raised. “And hopefully he knows a good tailor.” He lifted the now-sizzling remains of his robe with two fingers.\nKRA-BOOM.\nThe old building shook. Lights flickered. A storm sprite in its terrarium erupted in manic glee, cackling and slamming against the glass.\nThen—\n“HELLO?! FU? AUGH—!”\nA voice—muffled by wind and rain, but unmistakable.\nAnother boom rolled through the walls.\nFu’s ears shot up.\n“FU! MR. LAO SHI! IS ANYONE THERE—HELP!”\nHe gracelessly toppled off the stool, paw smacking the floor. But he didn’t even flinch. Didn’t register Lao Shi’s usual sour remark about being called Mister.\nHe bolted.\nSkidded past Lao Shi in a blur of tan fur and sudden purpose, feet pounding the floor with a speed that belied every year in his spine.\nAll that pep talk…\nAll that effort to chase away thoughts, to keep Brooklyn out of his head—gone.\n\nFu wrestled with the swollen latch, metal grinding against damp wood with a reluctant screech. The frame stuck—like it always did when the rain hit hard—and for a second, he considered shouldering it open. With a grunt and a sharp thunk, the door finally gave way.\nRain spilled into the doorway in heavy sheets, cold and biting against the warm air of the shop.\nAnd standing there, utterly drenched, was Brooklyn.\nThe corgi stood on all fours, water slicking his fur flat, ears pinned against his skull. A bright pink pastry box—glossy and ridiculous in the storm gloom—was strapped to his back with soggy twine. The string had dug into his fur, pulled taut from the journey.\nBrooklyn looked up with wide, wet eyes. His attempt at a grin trembled beneath a shiver.\n“Uh… surprise?” he said, voice thin but trying.\nFu stared. Just for a second.\nThe sight was too much: this usually smug, bouncing little familiar, now reduced to a dripping, shivering bundle of fluff and pastry.\nEven his swagger had been washed away—what was left was smaller. Honest. Exposed.\n“Brooklyn,” Fu said, at last, “what the hell are you doing in the rain?”\nBrooklyn sniffed, giving a weak shrug—the box shifted awkwardly on his back.\n“Well, I’m like… 80% fur, 20% poor life decisions,” he muttered. “It wasn’t raining when I left the shop. I thought I could beat it, but running’s tricky with this strapped on.”\nHe thumbed back toward the box. “Hate going incognito.”\nFu didn’t reply right away.\nBrooklyn was shivering hard now, enough that the box wobbled with each tremor. Did he really run through half the city just to bring him something sweet?\n“You really… didn’t have to get those.”\n“’Course I did,” Brooklyn said, flashing a faint, toothy smile through the trembles. “And if we wanna save any, think I could come in?”\nFu’s chest tightened.\nRight. He was still standing there in the doorway like an idiot, blocking the poor guy out in the storm.\nHe stepped aside at once, guilt tightening between his shoulder blades.\n“Yeah—yeah, come in. Sorry.”\nBrooklyn padded inside with a quiet squelch of paws, head ducked low. Rainwater puddled in his wake.\nFu shoved the door closed behind him with a solid thunk. It stuck halfway again, so he threw his weight into it until it slammed shut.\n“This thing always sticks in the rain,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone.\nOutside, the storm continued its tantrum—wind howling, thunder rumbling distant threats. Inside, the quiet was heavier. Just dripping fur. The unmistakable scent of wet dog. And somewhere in the back room, the storm sprite continued to cackle like a gremlin with popcorn.\nFu turned, eyes sweeping over Brooklyn. “I hate to tell you this, pup. But we do have a doggy door.”\nBrooklyn didn’t move. He stood in the center of the room like a soaked welcome mat, miserable and still trying not to look it. Water streamed from his ears, his nose, every sad curl of fur stuck to his sides. His tail gave the faintest twitch, ears still flat against his skull.\n“Tha-th–that would have been useful information,” he mumbled through chattering teeth.\n“Wait here,” Fu said, voice catching in his throat. “I’ll get something to dry you off.”\nHe turned and made for the hallway, faster than necessary.\n“And don’t shake!” he barked over his shoulder, just as he vanished around the corner.\nFu skidded around the corner and wrenched open the downstairs linen closet, nearly yanking the whole door off its warped hinges. Towels. He needed towels. Thick ones. The big fluffy ones they usually saved for dragon molting season.\nHe grabbed a stack—big, fluffy, and mismatched—and bolted back toward the entryway, already shaking one loose as he moved.\nBrooklyn was still exactly where he’d left him—soaked, small, pastry box sagging heavily on his back like a bloated sponge.\n“Let’s get this off ya,” Fu muttered, already reaching for the twine.\nHe worked the knot loose, fingers steady despite the puddle forming under them both. As the string slipped free, a thin stream of water spilled from one corner of the box, splattering against the floor in a sad little splash.\nFu winced.\n“Oh, geez. I dunno, Brook,” he said softly. “I think these may be toast.”\n“Brook, huh?” Brooklyn chattered through clenched teeth, ears flicking back.\nFu smirked as he set the box down on the poker table. “Don’t like that?”\nBrooklyn gave a shivery shrug. “It could grow on me.”\nFu crouched beside him, towel already in paw, and began rubbing briskly across the corgi’s back. The cloth soaked up the rain fast, clinging to his dense fur. Fu worked methodically, careful with the pressure but firm, his motions oddly soothing—for both of them.\n“Guess Brooks is better,” he said offhandedly.\n“Mmm.” Brooklyn let out a little moan, eyes half-lidded. “You’re good at this.”\n“K, back looks good. Stand up.”\nBrooklyn pushed himself upright, slowly, his soaked paws squeaking against the tile. And Fu—Fu was not prepared.\nThe corgi’s fur clung to every contour of his body, slicked flat with rain. The muscle along his shoulders and chest was clearly defined now—compact, sure, but solid. His stomach, rounder than the rest, had a softness that looked far too inviting, glistening faintly with rainwater.\nAnd below that—\nFu’s breath hitched.\nBetween Brooklyn’s legs, the gentle shape of his sheath and sack were outlined in wet fur, framed by stubby thighs and innocence that was anything but. Just plump and wet and squeezable…\nHe swallowed hard. His ears twitched. His paws felt too big all of a sudden.\nSqueezable? Fu thought, immediately wanting to punch himself. What the hell is wrong with you? Get a grip.\nAnd yet… the thrill didn’t leave him. There was something in the way Brooklyn stood—unguarded, trusting—that made the view hit harder than it should’ve. Like he knew Fu was looking, and didn’t mind.\nHere goes nothing, and he shifted forward and started drying Brooklyn’s chest. Slower this time. The towel dragged along soft fur and warming skin, damp giving way to dry, his movements growing more deliberate with each pass.\n“How about Brookipoo,” he teased, tone light—more for his sake than the corgi’s.\n“Oh, hell no!” Brooklyn barked a laugh, ears finally lifting, though that left one still flopped, tinged with color.\n“Little Brookikins,” Fu teased, sliding the towel lower and fluffing it across the corgi’s belly. The fur was softer here—fine and warm and giving beneath his paw.\nBrooklyn leaned down and pinched Fu’s cheek. “You’re quite the little bastard… whoa!”\nFu grinned, skin stretching comically around the pinch, giving him a squinty, wrinkle-faced look.\n“Hehe, yeah. Magic fur and skin. Go ahead, it keeps going.”\nBrooklyn raised his brows and gave the cheek a tug. The skin followed. And kept following.\n“Just don’t le—ahhh!”\nSNAP.\nThe loose skin slipped from Brooklyn’s paw and slapped Fu square in the face.\n“Shit!” they both blurted in perfect unison.\n“Sorry, Fu!” Brooklyn said quickly, stepping forward on reflex.\nFu caught himself, but his paw landed without thinking—straight against Brooklyn’s thigh. No—lower. His towel-covered paw had come to rest between the corgi’s legs, pressing against warm, damp fur and—\nThey froze.\nThe world shrank to a single point of contact. Despite the cold clinging to the fur, that spot radiated heat. The kind of heat that didn’t come from weather or nerves. It pulsed softly under Fu’s palm, not urgent—just present. Unignorable. A soft, plump tube of skin that wrapped around Fu’s paw like a hug.\nBrooklyn stared down at the paw like it might combust.\nFu’s ears twitched. His breath caught somewhere in his throat.\n“It’s… okay,” he said at last, the words hushed. “Co…consider it payback for the rain.”\nThe room was utterly silent except for the faint ticking of the kitchen clock, the buzz of the space heater, and the roar in Fu’s ears.\nHe hadn’t pulled his paw away.\n“F...fff...Fu,” Brooklyn stammered. He didn’t back away, but his whole frame tightened, tail nub tight, ears flicking as his gaze bounced between Fu’s face and the unmoving towel.\n“I can… I can get the rest now.”\nFu still didn’t pull away. Instead, he adjusted his grip, still gentle and steady, and pressed the towel in, resuming the motion with quiet purpose.\n“It’s okay, bud,” Fu murmured, his voice soft. “Believe it or not, I did a little stint at a groomer’s.”\nBrooklyn blinked. His eyes softened.\nHe didn’t say anything right away. Just let his eyelids flutter closed, breath releasing in a slow, measured stream. His trembling hadn’t stopped—but it wasn’t just from the cold anymore.\nThe towel moved with him, following the line of his thighs, catching the damp at the edges of his sheath and the delicate skin of his sack. Brooklyn didn’t flinch.\nIf anything… he leaned in.\nJust a little. Subtle enough it might’ve gone unnoticed. But Fu noticed. He felt it in the way the corgi’s weight shifted forward, surrendering just enough tension to be felt, not declared. The kind of trust that happened quietly—like snowfall.\n“Oh,” Brooklyn murmured, voice low. “You saying you’re a professional? I find that hard to believe.”\nFu huffed a quiet chuckle, not looking up. “Honest, kid. Gal had an adorable malamute.”\nBrooklyn’s eyes opened again, one brow raised. “Aha. I see. So it was for a girl.”\nFu kept the rhythm going, letting the motion guide him. He moved to Brooklyn’s inner thighs, then down his legs, rubbing warmth into the short fur along the back of his hocks.\n“Yeah,” Fu said, tone casual, but his ears were tuned to every breath. “Though I ended up touching way more sheaths than getting any cookie, you know.”\nThat earned a short chuckle from Brooklyn, even as Fu gently worked the towel between his toes.\n“Oh, I guess that came out wrong,” Fu added, grinning despite himself. “I mean I never got a shot with that malamute.”\nHe moved to Brooklyn’s paws, slow and methodical.\n“Did end up with a schnauzer in the back closet, though. That’s why they fired me.”\nBrooklyn snorted, half a laugh, half a breath.\nFu kept drying, working through the last of the damp fur, making sure every spot that risked staying wet was warm and clean and free.\nFu didn’t stop. He worked through the last traces of damp fur, making sure every spot that risked staying cold was warm, dry, and tended to. The room was quiet again—but not with awkwardness. No, this was something else. A quiet hum of something building. Present. Not yet named.\nBrooklyn opened one eye. Watched him.\nThere was a question there. Unspoken, but hovering. A flicker behind his gaze like he was testing the weight of it—of them—to see if the ground would hold.\nAnd Fu—still crouched, still holding the towel, still pretending he hadn’t noticed the way that eye lingered—wasn’t sure he didn’t already have an answer.\n“Alright,” Fu said, towel still in hand, voice a little too level, “just one more spot down here to get. Could you, uh…”\nBrooklyn didn’t even hesitate. He turned around.\nAnd there it was.\nRight in Fu’s face.\nThat damn behind—plush, wide, still faintly damp, shifting subtly with every breath. He’d managed to keep it together this whole time, even while giving the corgi the towel-equivalent of a teasing paw job. But now?\nNow his composure wavered.\nThe towel in Fu’s paw suddenly felt heavy. His jaw tightened. His mouth went a little dry… then, traitorously, wet.\nJust get it done, Fu. It’s just another drying job. Nothing you haven’t done before.\nHe leaned in and pressed the towel to Brooklyn’s backside, rubbing slowly in small circles. The fabric moved with the fur, and the fur shifted over muscle, and all of it was just a little too warm. A little too soft. A little too real.\nAnd then it hit him.\nOh. That’s why I can’t get this outta my head.\nIn his mind, he imagined another corgi—same size, same build, same behind. But female. Tail nub slightly higher, cookie instead of balls.\nNot much of a difference, really.\nHa, Fu thought, a little smug now. Knew it. It’s just been a while. I’m just pent up.\nFeeling proud of what he thinks is a breakthrough, he straightened up and reached for a fresh towel, ready to move on.\n“Alright, kid,” he said, already turning back. “Time for that—”\nBrooklyn turned around.\nAnd Fu forgot how to breathe.\nHis eyes were bright. That same crooked grin tugged at his muzzle—easy, genuine, just so Brooklyn. His ears had perked up again, still damp and a little uneven. His cheeks were flushed with warmth from the towel. His nose—black, glistening—twitched faintly.The picture of corgi charm, slightly rumpled and entirely too adorable.\nAnd suddenly, Fu’s chest ached. Not the heat he’d felt down low earlier—not just the thrill of touch or scent—but something else.\nSomething sharper.\nSomething deeper.\nSomething terrifying.\nHis heart kicked like it was trying to escape, thudding hard enough to make his breath stutter.\nThat smile. \nThat damn smile.\nIt made something inside him shiver in a way no physical touch had.\nOh… crap.\nFu stood there frozen, towel clutched in one paw like he’d forgotten what it was even for. His mouth opened—then closed. No words came out. Just a faint wheeze, like someone had thumped the air out of him.\nBrooklyn tilted his head. “You okay?”\n“Fine,” Fu said—too fast, voice cracking right down the middle. “Just—uh. Towel. Gimme your face.”\nBrooklyn leaned in, close, trusting, unaware of the storm he’d just sparked.\nFu dabbed at his cheeks and ears with mechanical precision, pretending the corgi’s breath wasn’t warm against his muzzle. Pretending his fur wasn’t this soft. Pretending the little flick of his left ear didn’t make his stomach twist.\n“You’re real good at this,” Brooklyn murmured, his voice low, easy—almost like a purr under the towel.\n“Yeah, well,” Fu muttered, “have a year of experience. I’ve dried off a lotta dogs.”\n“Bet none of them were as cute as me.”\nFu snorted. “You’ve got an ego on you.”\n“And you’ve got a towel. So we both have our strengths.”\nThen, casually—maybe too casually—Brooklyn asked, “So… you good at trimming?”\nFu raised a brow. “Trimming?”\nBefore he could dig deeper, the towel swiped gently across Brooklyn’s face, muffling whatever came next.\nHe emerged a second later, chuckling. “Yeah. I mean, I need a haircut once or twice a year. Would be nice to have a friend do it.”\nFu blinked. His hand slowed.\nBrooklyn noticed. “Oh—uh, not to be presumptuous or anything!” He backpedaled, ears flicking, left one flopping traitorously. His grin faltered. “Just practical, y’know. No pressure.”\nFu stared for a beat too long.\nThen, gruff but sincere: “Sure, kid. I can break out the scissors again. Just don’t go telling anyone.”\nBrooklyn’s smile returned—wider this time, a little crooked, a little cocky, and absolutely secure. “And lose the exclusivity? No way.”\nFu made a noise that might’ve been a scoff—or a chuckle caught halfway out.\n“Alright. You’re dry. Now let’s see about these.”\nFu turned toward the pink pastry box, now surrounded by a blooming halo of dark red, soaked felt. The box sagged slightly, soft at the corners, and a faint sugary scent hung in the air like a ghost of what once was.\nHe peeled the lid open, cardstock tearing damply at the folds, and glanced inside.\nHe couldn’t help but smile.\nThe pup had gone all out. Two chocolate croissants, a pair of fruit-topped custard tarts, two long eclairs, and what might’ve once been macaroons—now a tie-dye puddle of pastel goo sloshing at the bottom.\nHe tried to lift one of the croissants, but it collapsed in his fingers with a wet squish. The whole thing was a lost cause.\nBehind him, Brooklyn shifted closer. Fu heard it in the faint squelch of soaked paw pads. He didn’t speak, but a soft sound escaped—too quiet to be a sigh.\nA sniff?\nWas it from the cold?\nOr…?\nFu turned in time to catch the corgi’s face. Brooklyn was staring down at the box. His ears were flattened, his eyes glassy and wet, jaw clenched like he was trying not to let it tremble.\n“I’m sorry, Fu,” Brooklyn whispered, voice cracking. “I really wanted to share them with you. As thanks. I—”\nFu didn’t let him finish.\nHe pulled him into a hug. A real one. No jokes, no hesitation. Tight and warm, all wrinkles and rumpled fur and sudden closeness.\nThey both grunted at the contact.\n“This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time, Brooklyn,” Fu murmured into the top of the corgi’s head. “Seriously. I’m just glad you’re here.”\nBrooklyn pressed in harder, burying his face against Fu’s neck. The shar-pei’s wrinkles folded around him like a blanket.\n“I was just… really happy I found a friend,” Brooklyn mumbled into the folds. “I know, it’s silly.”\n“Maybe,” Fu said softly, one paw rubbing up and down the corgi’s back, letting the fur whisper against his pads. “But we’ll laugh about it later.”\nBrooklyn’s scent filled him completely—woody, gentle, touched with today’s hint of petunia. Even with the edge of “wet dog” still lingering, it was grounding and familiar. Like the world had narrowed to the warm breath and soft fur pressed to his chest.\nFu didn’t want to let go.\nBut there was one thing he couldn’t ignore any longer.\nBrooklyn was still shivering. Worse now. His body trembled against Fu’s chest like a tiny engine trying to turn over in mid-winter.\nFu pulled back slightly, brows creased. “Alright, pup. I think we need to get you warmed up.”\nBrooklyn blinked at him.\n“I’ve got a box of powdered doughnuts we can split, and a warm blanket with your name on it.”\nBrooklyn hesitated—just a breath—but nodded.\n“Okay.”\nFu wrapped an arm around him and led him gently out of the receiving room, guiding him away from the puddle and the pastry wreckage, both of them careful not to slip on the slick tile.\nAs they walked, Fu glanced down.\nThis kid. What am I going to do with him? He’s too charming.\nAm I really just desperate? Or is this something else?\nHow do you even… you know…\nHow do you get with a guy? How does that even–\nHis thoughts screeched to a halt.\nJust a glimpse.\nHis eyes fell just a bit further.\nA flash of red.\nOh crap.\nSure enough, Brooklyn was just barely slipping from his sheath—subtle, but unmistakable. A little peek of pink and red that caught Fu so off guard, he looked away so fast his neck gave a twinge.\nDon’t look. Don’t look again. Don’t you dare look again—\nAnd yet, even as he tried to silence the noise in his head, one thought rose through the fog. Clear. Simple. And impossible to shake.\nIt’s… kinda cute.\nFu didn’t look at him as they started up the stairs. He couldn’t—not with his chest tight, his heart still hammering, and his brain repeating the same phrase on loop:\nIt’s not just lust. \nIt WAS Brooklyn.\nAnd Fu couldn’t deny it anymore.\nHe was in deep trouble.\nFu led Brooklyn up the stairs, his arm still wrapped gently around the corgi’s side, guiding him down the hall and into the upstairs den. Lao Shi must have been in there earlier, having left the TV on again with volume muted and captions running along the screen in obtrusive black bars. \nThe room was warm and softly lit, filled with the comforting clutter of lived-in habits. Scuffed furniture. A mismatched patchwork of throw pillows. A bookshelf stacked with old VHS tapes and potion manuals. And there, nestled against the far wall, the old recliner—plush and worn, groaning just right when you sat in it.\nFu gestured to it. “C’mon, sit.”\nBrooklyn obeyed, still shivering slightly, ears low as he burrowed into the cushions. He looked small there—wrapped in damp fur and tension, ears waving in the air from his trembling body.\nWithout a word, Fu grabbed the thick wool blanket draped over the recliner’s arm and wrapped it around Brooklyn in one smooth motion. Brooklyn blinked up at him, surprised—but didn’t object. He tugged it tighter around his shoulders, exhaling slow.\n“I’ll be right back,” Fu said quietly.\nHe trotted off down the hall, quickly retrieved the box of powdered doughnuts and made a beeline for the hallway closet. The moment he opened the door, the universe punished him.\nA rubber chicken bounced off his snout. An old squeaky hedgehog ricocheted off the wall. Something that might have once been a troll’s kazoo landed in his paw, wheezing out a dying honk.\n“Dammit—this closet’s a death trap,” he muttered, shaking off a tangle of twine and grabbing the heater with only minor indignity.\nWhen he returned to the den, Brooklyn had curled deeper into the recliner. The blanket was pulled tightly around him, his eyes half-lidded but watchful. Fu handed over the doughnuts, which the corgi accepted with slightly trembling paws.\nFu turned, plugged in the heater, and flipped the switch. With a soft fwoomp, the coils glowed to life—casting the room in a cozy, orange hue that flickered gently across the walls.\nWhen he turned back, Brooklyn wasn’t looking at the doughnuts.\nHe was looking at him.\nAnd the grin Brooklyn wore wasn’t the innocent kind.\nIt was crooked. Suspicious. The kind of grin that tugged at the corners, a little too knowing, a little too confident. It hit Fu like a subtle sucker punch—low in the gut and warm all over.\nFu squinted at him. “What?”\nBrooklyn blinked, all faux-innocence. “Nothing.”\nFu didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped in front of the recliner and tapped his belly with a paw.\n“Alright. Open up.”\nBrooklyn squinted. “Wha..?”\nFu patted his own belly. “We gotta get you warmed up, pup. And I’m a massive heater. Fastest way is to snuggle up. So open up—I’m coming in.”\nBrooklyn hesitated. Then, slowly, he pulled the blanket aside, revealing the soft, dark dip of the recliner’s cushion beside him.\nAnd Fu’s brain short-circuited.\nWell… fuuuck.\nThere it was. \nNot just the tip this time—Brooklyn had slipped out even more. His member hung full and flushed, the glisten of pink streaked with soft red, just catching the light of the heater’s glow. His sheath was full, still holding an ever growing knot. The sight punched right into Fu’s gut, hot and thrilling.\nSo much for not looking again.\nHe snapped his eyes back up to Brooklyn’s face and tried—really tried—to act unfazed.\nBut it was too late. His body had already flushed. His mind reeled. Brooklyn was just sitting there, blanket draped around his shoulders like a little prince, legs slightly parted, that damn face smiling up at him like nothing was wrong.\n“Seems you’re warming up already,” he muttered, slipping into a smirk. “Damn, I remember being that bad when I was younger.”\nStill, his eyes flicked once—just once more—down again.\nIt really is cute, he thought before he could stop himself.\nRound tip, soft pink streaks, pulsing faint with the corgi’s heartbeat…\nFocus, dammit.\n“But—” Brooklyn stammered, mortified. “I—I couldn’t help it, I—”\n“Hey, hey,” Fu cut in, waving a paw. “Just don’t poke me with it, and we’re good.”\nWith that, he clambered up into the recliner and plopped down beside him. The old seat groaned beneath their combined weight, springs wheezing like a tired accordion. Fu tugged the blanket back up over them and wiggled to get comfortable.\nBrooklyn, however, sat stiff as a statue, paws awkwardly folded in his lap, eyes locked straight ahead on the TV.\n“Seriously, kid,” Fu said gently. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just blood flow. You were freezing a second ago. This kinda thing happens.”\nBrooklyn didn’t reply, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a hair.\n“Ain’t no big deal,” Fu added, voice still quiet and steady. “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty in 600 years. I’m worried about you right now, not that.”\nAt last, Brooklyn relaxed. Slowly, carefully, he leaned back against Fu’s side, letting himself melt into the warmth. His ears twitched once… then perked.\n“Wait. Six hundred years?” he blurted, craning his head. “How the hell old are you?!”\nFu chuckled low in his throat, voice rumbling just above Brooklyn’s head. “Well, guess I’m creeping up on 650 now. Kinda lost count a few times.”\nBrooklyn pulled back a bit to get a better look at him, jaw hanging slightly open.\n“Six… hundred…”\n“Oh, I know. I don’t look it,” Fu said, smirking like he’d been waiting all day to say that.\nBrooklyn blinked once. Then twice. His grin returned—but this time it came with a wicked glint behind it.\n“I was kinda more gonna say… the wrinkles make sense now.”\nFu barked a laugh. “Oh ho ho! Pup wants to bring it, huh?”\nHe grabbed one of his own folds and gave it a proud stretch. “I’m a Shar-Pei. These wrinkles are genetic perfection, thank you very much. You don’t earn these, you’re born with ‘em.”\nBrooklyn snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Ancient and fabulous?”\nFu narrowed his eyes. “And what about you, huh? I’m guessing… thirty? Forty? At least on the outside. Nine on the inside.”\n“Oh, ha ha.” Brooklyn sank back with a smug little shrug, arms tucked under the blanket. “Nah, old timer. Hundred and twenty as of a couple months ago.”\nFu’s brows shot up.\n“…Huh. Well, damn.”\n“Yup,” Brooklyn said, clearly enjoying the shift in tone. “Been around the block. Got the chew marks to prove it.”\nFu nodded slowly, honestly impressed. “I’ll admit it, didn’t peg you for more than a century.”\nBrooklyn winked. “I moisturize.”\nFu grinned. “Ah, come on. You’d look good in wrinkles.”\nBrooklyn blinked.\nHis ears twitched—then flushed red at the tips.\n“That… uh…” He chuckled, suddenly shy, eyes darting down toward the blanket. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”\n“Wasn’t a compliment,” Fu said, smug. “It was a prophecy.”\nBrooklyn laughed again, freer this time. He leaned back into Fu’s side, the blanket shifting as he nestled in closer.\n“Well, if I start getting folds like you, I expect you to help me keep ‘em clean.”\nFu snorted. “Just don’t shed on me and you’ve got a deal.”\nThey sat there for a while—quiet, close. The heater hummed low and steady, casting soft orange flickers across the walls. Outside, the storm had retreated to a distant grumble, like a beast rolling over in its sleep. The box of powdered doughnuts sat untouched on the table.\nThen Brooklyn let out a small sigh—one of those slow exhales that only come when someone finally, truly feels safe.\nFu felt it in his chest. That soft, warm ache. It didn’t demand. Didn’t push. It just… was.\nMaybe—just maybe—he could love having this corgi by his side.\nNot as a lover, he told himself.\nBut he wanted to see that smile again. And again. To wake up and know he’d hear that voice, catch that spark in his eyes, hear that laugh. To feel that steady, grounding presence, day after day.\nEven if he was attracted to Brooklyn—and you’re definitely, undeniably not—he didn’t have to run from it anymore.\nHe could want this.\nWithout naming it.\n Without rushing it.\n Without ruining it.\nThe storm inside him stilled—quiet, like the eye had finally passed. And in the stillness, warmth crept in to fill the hollowed-out spaces. Not the heat of desire, but something gentler. Something steady.\nMaybe it was okay to feel this way.\n Maybe it was okay to just… let it happen.\nFu couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his muzzle. It came slow, inevitable. His chops lifted on instinct, like they knew something he hadn’t admitted yet.\nBrooklyn pressed close, solid and warm, and Fu felt it all the way down to his bones. It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t just company. It was presence. Real, grounding, his.\nAnd for the first time in what felt like decades, the sky inside him finally cleared. Like the clouds had lifted. Like the gray years of gloom had never been there at all.\nHe shifted slightly, letting one arm slide around the corgi in a slow, deliberate motion. His paw settled over Brooklyn’s side, drawing him in until the corgi’s head rested against his chest—right where the rise and fall of Fu’s breathing was steady, deep, and calm.\nBrooklyn didn’t say a word.\nHe just sank into him, melting like butter in a warm pan.\nOne of Brooklyn’s long ears flopped back and brushed Fu’s nose. The tickle was immediate. Fu stiffened, then stifled the sneeze with a sharp sniff and a grimace. He adjusted his position carefully, making sure not to jostle the smaller dog now curled so perfectly against him.\n“This okay, short stuff?” Fu asked, voice low, a little rough.\nWithout thinking, he ran a tuft of fur between his paw pads. The texture caught him off guard—softer than any blanket. Velvet over muscle.\nBrooklyn gave a faint nod, eyes still closed. He pressed in closer, nuzzling gently into Fu’s wrinkled side.\n“Definitely,” he murmured. “You were right. You’re like an oven.”\nFu let out a low chuckle and rested his chin lightly atop Brooklyn’s head. They sat like that for a while—still, quiet, breathing in sync. Letting the weight of the day slide off their shoulders. Letting their edges soften.\nAnd beneath the warmth, something else began to stir.\nNot between them, but within.\nNo words passed. None were needed.\nNearby, the space heater hummed its lazy tune, casting soft orange shadows across the walls. The blanket draped over them was thick and inviting, and Brooklyn’s head rested squarely against Fu’s chest. One long ear flopped over Fu’s muzzle like a personal affront to his sinuses.\nHe didn’t mind. Not really.\n“So,” Fu murmured, voice low, “what’s it like being a familiar?”\nBrooklyn gave a small, sleepy shrug. “Oh, uh... kinda monotonous, if I’m being honest. Sure, I train every day, but lately I’ve just been sent on more and more errands. It’s getting old real fast.”\nEvery word made his head shift slightly against Fu’s chest, and Fu was surprised by the flutter that followed—how his heart seemed to lift just a little with each movement, like it was dancing in time with Brooklyn’s voice.\n“Train, huh?” Fu said, trying to sound casual. “I used to help teach Jake. Been missing those days more lately. You know... aside from the constant threat of death by Huntsclan.”\nBrooklyn snorted. “Oh yeah. I forgot about those guys. Haven’t heard a peep about ‘em in ages.”\n“No idea what happened to them,” Fu said with a smirk—proudly dodging the full truth. Jake had handled it, sure enough, but if he wasn’t bragging, Fu wouldn’t either.\n“So you teaching a Harry Potter wannabe or—?”\n“What? No!” Brooklyn lifted his head slightly, incredulous. “My training. Wouldn’t wanna get rusty with my magic.”\nFu blinked.\nThen Fu sat bolt upright, nearly dislodging Brooklyn in the process. The corgi yelped softly, bracing against Fu’s thigh to avoid face planting into his lap.\n“You can use magic?!”\nBrooklyn blinked at him, genuinely thrown. “Well... yeah? How do you think I got the job?”\n“That’s—Brooks, that’s rare! Like, stupid rare. I haven’t seen an animal guardian with magic in, what, two hundred years?”\nBrooklyn grinned. “Yeah, well—I’m not an animal guardian. I’m a familiar.”\nHe settled back beside Fu with the casualness of someone who thought that explained everything.\nFu’s brows rose higher.\nBrooklyn shrugged. “It’s not super common or anything, but all the big-shot wizards want a familiar who can do more than carry the groceries.” He leaned deeper into the cushion, voice dipping into that dry, smooth sarcasm. “Wizards are vain bastards. Always competing—who’s got the strongest spells, the nicest robes, the flashiest familiar.”\nFu snorted. “Yeah, I hear that. Knew this one wizard once—cheeky little asshole.”\n“Mhm. I rest my case.”\nA comfortable silence followed. The space heater buzzed gently. The blanket shifted a little as Brooklyn adjusted his legs.\nThen Fu leaned over slightly. “Sooo… can I see it?”\nBrooklyn’s ears shot crimson, the left one flopping down instantly.\n“Wh-what?”\n“Let’s see some magic, corgi! Dazzle me with your prowess.”\n“Oh! S-s-sure!”\nBrooklyn cleared his throat and extended his right paw. With a series of soft pops, three small blue flames winked into existence above his pads. They twisted and danced in the still air, casting flickering light across his fur and skin. It shimmered like sunlight rippling across a pond—gentle and mesmerizing.\n“I can only do fire and lightning,” Brooklyn said softly. “Anything heat-based, really.”\nFu watched, transfixed. This kid. Every hour brought a new surprise.\nThen a thought hit him. A very specific, wet dog-scented thought.\n“…Wait. Heat?”\nBrooklyn blinked. “Yeah?”\nFu narrowed his eyes. “Could you have dried and warmed yourself this whole time?”\nFor half a second, betrayal bloomed in his chest. He’d run for towels. Toweled the guy’s sack, for Pete’s sake. Had that been—? No. No, wait.\nBrooklyn’s ears drooped immediately. “Oh! Oh no, I mean—I can warm air, but I haven’t pulled that one off right in a while. Not since…” He trailed off, then forced a smile. “Just can’t get it to land anymore.”\nAnd just like that, Fu’s suspicion vanished. It deflated almost embarrassingly fast. He wasn’t even sure why it had flared up in the first place. Maybe because—deep down—he didn’t want to believe any part of this had been fake.\n“…Huh,” he muttered. “Alright then.”\nThe flames flickered gently in the dim room, their soft blue light dancing in both their eyes. Brooklyn was warm. But not from the fire.\nWith a flex of his paw, the flames snuffed out.\n“Yeah,” Brooklyn said, brushing his pads together, “familiar magic isn’t like wizard magic. I’m stuck with one element. No spellbook’s gonna change that. So don’t go asking me to conjure anything flashy.”\n“Aww, and here I was hoping for a new squeaky toy,” Fu said, putting on a theatrical pout and widening his eyes to full puppy-dog level. He’d invented the look and knew its power.\n“If you ask nicely, I’ll grab you one for your birthday. No magic required. Just fast legs and the four-paw discount.” Brooklyn winked and mimed a clean snatch with his paw.\n“You’re too innocent to make it in the pound, kid. Don’t go stealing. Not with those little legs—you’d never escape the coppahs.”\nBrooklyn’s smile didn’t falter, but he drew in a scandalized gasp. “Bringing up my short legs again, sir? How dare you! A duel! Pistols at dawn! My honor must be restored!”\nHe pantomimed peeling off an invisible glove—though the white fur made it convincing—and gave Fu’s smug chops a delicate, imaginary smack.\n“I accept your challenge!” Fu declared in his best medieval knight voice—authentic, seeing as he had grown up at the tail end of that era. He lunged and wrapped Brooklyn in a headlock, mussing up his ears and fluffing the corgi’s head with practiced, merciless ruffling.\nBrooklyn’s giggles rang out in bright, high bursts—like a string of chiming sleigh bells—before he wheezed through laughter, “Uncle! Uncle!”\nVictory attained. A decisive battle. And still, Fu didn’t let go.\nHe simply pulled Brooklyn back into his chest and slung an arm around his side, the moment settling into that kind of stillness that usually only comes with rain and nowhere to be.\nAfter a while, Brooklyn murmured, his words soft and slurred with sleep, “You always like this?”\nFu glanced down.\n“Warm… grumbly… smellin’ like tea and cedarwood?\nFu snorted softly. “Guess I’ve been marinating too long in Lao Shi’s house. Used to smell like cinnamon and bad decisions.”\n“Oh, is that what that was?” Brooklyn let out a tired chuckle. “I like it.”\nFu didn’t answer at first. He just let the compliment hang, warm and unexpected.\n“You always smell like petunias?” he asked eventually.\n“Mmm. Depends on the shampoo,” Brooklyn replied, shifting slightly. “Sometimes rosemary. Had a lavender phase once. Everyone said it made me smell like a herbalist’s divorce.”\nFu huffed a laugh. “Ah, so ya got taste.”\nBrooklyn murmured something under his breath and adjusted again, wiggling closer until Fu’s arm was practically cradling him like a plush toy. His body was soft in places, but firm in others—lean and solid and so, so warm now.\n“You’re good at this,” Brooklyn muttered.\nFu raised a brow. “At what?”\n“This.” A vague paw-wave from beneath the blanket. “Being close without making it weird.”\n“Sure it’s not weird?”\n“Oh, it’s definitely weird,” Brooklyn grinned against Fu’s chest. “But in a good way.”\nFu chuckled low in his throat and let his head rest lightly against the top of Brooklyn’s. Their breathing matched without trying.\nTime slipped by. The show on the TV had turned into infomercials. Rain tapped gently at the window panes. And inside the blanket, wrapped in heat and closeness and the scent of fur and fabric and tired affection, they both started to drift.\n\nFu didn’t know how long he’d been out when it started.\nAt first, it was just a shift. A wiggle.\nThen again—closer. Firmer. A slow, unconscious grind of hips against his side.\nHis eyes blinked open.\nBrooklyn was still asleep. Curled into him. Head tucked tight, breathing slow. But his hips were moving—rhythmic, gentle, and unmistakable.\nFu stiffened.\nThen came the quiet noise—a half-whimper, half-sigh. Not from pain. Not from cold.\nHis heart started thudding in his chest.\nAnd that wasn’t the only thing that started rising.\nBrooklyn moved again—this time more deliberately, unconsciously seeking friction. The blanket shifted slightly. And Fu felt it.\nSoft. Warm. Firm.\nHe was hard. Brooklyn was hard again. And Fu was slipping out too.\nFu swallowed, trying not to twitch. His brain screamed at him to stay still, to ignore it. To not react.\nBut his body was a traitor.\nShitshitshit.\nHe closed his eyes, jaw tight, pulse racing.\nThe scent between them had changed. Still warm, but now tinged with something muskier. Pheromones. Heat. Want.\nFu’s paw twitched—instinct telling him to grab, to hold, to pull the kid closer and grind back.\nHe didn’t.\nInstead, with a shaky breath, he shook Brooklyn gently by the shoulder.\n“Brooklyn,” he whispered. “Hey. Pup.”\nAnother shift. Another grind. Fu grunted, and finally gave him a firmer shake.\n“Brooklyn!”\nBrooklyn’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were glassy with sleep, unfocused.\nThen realization dawned.\n“Oh… oh—OH SHIT!”\nIn his panic, the blanket went with him, slipping off in a dramatic swirl and landing crumpled on the floor. Fu sat stunned, still tangled in the recliner cushions, very much exposed—and very much not alone in that.\nBrooklyn stood a few feet away, frozen, breath catching hard in his chest. His legs were braced, tail stiff behind him, and everything was on display. His arousal hung between his thighs, flushed and fully out, shifting with every uneven breath. His fur was slightly ruffled, his body still half-damp, and that left ear had flopped straight down over his eye, as if trying to hide what the rest of him couldn’t.\nFu’s own situation wasn’t much better. He was out too, knot growing inside his sheath, the heat between them having stirred something he hadn’t been able to keep down. He hadn’t even noticed when it happened—just that now, everything felt too warm, too close, too real.\nThey locked eyes.\nNeither of them moved.\nFu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His paw hovered near his lap, but he didn’t bother covering up. It was too late for that. Instead, he lifted his gaze and met Brooklyn’s again.\n“…Well,” he said, his voice quieter than before, but steady. “Guess now it’s weird.”\nBrooklyn’s mouth opened. No words came out. His eyes flicked downward for a half-second, then back to Fu’s face. His ears twitched, his cheeks darkening beneath the fur.\nFu tried again. “Definitely not the warm-up I had in mind.”\nBrooklyn made a sound—half laugh, half wheeze. “I swear I was asleep…”\n“I know.”\nThey stared a moment longer. Not with judgment. Not with panic.\nJust… surprise.\nRecognition.\nBrooklyn blinked rapidly, then glanced down at himself again. His body gave a faint jerk, half-heartedly trying to hide, but he didn’t run. He just stood there, awkward and exposed, still catching up to what just happened.\nFu leaned back a little, slow, deliberate. “Okay. You breathe. I’ll, uh… find the blanket.”\nBrooklyn gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Okay.”\nFu bent down to retrieve the blanket, shaking it out with one paw and draping it loosely over his lap. He didn’t rush. Just folded it, slowly, giving the space time to cool.\nBrooklyn rubbed a paw behind his neck, still not moving from where he stood. The tension in his shoulders had shifted now—not gone, but softer. Less panicked. More embarrassed.\nFu looked back at him, offering a lopsided smile.\n“Been a long day.”\nBrooklyn let out a quiet breath, then nodded again.\n“Yeah,” he said. “It really has.”\nBrooklyn stood there for a long moment, still flushed, still uncertain. Then his eyes flicked to the window.\nThe rain had stopped.\nGolden sunlight streamed through the streaked panes, cutting warm lines across the wood floor. Outside, the storm had left the world glistening—rooftops shining, puddles glowing, the air washed clean.\nBrooklyn gave a breathy little laugh. “Well. Looks like the weather’s got better timing than I do.”\nFu didn’t respond right away. He just watched him—still slightly damp, ears twitching, blanket somewhere on the floor, and tail giving the faintest embarrassed sway.\nBrooklyn rubbed the back of his neck. “I should head out. Everyone at home’s probably wondering if I got eaten by brownies. Again.”\nFu huffed. “Now that’s a story I’ll need to hear.”\nThat earned a snort and a smirk. But there was still that heat between them, unspoken, coiled tight just beneath the skin.\nBrooklyn gave a small, awkward wave. “Next time. Thanks for… everything.”\nFu grunted. “Try not to hump anyone else on the way home.”\n“Can’t make promises if I walk like this,” Brooklyn muttered, blushing as he turned toward the door—bow-legged, nub high, leaving a scent trail Fu could still catch in the air.\nHe paused, just briefly, at the door. Glanced back.\nAnd then he was gone.\nFu sat there for a while.\nStill.\nBlanket half on his lap. Body half-exposed. Mind very much not calm.\nThe moment hung in the room like steam after a long bath.\nHis thoughts drifted, trailing after Brooklyn. The scent. The way his body had moved. The tension in his hips. The way his sheath had glistened in the warm light. The way neither of them had looked away.\nFu couldn’t lie to himself anymore.\nHe liked it. All of it.\nHe wanted to see Brooklyn like that again.\nAnd again.\nAnd this time… he didn’t stop himself.\nHe stared up at the ceiling.\nThen down.\nThen groaned and buried his face in both paws.\n“Seriously?” he muttered, glaring at the stubborn rise in his lap. “You pick now to be sentimental?”\nHe shifted, adjusting the blanket still warm with Brooklyn’s scent—wet fur, cinnamon, rain, and that faint charge of residual magic that still hummed in the fabric. He hadn’t noticed it before. Now it clung to everything, sinking in deeper than the heat from the space heater still buzzing in the corner.\nFu squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled shakily.\nHe could still see Brooklyn’s sheepish grin. That floppy ear. The wide, dark eyes that held just a flicker of something more when Fu had turned around and caught him staring.\nFu bit his lip.\n“Go down,” he whispered to himself, adjusting again. “Just go down.”\nBut his body had made up its mind. And his heart—traitorous, aching thing that it was—wasn’t doing him any favors. There was no brushing this off now. No pretending it was just the heat, or the blanket, or one too many pastries.\nThis was him. This was Brooklyn. This was what had been simmering since the shop, since the first dumb joke, since that first stupid spark in his chest.\nAnd now, for the first time… Fu didn’t push it away.\nHe pulled the blanket to his muzzle, letting it surround him in everything Brooklyn. The scent, the memory, the weight of the corgi still fresh on his body. Longing dulled the edge of shame, blurred it until all that remained was want. Pure and personal.\nFu’s paws tightened around the fabric. His breath hitched. He sank back into the recliner—his fortress, his sanctuary—and let himself feel it. Let his mind drift.\nPaw tips graced aching flesh, the red traitor throbbing with each miniscule squeeze. Just the way he liked it. He brought his other paw down and with a quiet, wet pop, pulled his sheath down and allowed his full member out in the warm air. No, there was no more shame now. \nHe began moving his paw now, running along the growing reservoir flowing from his tip to aid in this deed. It wasn’t just arousal. It was Brooklyn—bent over, teasing, shameless. A glimpse of that plush tail lifted. That tight rosebud winking back like a challenge. The thought made his gut twist, made heat bloom behind his eyes. Even more than when Brooklyn had been pressed to him, humping in his sleep.\nGods, that had been cute.\nWhat if he let the corgi do his own thing? Maybe offer himself? No… not yet. He wasn’t ready for that.\nBut to watch him—watch his face as he climbed higher and higher… yeah, Fu wanted that. Wanted to see every flush, every gasp.\nHe quickened his pace. He began panting, hot breath tantalizing his hotter flesh. He could feel the rise coming. That clifftop he knew if he reached would bring glorious release. Brooklyn between his legs now, that sweet muzzle finally quieted by something far more effective. Fu’s paw tightened—and then faltered. Just for a second.\nExcept… he didn’t want to silence that voice.\nThat voice was part of what drew him in. Gentle. Clever. Real. Sexy as hell, yeah—but never something to shut up.\nHis rhythm slowed. Then found its pace again—steadier now, more focused.\nBrooklyn was sexy. The sexiest damn dog Fu had ever known. Every inch of him. That grin. That tail. That energy. It wasn’t just desire—it was want.\nThe first hot jet released, flying over the recliner and streaking the nearby couch. Fu clenched his jowls, more streams of white streaking out and plopping on the blanket, on Fu’s fur, the recliner. They seeped into fabric, into Fu’s wrinkles where they tickled and warmed. The feeling was euphoric! It took everything he had not to howl and scream that damned dogs name.\nHe slumped back, a mess of breath and heat and pulsing afterglow. His body sagged. The air felt cooler now, the heater’s buzz more distant.\nAnd when the blood finally began to recede from his aching length, returning to his brain, Fu’s thoughts settled, too.\nHe slumped back, a mess of breath and heat and pulsing afterglow. His body sagged. The air felt cooler now, the heater’s buzz more distant.\nAnd when the blood finally began to recede from his aching length, returning to his brain, Fu’s thoughts settled, too.\nThere, in the quiet, wrapped in a mess of fur, scent, and feeling, he clutched the blanket close.\nAnd he breathed.\n“…Stupid,” Fu muttered.\n Not at Brooklyn.\n At himself.\n For giving in. For needing this. For knowing it wouldn’t be the last time.\nThe space heater crackled beside him, casting faint warmth across the sticky blanket clinging to his stomach. Fu lay still, eyes half-lidded, wrapped in the scent and silence of someone who wasn’t there.\nAnd for once, he didn’t chase the feeling away.\nHe wanted that corgi back.\n Not the way he’d just imagined—though, stars, that too—but the way they were. Just talking. Just being. Holding each other in a way that didn’t feel weird or heavy or desperate.\nJust right.\n“Fú guì tiān gǒu!” came a furious shout from the hallway.\nFu jumped, scrambling upright as Lao Shi’s cane struck the floorboards with a sharp thunk.\n“I told you not to do that in the den! Time and again! Is this what your ancestors fought for?!”\n“I was gonna clean it!” Fu yelped, trying to gather the soaked blanket around his lap.\n“I’ll clean your filthy paws with a hot pan!” Lao Shi snapped in Mandarin. “Wǒ yào bǎ nǐ chǎnle!” \nHe vanished down the hallway, grumbling all the way.\nFu groaned, dragging the blanket higher as his ears pinned back in shame.\nThen—footsteps again.\nLao Shi reappeared at the doorway, completely unimpressed.\n“And your little friend left this.”\nHe slapped a sticky note on the doorframe and disappeared without another word.\nFu groaned again, face burning. He tugged the blanket tighter like a second skin, though it clung in all the wrong places—warm, damp, sticky. He sank back into the recliner with a low grunt, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the mess of fur and fabric over his still… persistent situation.\nNot helpful, he thought, glaring down at himself.\nBut then he saw it.\nThe note.\nRight there, stuck to the doorframe, slightly smudged from the rain but still perfectly legible.\nHe reached out with one paw, the blanket slipping just enough to make him wince at how ridiculous he looked—bare-assed, red-faced, and emotional under a questionable comforter.\nThe message was simple:\nStill owe you a pastry —B\nAnd beneath it, a phone number.\n No hearts.\n No doodles.\n Just neat, clean writing.\nFu stared. Then smiled.\nHis heart thudded—not hard, not loud. Just steady. Just… there.\n“Damn kid,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over the corner of the note.\nAnd for a moment, the blanket didn’t matter. The mess didn’t matter.\n Not Lao Shi’s rants. Not the shame.\nBecause Brooklyn had left something behind.\nNot just a note.\nAn opening.\nFu leaned back into the recliner, sticky note resting on his chest, eyes drifting to the ceiling.\nMaybe he really was lucky, after all.\n\n————————————-BROOKLYN——————————————\nThe city glistened in the aftermath of rain. Pavement sparkled, windows dripped with gold reflections, and somewhere in the distance, a horn played a long, lazy note like the city itself was sighing in relief. Brooklyn walked with a spring in his step—and not just because his back legs were still wobbling from… whatever that night had been.\nNo. That wasn’t it.\nHe was giddy.\nTrotting along on all fours now, collar askew and fur still slightly damp, Brooklyn let the breeze catch his ears. He felt lighter than he had in weeks—like something in him had finally exhaled after being clenched too tight for too long.\nThe night had been awkward. Intimate. Unpredictably raw. And yet… Fu hadn’t pulled away. Not after the accidental bump, not after the mutual exposure, not even when things got uncomfortable in a way that could’ve ended everything.\nIf anything, Fu had leaned in. Stayed close. Held him like it mattered.\nHe stayed. He wanted to stay.\nBrooklyn’s stubby tail flicked high with pride. He passed a pair of joggers who gave him a curious glance, but he ignored them. His earlier “red problem” was long gone, thankfully—but the memory? Still very fresh.\nThat wrinkled grin. That rough, steady voice. That body warm against his.\nAnd all that fur, hiding a lot more than personality.\nBrooklyn let out a quiet snort of laughter. “I really hope he’s gay,” he muttered under his breath.\nThe last block fell away beneath his paws, and he arrived at a cast-iron gate nestled into a brick wall thick with ivy. The whole structure looked comically out of place next to the deli and apartment stoops nearby—like it belonged in a foggy British village, not Manhattan.\nHe glanced once up and down the sidewalk. No one watching. Good.\nRising to his hind legs, Brooklyn tapped in a quick sequence on the worn brass keypad. The lock clicked softly. The gate creaked open on hinges that had never squeaked in their magical lives.\nAnd then, with one step forward, the world changed.\nThe street disappeared behind him. In its place: a sprawling magical estate, at least an acre of lush garden and rolling green lawn, crammed impossibly inside a city block by wizardry older than the U.S. postal system. The sky was clearer here. Always was. The clouds politely parted over the property, offering sunlight and birdsong on demand.\nA crystalline pond shimmered just beyond the main path, its surface rippling with illusions and lazy koi the size of mopeds. Topiary hedges danced in slow-motion waltz, pruned to resemble mythical beasts, aristocrats, and one weirdly aggressive squirrel.\nA peacock shrieked from somewhere near the greenhouse, sounding like a violin being punished.\nThe building at the center of it all loomed like something out of a catalog titled Wizards Who Want You to Know They’re Rich. Victorian in shape, but deeply enchanted—walls made of pale stone veined with runes, windows that blinked or rearranged themselves out of boredom, and a spiral chimney that puffed little rings of magical smoke. Occasionally, it sighed.\nBritish magic, Brooklyn thought, with a fond eye-roll. Overdesigned, overly polite, and always trying too hard.\nStill, it was home. And as he jogged up the winding path, ears high and heart hammering, he felt the ache in his legs like a badge of honor. Every step reminded him this wasn’t a dream. That it had really happened.\nTwo days, he thought. Just two days—and I already want more. A lot more.\nHe reached the steps just as the front doors swung open on their own, hinges bowing politely.\nBrooklyn skidded to a halt. His paw raised mid-step. A long shadow stretched across the entry.\n“Well,” came a smooth British voice from within, dry and amused, “aren’t we late.”\nBrooklyn blinked up. His ears dipped low, just slightly.\nThe silhouette shifted, revealing a pair of sharply shined boots and the faintest outline of an unamused brow.\n“I do hope whatever detour you took was worth the delay. Or at the very least... educational.”\nBrooklyn’s tail nub gave an involuntary flick. He tried to stand straighter, but couldn’t quite hide the satisfied wobble in his hips.\n“Oh,” he said, smiling crookedly, “you have no idea.”\n\n",
  "writing_bbcode_parsed": "<span style='word-wrap: break-word;'>&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;FU&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-<br />&ldquo;&hellip;and for the five-borough forecast, better bring an umbrella, folks! We&rsquo;re lookin&rsquo; at scattered showers this afternoon, but a strong front&rsquo;s rollin&rsquo; in by evening. Expect thunder, possibly some flooded streets, and definitely ruined hairdos.&rdquo;<br />Fu cracked one eye open, his face mashed against the now thoroughly soggy armrest of the plush recliner. A thin string of drool stretched from his muzzle to the cushion before snapping as he lifted his head. He wiped his face with the back of one paw, blinking blearily at the television&rsquo;s glow.<br />A perky weather anchor was gesturing animatedly at a digital map, sweeping her arm in wild arcs over the boroughs like she was trying to cast a spell on them. Her teeth gleamed with the kind of optimism only the truly well-rested could manage.<br />Fu groaned and sank deeper into the chair&rsquo;s embrace. Leaning back, his back gave an ominous pop as he stretched, the recliner groaning along in sympathy. The springs in the footrest wheezed like an asthmatic accordion.<br />He patted around the cushions until his paw finally closed around the remote, wedged somewhere beneath his thigh.<br />&ldquo;Damn channel 4,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;I was liking that dream.&rdquo;<br />With a grunt, he clicked the TV off. Silence crept back into the room, broken only by the soft murmur of distant traffic and the occasional creak of the old shop settling around him.<br />He swung his legs down to the floor. His knee voiced its displeasure.<br />&ldquo;Well&hellip; guess I better get started.&rdquo;<br />But he didn&rsquo;t move just yet.<br />His eyes were still heavy, not from rest, but from the lack of it. He&rsquo;d spent half the night tossing in his blankets,mind looping the same infuriating circuit. Brooklyn&rsquo;s stupid, dazzling grin. That slick, teasing voice. The way his ear flopped down whenever he got flustered&mdash;like even his body couldn&rsquo;t keep a straight face around Fu.<br />Fu had tried to distract himself. He flipped through the usual late-night garbage: Jersey Shore Babes, some kung fu rerun with questionable dubbing&mdash;but even Hogan&rsquo;s Heroes hadn&rsquo;t helped. The canned laughter only made the room feel quieter.<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s voice had still echoed in his head long after the last commercial faded.<br />Scratching his rear, Fu finally trudged into the kitchen. The tiles were cold beneath him, the air still and stale in the way old buildings got overnight. Lao Shi wasn&rsquo;t up yet. Just quiet, honest, weighty silence, and the hum of the city seeping in through old window panes.<br />He started the coffee maker. It chirped its usual mechanical wheeze, then sputtered out a reluctant, thin stream of brown liquid. The smell hit him with all the subtlety of a punch in the nose&ndash; burnt, acidic, and somehow already disappointing.<br />The brew caught the morning light, glinting gold swimming in brown, just like&hellip;<br />Fu blinked hard. No.<br />No more of that.<br />This was gonna be a corgi-free morning.<br />__________________________________________________________<br />The coffee tasted like burnt socks.<br />Fu grimaced after the first sip and dumped three more sugar cubes into the mug, muttering darkly under his breath like the sugar might sweeten his mood, too. <br />He shuffled toward the cabinets and reached for the cereal, some off-brand honey rings with a grinning cartoon badger on the box. Fu could have sworn the badger was hiding dark secrets behind that toothy smile. Probably tax fraud.<br />A generous heap hit the inside of a chipped ceramic bowl. He grabbed a second box, marked in thick marker as &ldquo;Fu Only,&rdquo; and pinched in a bit of kibble&ndash;out of habit more than hunger.<br />Milk followed. Then the mistake: <br />He sat down before he ate.<br />His paw stirred the spoon lazily, round and round, the clink of metal on ceramic soft and distant. His thoughts spiraled with the same rhythm&mdash;slow, circling the drain.<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s smug little strut.<br />That damn voice, slick with confidence.<br />The sparkle in his eyes when he got under someone&rsquo;s skin.<br />Who did he think he was, showing up like that&mdash;just yesterday&mdash;and now living rent-free in Fu&rsquo;s head like some freeloading brownie with perfect fur?<br />Brooklyn was a guy.<br />You&rsquo;ve never, not once in over 600 years, looked at another guy like that.<br />Now, Fu had seen his share of junk. Sniffed enough butts to last 4,200 dog years.<br />Wait, that&rsquo;s just 600 years again&hellip;<br />Math is stupid anyway.<br />Either way, that&rsquo;s a helluva lotta butts.<br />But this corgi, those parts, those bits and pieces, looked far more enticing in the moment than any bitch&rsquo;s cookie. That tailhole practically sent him an invitation to do more than sniff. Those stubby legs&ndash;so short, and yet he wanted to climb them more than he&rsquo;d wanted to scale that arachnae he met in Greece back in 1689.<br />Fu couldn&rsquo;t help but grin at the memory. Eight legs. Too many possibilities. <br />And now those legs were gaining paws&hellip;<br />He smooshed a paw deep into his wrinkled face, dragging it down slowly.<br />This is fine. This is just being pent up. That&rsquo;s all.<br />He stared down into his cereal like it might offer guidance. The rings bobbed lazily on the surface, soaked and sunken, sad little life preservers floating in pity milk.<br />But it wasn&rsquo;t just that Brooklyn was hot.<br />He was&hellip; warm. No, not quite. Easy? Maybe. Too easy to talk to. Too easy to laugh with. Too easy to picture next to him again.<br />And worse&hellip; Fu could still smell him. Like a memory burnt into the air.<br />Faint herbal shampoo. That unmistakable, too-clean, fresh-from-the-groomer scent&mdash;the kind that made a dog smell like expensive soap, confidence, and smug self-assurance.<br />&ldquo;Like a walking poodle salon,&rdquo; Fu muttered, glaring into his bowl. &ldquo;And I&rsquo;m the idiot who&rsquo;d still sniff it.&rdquo;<br />A spoonful of soggy cereal and kibble made it into Fu&rsquo;s mouth.<br />His jaw froze mid-chew. His eyes narrowed in slow, dawning betrayal.<br />He leaned over and spat the whole mouthful right back into the bowl with a wet splat.<br />&ldquo;Ugh&mdash;blagh&mdash;&rdquo; he groaned, wiping his tongue with a paw that did nothing to help. &ldquo;How is it soggy?&rdquo;<br />The cereal had collapsed into a sad beige mush, like it had given up pretending it was ever food. He got it.<br />He wasn&rsquo;t exactly putting on a good show either.<br />Fu pushed the bowl away with a grunt and slumped in his seat, cheek resting against one paw. He stared into the middle distance for a beat, like maybe time would pass faster if he glared hard enough.<br />But no.<br />His mind wandered right back to that confident little corgi.<br />Brooklyn had barely stepped into his life, and yet somehow he&rsquo;d elbowed his way into every quiet moment since. That grin. That voice. That cocky, bouncing strut like he owned the sidewalk. It all stuck, like fur on a velvet couch&mdash;impossible to brush off.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re circling, Fu Dog,&rdquo; he grumbled. <br />Fu&rsquo;s gaze drifted back to the bowl, then he glanced at the microwave clock.<br />He&rsquo;d been sitting there for nearly 45 minutes!<br />He gave the bowl one more sour glance. The milk had all but vanished, absorbed into the mix of starch and dog food until it resembled something between paste and regret.<br />He wasn&rsquo;t hungry. Not really. This was all just routine.<br />Distractions!<br />He needed to stay busy.<br />Stay occupied.<br />Stop thinking.<br />Because thinking meant remembering the way Brooklyn had smiled at him before he left&mdash;that gentle &ldquo;see ya,&rdquo; tossed over his shoulder like he knew Fu would still be thinking about it later.<br />&ldquo;Which I&rsquo;m not,&rdquo; Fu said aloud, louder than necessary.<br />The coffee machine replied with a half-hearted glorp.<br />Fu glared at it.<br />&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you start. It&rsquo;s just breakfast.&rdquo;<br />He looked back down at the bowl.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Just breakfast.&rdquo;<br />He sighed, long and theatrical, and pushed himself up from the table. No appetite. No plan. Just a morning to out-stubborn.<br />After dumping what had rapidly evolved into his latest attempt at quick-dry cement into the trash and leaving the bowl to soak in the sink, he shuffled down the dim hallway toward his bathroom. His claws clicked softly against the worn tile floor as he turned the corner, pushing the door open with a grunt and padding inside.<br />Fu&rsquo;s bathroom wasn&rsquo;t much to look at. Just your average, vaguely beige setup, shoehorned into a space that clearly wasn&rsquo;t designed with comfort in mind. The porcelain sink sat modestly at the far wall, beside a smudged plastic step stool still plastered with faded Dragons and Unicorns stickers&mdash;a gift Haley had insisted he needed when she was two.<br />The faucet dripped with a steady plink, a background rhythm he&rsquo;d long since stopped hearing. The mirror above it&mdash;cracked long ago when a river troll got startled by its own reflection&mdash;was speckled with water spots and streaked with a faint smear of toothpaste from some forgotten night.<br />The toilet sat beside the sink, lid closed, a wooden shelf installed above it with a proud stack of toilet paper rolls and an aging battalion of mismatched air fresheners that hadn&rsquo;t been used since the &ldquo;2009 Fish Taco Day Massacre.&rdquo;<br />May the old plumbing rest in peace.<br />A leaning tower of magazines occupied one corner&mdash;Modern Alchemy Monthly, Dog Fancy, and several worn volumes of Magic Babes Gone Wild discreetly buried at the bottom, like hiding them under a periodical about terrier coat care somehow made it less embarrassing.<br />Opposite the sink, a tub and shower combo took up most of the wall. The tub had those weird claw feet that made it look like it might get up and walk off. The curtain, still proudly bearing cartoon dragons playing volleyball, was an April Fools&rsquo; prank from a young, naive Jake. Fu had never taken it down. It made the place feel less like a tomb&mdash;and between it and the step stool, gave the room a kind of accidental decorative motif.<br />Fu climbed the step to the sink and stared at his reflection.<br />Wet-eyed. Pouchy. Wrinkles on wrinkles. His face sagged in a way that looked less &ldquo;wise mystic&rdquo; and more &ldquo;forgot to defrost properly.&rdquo; He twisted the cold tap and splashed water onto his face, watching as rivulets traced the folds of his cheeks like tiny rivers carving through worn terrain.<br />&ldquo;This is ridiculous,&rdquo; he muttered at the mirror. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re 600 years old. You&rsquo;ve fought shadow beasts, the Huntsclan, survived three witch councils, and made out with that Thunderbird in &rsquo;88.&rdquo;<br />Another splash. A blink. Then a scowl.<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s just a crush. A hiccup. A perfectly natural reaction to&hellip; soft fur, confidence, and that stupid grin that&mdash;&rdquo;<br />He cut himself off with another splash. The freezing water bit into his cheeks. His face was starting to go numb. Good. Maybe it would shut up too.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re not gonna lose your mind over one cocky corgi with pretty eyes and&hellip; and&hellip; distracting thighs.&rdquo;<br />He held his own gaze in the cracked mirror. Silence.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Okay. You can with the thighs. Just not his.&rdquo;<br />A beat.<br />Then a grimace.<br />&ldquo;And you&rsquo;ll do it with dignity, damn it.&rdquo;<br />He puffed up his chest, lifted his chin high&mdash;<br />&mdash;and promptly slipped on the wet step on his way down, landing in a heap with a grunt and a clatter.<br />&ldquo;Dignity,&rdquo; he muttered from the floor, &ldquo;is overrated anyway.&rdquo;<br />&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-<br />A few grumbles and one bruised hip later, Fu was in the back room, tail twitching as he adjusted his stool. The old wood creaked beneath him as he settled in at the potion bench, which was cluttered with glassware, jars of questionable herbs, and enough open books to constitute a fire hazard.<br />He needed something simple. Low-stakes. Calming.<br />A chill draft, maybe.<br />Definitely not a libido tonic.<br />For the love of Zeus. Not again.<br />He reached for ingredients on autopilot, paws moving through motions he&rsquo;d practiced a thousand times, but his brain was still full of Brooklyn. His voice. His scent. The spark behind those stupid eyes. That impossible bounce in his walk. That grin. That swagger.<br />Fu&rsquo;s paw jerked, and he hissed under his breath.<br />&ldquo;Not thinking about it,&rdquo; he muttered, too loud, grinding licorice root into the bowl with more force than finesse. The shredded root clumped against the side&mdash;stubborn and sticky. Just like everything else this morning.<br />The vial in his paw trembled slightly.<br />He tried not to think of the corgi-shaped reason why.<br />He tipped the vial carefully. A sharp pop followed the first red drop, and a curl of blue smoke spiraled toward the ceiling, sparkling with a cheeriness Fu did not appreciate.<br />Fu coughed, leaning back as far as his rump allowed, blinking rapidly as the smoke swirled into hypnotic little figure-eights.<br />&ldquo;Please don&rsquo;t explode. Please don&rsquo;t explode&mdash;&rdquo;<br />FWOOMP.<br />A flash of light. A hiss of steam. A spitting pillar of goo shot upward, arcing with theatrical precision before landing with a wet plop right on the open doorway behind him.<br />The room instantly reeked of burnt lavender and something suspiciously close to catnip.<br />&ldquo;YAAAH!&rdquo; came Lao Shi&rsquo;s startled yelp&mdash;followed by a flurry of Mandarin curses as he stumbled backward, arms flailing like an angry swan.<br />Fu whipped around to see Lao Shi in the hallway, arms outstretched, dripping viscous lilac goo from his now-stained robe. His beard had gone stiff with potion spray, and his cheeks were speckled a soft, glowing purple.<br />&ldquo;Wǒ de ch&egrave;nshān! Zh&egrave; sh&igrave; sh&eacute;nme yānm&ograve; y&agrave;ng de d&ograve;ngxi?!&rdquo; Lao Shi shouted, trying to peel fabric away from his sleeve. &ldquo;My robe! Fu Dog! Do you even label your vials?!&rdquo;<br />Fu winced. &ldquo;I mean&hellip; sometimes. I meant for that one to be a calming elixir.&rdquo;<br />Lao Shi raised a single, deadly eyebrow as the goo on his robe began to sparkle ominously.<br />&ldquo;Calming?&rdquo; he repeated, deadpan.<br />There was a beat. The robe&rsquo;s trim gave a faint, musical twinkle.<br />&ldquo;Chill draft, specifically&hellip; okay, maybe I should tweak the ground cumin,&rdquo; Fu muttered.<br />With a long, weary sigh, Lao Shi peeled off the outer layer of his ruined robe, revealing the shirt beneath&mdash;a bright blue silk number patterned with Asian dragons playing mahjong. A shirt he got in the &rsquo;70s. Where it should have died.<br /><br />He regarded Fu for a long moment. Not angry. Just watching. His eyes narrowed, but there was a softness to it. A quiet patience.<br />Then came a shift in the air.<br />A soft sound, barely audible over the bubbling potion and the slow drip of goo: the first patter of rain.<br />It started light, tapping at the windows and worn brick like a gentle knock. But it was steady.<br />Fu tilted his head, looking up at the ceiling. &ldquo;Oh. Looks like the rain&rsquo;s started&hellip;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You didn&rsquo;t sleep much last night,&rdquo; Lao Shi said, not unkindly.<br />Fu blinked and looked down at his paws. &ldquo;Gramps, I really don&rsquo;t need a wise man moment right now.&rdquo;<br />Lao Shi didn&rsquo;t bite. He simply stepped forward, cane tapping softly on the floor. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve been off since yesterday. And not just with potions.&rdquo;<br />Fu scoffed, picking up a ginger root to fuss with. &ldquo;Why do I even bother&hellip;&rdquo;<br />Lao Shi chuckled quietly. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve known each other for over forty years, dear friend. I can tell when you&rsquo;re sulking.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Maybe I&rsquo;m just old.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m old,&rdquo; Lao Shi said, folding the goo-stained robe over his arm. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re ancient. But even old dogs get stuck in their heads sometimes.&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t answer. His fingers worked the ginger root like it owed him money.<br />&ldquo;That Brooklyn kid,&rdquo; Lao Shi said at last.<br />Fu tensed.<br />&ldquo;He&rsquo;s sharp. Clever. I&rsquo;ve never seen another dog keep up with your mouth without wanting to punch you.&rdquo;<br />Fu grumbled, &ldquo;Is this the part where you tell me I&rsquo;ve got a crush and should write him poetry?&rdquo;<br />But Lao Shi only smiled faintly. &ldquo;No&hellip; This is the part where I remind you that good friends are hard to come by. You&rsquo;ve been dragging your tail for months. And I think maybe&hellip; he&rsquo;s the kind of friend who could help with that.&rdquo;<br />Fu looked away. His mouth twitched. A pause.<br />&ldquo;Now, what was that about a crush?&rdquo; Lao Shi added, poking the tip of his cane into one of Fu&rsquo;s wrinkles. &ldquo;Why would a simple crush make the great Fu Dog act like this?&rdquo;<br />Fu gave him the hardest glare he could muster.<br />Unfortunately, it came off more like he&rsquo;d just sucked a lemon.<br />Lao Shi laughed loud enough to make a few jarred creatures on the shelves chitter in alarm.<br />&ldquo;Fu, it doesn&rsquo;t matter if you like him that way. All I care about is that you finally have a friend who doesn&rsquo;t smell like cigarettes.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Says the dragon.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;That doesn&rsquo;t disprove my point.&rdquo; Lao Shi turned to leave, but paused at the door just as thunder cracked outside&mdash;loud enough to rattle the windows.<br />He glanced back, one brow raised. &ldquo;And hopefully he knows a good tailor.&rdquo; He lifted the now-sizzling remains of his robe with two fingers.<br />KRA-BOOM.<br />The old building shook. Lights flickered. A storm sprite in its terrarium erupted in manic glee, cackling and slamming against the glass.<br />Then&mdash;<br />&ldquo;HELLO?! FU? AUGH&mdash;!&rdquo;<br />A voice&mdash;muffled by wind and rain, but unmistakable.<br />Another boom rolled through the walls.<br />Fu&rsquo;s ears shot up.<br />&ldquo;FU! MR. LAO SHI! IS ANYONE THERE&mdash;HELP!&rdquo;<br />He gracelessly toppled off the stool, paw smacking the floor. But he didn&rsquo;t even flinch. Didn&rsquo;t register Lao Shi&rsquo;s usual sour remark about being called Mister.<br />He bolted.<br />Skidded past Lao Shi in a blur of tan fur and sudden purpose, feet pounding the floor with a speed that belied every year in his spine.<br />All that pep talk&hellip;<br />All that effort to chase away thoughts, to keep Brooklyn out of his head&mdash;gone.<br /><br />Fu wrestled with the swollen latch, metal grinding against damp wood with a reluctant screech. The frame stuck&mdash;like it always did when the rain hit hard&mdash;and for a second, he considered shouldering it open. With a grunt and a sharp thunk, the door finally gave way.<br />Rain spilled into the doorway in heavy sheets, cold and biting against the warm air of the shop.<br />And standing there, utterly drenched, was Brooklyn.<br />The corgi stood on all fours, water slicking his fur flat, ears pinned against his skull. A bright pink pastry box&mdash;glossy and ridiculous in the storm gloom&mdash;was strapped to his back with soggy twine. The string had dug into his fur, pulled taut from the journey.<br />Brooklyn looked up with wide, wet eyes. His attempt at a grin trembled beneath a shiver.<br />&ldquo;Uh&hellip; surprise?&rdquo; he said, voice thin but trying.<br />Fu stared. Just for a second.<br />The sight was too much: this usually smug, bouncing little familiar, now reduced to a dripping, shivering bundle of fluff and pastry.<br />Even his swagger had been washed away&mdash;what was left was smaller. Honest. Exposed.<br />&ldquo;Brooklyn,&rdquo; Fu said, at last, &ldquo;what the hell are you doing in the rain?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn sniffed, giving a weak shrug&mdash;the box shifted awkwardly on his back.<br />&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m like&hellip; 80% fur, 20% poor life decisions,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;It wasn&rsquo;t raining when I left the shop. I thought I could beat it, but running&rsquo;s tricky with this strapped on.&rdquo;<br />He thumbed back toward the box. &ldquo;Hate going incognito.&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t reply right away.<br />Brooklyn was shivering hard now, enough that the box wobbled with each tremor. Did he really run through half the city just to bring him something sweet?<br />&ldquo;You really&hellip; didn&rsquo;t have to get those.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;&rsquo;Course I did,&rdquo; Brooklyn said, flashing a faint, toothy smile through the trembles. &ldquo;And if we wanna save any, think I could come in?&rdquo;<br />Fu&rsquo;s chest tightened.<br />Right. He was still standing there in the doorway like an idiot, blocking the poor guy out in the storm.<br />He stepped aside at once, guilt tightening between his shoulder blades.<br />&ldquo;Yeah&mdash;yeah, come in. Sorry.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn padded inside with a quiet squelch of paws, head ducked low. Rainwater puddled in his wake.<br />Fu shoved the door closed behind him with a solid thunk. It stuck halfway again, so he threw his weight into it until it slammed shut.<br />&ldquo;This thing always sticks in the rain,&rdquo; he muttered, more to himself than anyone.<br />Outside, the storm continued its tantrum&mdash;wind howling, thunder rumbling distant threats. Inside, the quiet was heavier. Just dripping fur. The unmistakable scent of wet dog. And somewhere in the back room, the storm sprite continued to cackle like a gremlin with popcorn.<br />Fu turned, eyes sweeping over Brooklyn. &ldquo;I hate to tell you this, pup. But we do have a doggy door.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn didn&rsquo;t move. He stood in the center of the room like a soaked welcome mat, miserable and still trying not to look it. Water streamed from his ears, his nose, every sad curl of fur stuck to his sides. His tail gave the faintest twitch, ears still flat against his skull.<br />&ldquo;Tha-th&ndash;that would have been useful information,&rdquo; he mumbled through chattering teeth.<br />&ldquo;Wait here,&rdquo; Fu said, voice catching in his throat. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll get something to dry you off.&rdquo;<br />He turned and made for the hallway, faster than necessary.<br />&ldquo;And don&rsquo;t shake!&rdquo; he barked over his shoulder, just as he vanished around the corner.<br />Fu skidded around the corner and wrenched open the downstairs linen closet, nearly yanking the whole door off its warped hinges. Towels. He needed towels. Thick ones. The big fluffy ones they usually saved for dragon molting season.<br />He grabbed a stack&mdash;big, fluffy, and mismatched&mdash;and bolted back toward the entryway, already shaking one loose as he moved.<br />Brooklyn was still exactly where he&rsquo;d left him&mdash;soaked, small, pastry box sagging heavily on his back like a bloated sponge.<br />&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s get this off ya,&rdquo; Fu muttered, already reaching for the twine.<br />He worked the knot loose, fingers steady despite the puddle forming under them both. As the string slipped free, a thin stream of water spilled from one corner of the box, splattering against the floor in a sad little splash.<br />Fu winced.<br />&ldquo;Oh, geez. I dunno, Brook,&rdquo; he said softly. &ldquo;I think these may be toast.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Brook, huh?&rdquo; Brooklyn chattered through clenched teeth, ears flicking back.<br />Fu smirked as he set the box down on the poker table. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t like that?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn gave a shivery shrug. &ldquo;It could grow on me.&rdquo;<br />Fu crouched beside him, towel already in paw, and began rubbing briskly across the corgi&rsquo;s back. The cloth soaked up the rain fast, clinging to his dense fur. Fu worked methodically, careful with the pressure but firm, his motions oddly soothing&mdash;for both of them.<br />&ldquo;Guess Brooks is better,&rdquo; he said offhandedly.<br />&ldquo;Mmm.&rdquo; Brooklyn let out a little moan, eyes half-lidded. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re good at this.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;K, back looks good. Stand up.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn pushed himself upright, slowly, his soaked paws squeaking against the tile. And Fu&mdash;Fu was not prepared.<br />The corgi&rsquo;s fur clung to every contour of his body, slicked flat with rain. The muscle along his shoulders and chest was clearly defined now&mdash;compact, sure, but solid. His stomach, rounder than the rest, had a softness that looked far too inviting, glistening faintly with rainwater.<br />And below that&mdash;<br />Fu&rsquo;s breath hitched.<br />Between Brooklyn&rsquo;s legs, the gentle shape of his sheath and sack were outlined in wet fur, framed by stubby thighs and innocence that was anything but. Just plump and wet and squeezable&hellip;<br />He swallowed hard. His ears twitched. His paws felt too big all of a sudden.<br />Squeezable? Fu thought, immediately wanting to punch himself. What the hell is wrong with you? Get a grip.<br />And yet&hellip; the thrill didn&rsquo;t leave him. There was something in the way Brooklyn stood&mdash;unguarded, trusting&mdash;that made the view hit harder than it should&rsquo;ve. Like he knew Fu was looking, and didn&rsquo;t mind.<br />Here goes nothing, and he shifted forward and started drying Brooklyn&rsquo;s chest. Slower this time. The towel dragged along soft fur and warming skin, damp giving way to dry, his movements growing more deliberate with each pass.<br />&ldquo;How about Brookipoo,&rdquo; he teased, tone light&mdash;more for his sake than the corgi&rsquo;s.<br />&ldquo;Oh, hell no!&rdquo; Brooklyn barked a laugh, ears finally lifting, though that left one still flopped, tinged with color.<br />&ldquo;Little Brookikins,&rdquo; Fu teased, sliding the towel lower and fluffing it across the corgi&rsquo;s belly. The fur was softer here&mdash;fine and warm and giving beneath his paw.<br />Brooklyn leaned down and pinched Fu&rsquo;s cheek. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re quite the little bastard&hellip; whoa!&rdquo;<br />Fu grinned, skin stretching comically around the pinch, giving him a squinty, wrinkle-faced look.<br />&ldquo;Hehe, yeah. Magic fur and skin. Go ahead, it keeps going.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn raised his brows and gave the cheek a tug. The skin followed. And kept following.<br />&ldquo;Just don&rsquo;t le&mdash;ahhh!&rdquo;<br />SNAP.<br />The loose skin slipped from Brooklyn&rsquo;s paw and slapped Fu square in the face.<br />&ldquo;Shit!&rdquo; they both blurted in perfect unison.<br />&ldquo;Sorry, Fu!&rdquo; Brooklyn said quickly, stepping forward on reflex.<br />Fu caught himself, but his paw landed without thinking&mdash;straight against Brooklyn&rsquo;s thigh. No&mdash;lower. His towel-covered paw had come to rest between the corgi&rsquo;s legs, pressing against warm, damp fur and&mdash;<br />They froze.<br />The world shrank to a single point of contact. Despite the cold clinging to the fur, that spot radiated heat. The kind of heat that didn&rsquo;t come from weather or nerves. It pulsed softly under Fu&rsquo;s palm, not urgent&mdash;just present. Unignorable. A soft, plump tube of skin that wrapped around Fu&rsquo;s paw like a hug.<br />Brooklyn stared down at the paw like it might combust.<br />Fu&rsquo;s ears twitched. His breath caught somewhere in his throat.<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s&hellip; okay,&rdquo; he said at last, the words hushed. &ldquo;Co&hellip;consider it payback for the rain.&rdquo;<br />The room was utterly silent except for the faint ticking of the kitchen clock, the buzz of the space heater, and the roar in Fu&rsquo;s ears.<br />He hadn&rsquo;t pulled his paw away.<br />&ldquo;F...fff...Fu,&rdquo; Brooklyn stammered. He didn&rsquo;t back away, but his whole frame tightened, tail nub tight, ears flicking as his gaze bounced between Fu&rsquo;s face and the unmoving towel.<br />&ldquo;I can&hellip; I can get the rest now.&rdquo;<br />Fu still didn&rsquo;t pull away. Instead, he adjusted his grip, still gentle and steady, and pressed the towel in, resuming the motion with quiet purpose.<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s okay, bud,&rdquo; Fu murmured, his voice soft. &ldquo;Believe it or not, I did a little stint at a groomer&rsquo;s.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked. His eyes softened.<br />He didn&rsquo;t say anything right away. Just let his eyelids flutter closed, breath releasing in a slow, measured stream. His trembling hadn&rsquo;t stopped&mdash;but it wasn&rsquo;t just from the cold anymore.<br />The towel moved with him, following the line of his thighs, catching the damp at the edges of his sheath and the delicate skin of his sack. Brooklyn didn&rsquo;t flinch.<br />If anything&hellip; he leaned in.<br />Just a little. Subtle enough it might&rsquo;ve gone unnoticed. But Fu noticed. He felt it in the way the corgi&rsquo;s weight shifted forward, surrendering just enough tension to be felt, not declared. The kind of trust that happened quietly&mdash;like snowfall.<br />&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; Brooklyn murmured, voice low. &ldquo;You saying you&rsquo;re a professional? I find that hard to believe.&rdquo;<br />Fu huffed a quiet chuckle, not looking up. &ldquo;Honest, kid. Gal had an adorable malamute.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s eyes opened again, one brow raised. &ldquo;Aha. I see. So it was for a girl.&rdquo;<br />Fu kept the rhythm going, letting the motion guide him. He moved to Brooklyn&rsquo;s inner thighs, then down his legs, rubbing warmth into the short fur along the back of his hocks.<br />&ldquo;Yeah,&rdquo; Fu said, tone casual, but his ears were tuned to every breath. &ldquo;Though I ended up touching way more sheaths than getting any cookie, you know.&rdquo;<br />That earned a short chuckle from Brooklyn, even as Fu gently worked the towel between his toes.<br />&ldquo;Oh, I guess that came out wrong,&rdquo; Fu added, grinning despite himself. &ldquo;I mean I never got a shot with that malamute.&rdquo;<br />He moved to Brooklyn&rsquo;s paws, slow and methodical.<br />&ldquo;Did end up with a schnauzer in the back closet, though. That&rsquo;s why they fired me.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn snorted, half a laugh, half a breath.<br />Fu kept drying, working through the last of the damp fur, making sure every spot that risked staying wet was warm and clean and free.<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t stop. He worked through the last traces of damp fur, making sure every spot that risked staying cold was warm, dry, and tended to. The room was quiet again&mdash;but not with awkwardness. No, this was something else. A quiet hum of something building. Present. Not yet named.<br />Brooklyn opened one eye. Watched him.<br />There was a question there. Unspoken, but hovering. A flicker behind his gaze like he was testing the weight of it&mdash;of them&mdash;to see if the ground would hold.<br />And Fu&mdash;still crouched, still holding the towel, still pretending he hadn&rsquo;t noticed the way that eye lingered&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t sure he didn&rsquo;t already have an answer.<br />&ldquo;Alright,&rdquo; Fu said, towel still in hand, voice a little too level, &ldquo;just one more spot down here to get. Could you, uh&hellip;&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn didn&rsquo;t even hesitate. He turned around.<br />And there it was.<br />Right in Fu&rsquo;s face.<br />That damn behind&mdash;plush, wide, still faintly damp, shifting subtly with every breath. He&rsquo;d managed to keep it together this whole time, even while giving the corgi the towel-equivalent of a teasing paw job. But now?<br />Now his composure wavered.<br />The towel in Fu&rsquo;s paw suddenly felt heavy. His jaw tightened. His mouth went a little dry&hellip; then, traitorously, wet.<br />Just get it done, Fu. It&rsquo;s just another drying job. Nothing you haven&rsquo;t done before.<br />He leaned in and pressed the towel to Brooklyn&rsquo;s backside, rubbing slowly in small circles. The fabric moved with the fur, and the fur shifted over muscle, and all of it was just a little too warm. A little too soft. A little too real.<br />And then it hit him.<br />Oh. That&rsquo;s why I can&rsquo;t get this outta my head.<br />In his mind, he imagined another corgi&mdash;same size, same build, same behind. But female. Tail nub slightly higher, cookie instead of balls.<br />Not much of a difference, really.<br />Ha, Fu thought, a little smug now. Knew it. It&rsquo;s just been a while. I&rsquo;m just pent up.<br />Feeling proud of what he thinks is a breakthrough, he straightened up and reached for a fresh towel, ready to move on.<br />&ldquo;Alright, kid,&rdquo; he said, already turning back. &ldquo;Time for that&mdash;&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn turned around.<br />And Fu forgot how to breathe.<br />His eyes were bright. That same crooked grin tugged at his muzzle&mdash;easy, genuine, just so Brooklyn. His ears had perked up again, still damp and a little uneven. His cheeks were flushed with warmth from the towel. His nose&mdash;black, glistening&mdash;twitched faintly.The picture of corgi charm, slightly rumpled and entirely too adorable.<br />And suddenly, Fu&rsquo;s chest ached. Not the heat he&rsquo;d felt down low earlier&mdash;not just the thrill of touch or scent&mdash;but something else.<br />Something sharper.<br />Something deeper.<br />Something terrifying.<br />His heart kicked like it was trying to escape, thudding hard enough to make his breath stutter.<br />That smile. <br />That damn smile.<br />It made something inside him shiver in a way no physical touch had.<br />Oh&hellip; crap.<br />Fu stood there frozen, towel clutched in one paw like he&rsquo;d forgotten what it was even for. His mouth opened&mdash;then closed. No words came out. Just a faint wheeze, like someone had thumped the air out of him.<br />Brooklyn tilted his head. &ldquo;You okay?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Fine,&rdquo; Fu said&mdash;too fast, voice cracking right down the middle. &ldquo;Just&mdash;uh. Towel. Gimme your face.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn leaned in, close, trusting, unaware of the storm he&rsquo;d just sparked.<br />Fu dabbed at his cheeks and ears with mechanical precision, pretending the corgi&rsquo;s breath wasn&rsquo;t warm against his muzzle. Pretending his fur wasn&rsquo;t this soft. Pretending the little flick of his left ear didn&rsquo;t make his stomach twist.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re real good at this,&rdquo; Brooklyn murmured, his voice low, easy&mdash;almost like a purr under the towel.<br />&ldquo;Yeah, well,&rdquo; Fu muttered, &ldquo;have a year of experience. I&rsquo;ve dried off a lotta dogs.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Bet none of them were as cute as me.&rdquo;<br />Fu snorted. &ldquo;You&rsquo;ve got an ego on you.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;And you&rsquo;ve got a towel. So we both have our strengths.&rdquo;<br />Then, casually&mdash;maybe too casually&mdash;Brooklyn asked, &ldquo;So&hellip; you good at trimming?&rdquo;<br />Fu raised a brow. &ldquo;Trimming?&rdquo;<br />Before he could dig deeper, the towel swiped gently across Brooklyn&rsquo;s face, muffling whatever came next.<br />He emerged a second later, chuckling. &ldquo;Yeah. I mean, I need a haircut once or twice a year. Would be nice to have a friend do it.&rdquo;<br />Fu blinked. His hand slowed.<br />Brooklyn noticed. &ldquo;Oh&mdash;uh, not to be presumptuous or anything!&rdquo; He backpedaled, ears flicking, left one flopping traitorously. His grin faltered. &ldquo;Just practical, y&rsquo;know. No pressure.&rdquo;<br />Fu stared for a beat too long.<br />Then, gruff but sincere: &ldquo;Sure, kid. I can break out the scissors again. Just don&rsquo;t go telling anyone.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s smile returned&mdash;wider this time, a little crooked, a little cocky, and absolutely secure. &ldquo;And lose the exclusivity? No way.&rdquo;<br />Fu made a noise that might&rsquo;ve been a scoff&mdash;or a chuckle caught halfway out.<br />&ldquo;Alright. You&rsquo;re dry. Now let&rsquo;s see about these.&rdquo;<br />Fu turned toward the pink pastry box, now surrounded by a blooming halo of dark red, soaked felt. The box sagged slightly, soft at the corners, and a faint sugary scent hung in the air like a ghost of what once was.<br />He peeled the lid open, cardstock tearing damply at the folds, and glanced inside.<br />He couldn&rsquo;t help but smile.<br />The pup had gone all out. Two chocolate croissants, a pair of fruit-topped custard tarts, two long eclairs, and what might&rsquo;ve once been macaroons&mdash;now a tie-dye puddle of pastel goo sloshing at the bottom.<br />He tried to lift one of the croissants, but it collapsed in his fingers with a wet squish. The whole thing was a lost cause.<br />Behind him, Brooklyn shifted closer. Fu heard it in the faint squelch of soaked paw pads. He didn&rsquo;t speak, but a soft sound escaped&mdash;too quiet to be a sigh.<br />A sniff?<br />Was it from the cold?<br />Or&hellip;?<br />Fu turned in time to catch the corgi&rsquo;s face. Brooklyn was staring down at the box. His ears were flattened, his eyes glassy and wet, jaw clenched like he was trying not to let it tremble.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry, Fu,&rdquo; Brooklyn whispered, voice cracking. &ldquo;I really wanted to share them with you. As thanks. I&mdash;&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t let him finish.<br />He pulled him into a hug. A real one. No jokes, no hesitation. Tight and warm, all wrinkles and rumpled fur and sudden closeness.<br />They both grunted at the contact.<br />&ldquo;This is the nicest thing anyone&rsquo;s done for me in a long time, Brooklyn,&rdquo; Fu murmured into the top of the corgi&rsquo;s head. &ldquo;Seriously. I&rsquo;m just glad you&rsquo;re here.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn pressed in harder, burying his face against Fu&rsquo;s neck. The shar-pei&rsquo;s wrinkles folded around him like a blanket.<br />&ldquo;I was just&hellip; really happy I found a friend,&rdquo; Brooklyn mumbled into the folds. &ldquo;I know, it&rsquo;s silly.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Maybe,&rdquo; Fu said softly, one paw rubbing up and down the corgi&rsquo;s back, letting the fur whisper against his pads. &ldquo;But we&rsquo;ll laugh about it later.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s scent filled him completely&mdash;woody, gentle, touched with today&rsquo;s hint of petunia. Even with the edge of &ldquo;wet dog&rdquo; still lingering, it was grounding and familiar. Like the world had narrowed to the warm breath and soft fur pressed to his chest.<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t want to let go.<br />But there was one thing he couldn&rsquo;t ignore any longer.<br />Brooklyn was still shivering. Worse now. His body trembled against Fu&rsquo;s chest like a tiny engine trying to turn over in mid-winter.<br />Fu pulled back slightly, brows creased. &ldquo;Alright, pup. I think we need to get you warmed up.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked at him.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got a box of powdered doughnuts we can split, and a warm blanket with your name on it.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn hesitated&mdash;just a breath&mdash;but nodded.<br />&ldquo;Okay.&rdquo;<br />Fu wrapped an arm around him and led him gently out of the receiving room, guiding him away from the puddle and the pastry wreckage, both of them careful not to slip on the slick tile.<br />As they walked, Fu glanced down.<br />This kid. What am I going to do with him? He&rsquo;s too charming.<br />Am I really just desperate? Or is this something else?<br />How do you even&hellip; you know&hellip;<br />How do you get with a guy? How does that even&ndash;<br />His thoughts screeched to a halt.<br />Just a glimpse.<br />His eyes fell just a bit further.<br />A flash of red.<br />Oh crap.<br />Sure enough, Brooklyn was just barely slipping from his sheath&mdash;subtle, but unmistakable. A little peek of pink and red that caught Fu so off guard, he looked away so fast his neck gave a twinge.<br />Don&rsquo;t look. Don&rsquo;t look again. Don&rsquo;t you dare look again&mdash;<br />And yet, even as he tried to silence the noise in his head, one thought rose through the fog. Clear. Simple. And impossible to shake.<br />It&rsquo;s&hellip; kinda cute.<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t look at him as they started up the stairs. He couldn&rsquo;t&mdash;not with his chest tight, his heart still hammering, and his brain repeating the same phrase on loop:<br />It&rsquo;s not just lust. <br />It WAS Brooklyn.<br />And Fu couldn&rsquo;t deny it anymore.<br />He was in deep trouble.<br />Fu led Brooklyn up the stairs, his arm still wrapped gently around the corgi&rsquo;s side, guiding him down the hall and into the upstairs den. Lao Shi must have been in there earlier, having left the TV on again with volume muted and captions running along the screen in obtrusive black bars. <br />The room was warm and softly lit, filled with the comforting clutter of lived-in habits. Scuffed furniture. A mismatched patchwork of throw pillows. A bookshelf stacked with old VHS tapes and potion manuals. And there, nestled against the far wall, the old recliner&mdash;plush and worn, groaning just right when you sat in it.<br />Fu gestured to it. &ldquo;C&rsquo;mon, sit.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn obeyed, still shivering slightly, ears low as he burrowed into the cushions. He looked small there&mdash;wrapped in damp fur and tension, ears waving in the air from his trembling body.<br />Without a word, Fu grabbed the thick wool blanket draped over the recliner&rsquo;s arm and wrapped it around Brooklyn in one smooth motion. Brooklyn blinked up at him, surprised&mdash;but didn&rsquo;t object. He tugged it tighter around his shoulders, exhaling slow.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be right back,&rdquo; Fu said quietly.<br />He trotted off down the hall, quickly retrieved the box of powdered doughnuts and made a beeline for the hallway closet. The moment he opened the door, the universe punished him.<br />A rubber chicken bounced off his snout. An old squeaky hedgehog ricocheted off the wall. Something that might have once been a troll&rsquo;s kazoo landed in his paw, wheezing out a dying honk.<br />&ldquo;Dammit&mdash;this closet&rsquo;s a death trap,&rdquo; he muttered, shaking off a tangle of twine and grabbing the heater with only minor indignity.<br />When he returned to the den, Brooklyn had curled deeper into the recliner. The blanket was pulled tightly around him, his eyes half-lidded but watchful. Fu handed over the doughnuts, which the corgi accepted with slightly trembling paws.<br />Fu turned, plugged in the heater, and flipped the switch. With a soft fwoomp, the coils glowed to life&mdash;casting the room in a cozy, orange hue that flickered gently across the walls.<br />When he turned back, Brooklyn wasn&rsquo;t looking at the doughnuts.<br />He was looking at him.<br />And the grin Brooklyn wore wasn&rsquo;t the innocent kind.<br />It was crooked. Suspicious. The kind of grin that tugged at the corners, a little too knowing, a little too confident. It hit Fu like a subtle sucker punch&mdash;low in the gut and warm all over.<br />Fu squinted at him. &ldquo;What?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked, all faux-innocence. &ldquo;Nothing.&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t buy it, but he didn&rsquo;t press. Instead, he stepped in front of the recliner and tapped his belly with a paw.<br />&ldquo;Alright. Open up.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn squinted. &ldquo;Wha..?&rdquo;<br />Fu patted his own belly. &ldquo;We gotta get you warmed up, pup. And I&rsquo;m a massive heater. Fastest way is to snuggle up. So open up&mdash;I&rsquo;m coming in.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn hesitated. Then, slowly, he pulled the blanket aside, revealing the soft, dark dip of the recliner&rsquo;s cushion beside him.<br />And Fu&rsquo;s brain short-circuited.<br />Well&hellip; fuuuck.<br />There it was. <br />Not just the tip this time&mdash;Brooklyn had slipped out even more. His member hung full and flushed, the glisten of pink streaked with soft red, just catching the light of the heater&rsquo;s glow. His sheath was full, still holding an ever growing knot. The sight punched right into Fu&rsquo;s gut, hot and thrilling.<br />So much for not looking again.<br />He snapped his eyes back up to Brooklyn&rsquo;s face and tried&mdash;really tried&mdash;to act unfazed.<br />But it was too late. His body had already flushed. His mind reeled. Brooklyn was just sitting there, blanket draped around his shoulders like a little prince, legs slightly parted, that damn face smiling up at him like nothing was wrong.<br />&ldquo;Seems you&rsquo;re warming up already,&rdquo; he muttered, slipping into a smirk. &ldquo;Damn, I remember being that bad when I was younger.&rdquo;<br />Still, his eyes flicked once&mdash;just once more&mdash;down again.<br />It really is cute, he thought before he could stop himself.<br />Round tip, soft pink streaks, pulsing faint with the corgi&rsquo;s heartbeat&hellip;<br />Focus, dammit.<br />&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo; Brooklyn stammered, mortified. &ldquo;I&mdash;I couldn&rsquo;t help it, I&mdash;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Hey, hey,&rdquo; Fu cut in, waving a paw. &ldquo;Just don&rsquo;t poke me with it, and we&rsquo;re good.&rdquo;<br />With that, he clambered up into the recliner and plopped down beside him. The old seat groaned beneath their combined weight, springs wheezing like a tired accordion. Fu tugged the blanket back up over them and wiggled to get comfortable.<br />Brooklyn, however, sat stiff as a statue, paws awkwardly folded in his lap, eyes locked straight ahead on the TV.<br />&ldquo;Seriously, kid,&rdquo; Fu said gently. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t worry about it. It&rsquo;s just blood flow. You were freezing a second ago. This kinda thing happens.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn didn&rsquo;t reply, but the tension in his shoulders eased by a hair.<br />&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t no big deal,&rdquo; Fu added, voice still quiet and steady. &ldquo;Trust me, I&rsquo;ve seen plenty in 600 years. I&rsquo;m worried about you right now, not that.&rdquo;<br />At last, Brooklyn relaxed. Slowly, carefully, he leaned back against Fu&rsquo;s side, letting himself melt into the warmth. His ears twitched once&hellip; then perked.<br />&ldquo;Wait. Six hundred years?&rdquo; he blurted, craning his head. &ldquo;How the hell old are you?!&rdquo;<br />Fu chuckled low in his throat, voice rumbling just above Brooklyn&rsquo;s head. &ldquo;Well, guess I&rsquo;m creeping up on 650 now. Kinda lost count a few times.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn pulled back a bit to get a better look at him, jaw hanging slightly open.<br />&ldquo;Six&hellip; hundred&hellip;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh, I know. I don&rsquo;t look it,&rdquo; Fu said, smirking like he&rsquo;d been waiting all day to say that.<br />Brooklyn blinked once. Then twice. His grin returned&mdash;but this time it came with a wicked glint behind it.<br />&ldquo;I was kinda more gonna say&hellip; the wrinkles make sense now.&rdquo;<br />Fu barked a laugh. &ldquo;Oh ho ho! Pup wants to bring it, huh?&rdquo;<br />He grabbed one of his own folds and gave it a proud stretch. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a Shar-Pei. These wrinkles are genetic perfection, thank you very much. You don&rsquo;t earn these, you&rsquo;re born with &lsquo;em.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn snorted. &ldquo;Yeah, yeah. Ancient and fabulous?&rdquo;<br />Fu narrowed his eyes. &ldquo;And what about you, huh? I&rsquo;m guessing&hellip; thirty? Forty? At least on the outside. Nine on the inside.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh, ha ha.&rdquo; Brooklyn sank back with a smug little shrug, arms tucked under the blanket. &ldquo;Nah, old timer. Hundred and twenty as of a couple months ago.&rdquo;<br />Fu&rsquo;s brows shot up.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Huh. Well, damn.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yup,&rdquo; Brooklyn said, clearly enjoying the shift in tone. &ldquo;Been around the block. Got the chew marks to prove it.&rdquo;<br />Fu nodded slowly, honestly impressed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll admit it, didn&rsquo;t peg you for more than a century.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn winked. &ldquo;I moisturize.&rdquo;<br />Fu grinned. &ldquo;Ah, come on. You&rsquo;d look good in wrinkles.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked.<br />His ears twitched&mdash;then flushed red at the tips.<br />&ldquo;That&hellip; uh&hellip;&rdquo; He chuckled, suddenly shy, eyes darting down toward the blanket. &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t even know how to respond to that.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Wasn&rsquo;t a compliment,&rdquo; Fu said, smug. &ldquo;It was a prophecy.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn laughed again, freer this time. He leaned back into Fu&rsquo;s side, the blanket shifting as he nestled in closer.<br />&ldquo;Well, if I start getting folds like you, I expect you to help me keep &lsquo;em clean.&rdquo;<br />Fu snorted. &ldquo;Just don&rsquo;t shed on me and you&rsquo;ve got a deal.&rdquo;<br />They sat there for a while&mdash;quiet, close. The heater hummed low and steady, casting soft orange flickers across the walls. Outside, the storm had retreated to a distant grumble, like a beast rolling over in its sleep. The box of powdered doughnuts sat untouched on the table.<br />Then Brooklyn let out a small sigh&mdash;one of those slow exhales that only come when someone finally, truly feels safe.<br />Fu felt it in his chest. That soft, warm ache. It didn&rsquo;t demand. Didn&rsquo;t push. It just&hellip; was.<br />Maybe&mdash;just maybe&mdash;he could love having this corgi by his side.<br />Not as a lover, he told himself.<br />But he wanted to see that smile again. And again. To wake up and know he&rsquo;d hear that voice, catch that spark in his eyes, hear that laugh. To feel that steady, grounding presence, day after day.<br />Even if he was attracted to Brooklyn&mdash;and you&rsquo;re definitely, undeniably not&mdash;he didn&rsquo;t have to run from it anymore.<br />He could want this.<br />Without naming it.<br />&nbsp;Without rushing it.<br />&nbsp;Without ruining it.<br />The storm inside him stilled&mdash;quiet, like the eye had finally passed. And in the stillness, warmth crept in to fill the hollowed-out spaces. Not the heat of desire, but something gentler. Something steady.<br />Maybe it was okay to feel this way.<br />&nbsp;Maybe it was okay to just&hellip; let it happen.<br />Fu couldn&rsquo;t stop the smile that stretched across his muzzle. It came slow, inevitable. His chops lifted on instinct, like they knew something he hadn&rsquo;t admitted yet.<br />Brooklyn pressed close, solid and warm, and Fu felt it all the way down to his bones. It wasn&rsquo;t lust. It wasn&rsquo;t just company. It was presence. Real, grounding, his.<br />And for the first time in what felt like decades, the sky inside him finally cleared. Like the clouds had lifted. Like the gray years of gloom had never been there at all.<br />He shifted slightly, letting one arm slide around the corgi in a slow, deliberate motion. His paw settled over Brooklyn&rsquo;s side, drawing him in until the corgi&rsquo;s head rested against his chest&mdash;right where the rise and fall of Fu&rsquo;s breathing was steady, deep, and calm.<br />Brooklyn didn&rsquo;t say a word.<br />He just sank into him, melting like butter in a warm pan.<br />One of Brooklyn&rsquo;s long ears flopped back and brushed Fu&rsquo;s nose. The tickle was immediate. Fu stiffened, then stifled the sneeze with a sharp sniff and a grimace. He adjusted his position carefully, making sure not to jostle the smaller dog now curled so perfectly against him.<br />&ldquo;This okay, short stuff?&rdquo; Fu asked, voice low, a little rough.<br />Without thinking, he ran a tuft of fur between his paw pads. The texture caught him off guard&mdash;softer than any blanket. Velvet over muscle.<br />Brooklyn gave a faint nod, eyes still closed. He pressed in closer, nuzzling gently into Fu&rsquo;s wrinkled side.<br />&ldquo;Definitely,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;You were right. You&rsquo;re like an oven.&rdquo;<br />Fu let out a low chuckle and rested his chin lightly atop Brooklyn&rsquo;s head. They sat like that for a while&mdash;still, quiet, breathing in sync. Letting the weight of the day slide off their shoulders. Letting their edges soften.<br />And beneath the warmth, something else began to stir.<br />Not between them, but within.<br />No words passed. None were needed.<br />Nearby, the space heater hummed its lazy tune, casting soft orange shadows across the walls. The blanket draped over them was thick and inviting, and Brooklyn&rsquo;s head rested squarely against Fu&rsquo;s chest. One long ear flopped over Fu&rsquo;s muzzle like a personal affront to his sinuses.<br />He didn&rsquo;t mind. Not really.<br />&ldquo;So,&rdquo; Fu murmured, voice low, &ldquo;what&rsquo;s it like being a familiar?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn gave a small, sleepy shrug. &ldquo;Oh, uh... kinda monotonous, if I&rsquo;m being honest. Sure, I train every day, but lately I&rsquo;ve just been sent on more and more errands. It&rsquo;s getting old real fast.&rdquo;<br />Every word made his head shift slightly against Fu&rsquo;s chest, and Fu was surprised by the flutter that followed&mdash;how his heart seemed to lift just a little with each movement, like it was dancing in time with Brooklyn&rsquo;s voice.<br />&ldquo;Train, huh?&rdquo; Fu said, trying to sound casual. &ldquo;I used to help teach Jake. Been missing those days more lately. You know... aside from the constant threat of death by Huntsclan.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn snorted. &ldquo;Oh yeah. I forgot about those guys. Haven&rsquo;t heard a peep about &lsquo;em in ages.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;No idea what happened to them,&rdquo; Fu said with a smirk&mdash;proudly dodging the full truth. Jake had handled it, sure enough, but if he wasn&rsquo;t bragging, Fu wouldn&rsquo;t either.<br />&ldquo;So you teaching a Harry Potter wannabe or&mdash;?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;What? No!&rdquo; Brooklyn lifted his head slightly, incredulous. &ldquo;My training. Wouldn&rsquo;t wanna get rusty with my magic.&rdquo;<br />Fu blinked.<br />Then Fu sat bolt upright, nearly dislodging Brooklyn in the process. The corgi yelped softly, bracing against Fu&rsquo;s thigh to avoid face planting into his lap.<br />&ldquo;You can use magic?!&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked at him, genuinely thrown. &ldquo;Well... yeah? How do you think I got the job?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;That&rsquo;s&mdash;Brooks, that&rsquo;s rare! Like, stupid rare. I haven&rsquo;t seen an animal guardian with magic in, what, two hundred years?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn grinned. &ldquo;Yeah, well&mdash;I&rsquo;m not an animal guardian. I&rsquo;m a familiar.&rdquo;<br />He settled back beside Fu with the casualness of someone who thought that explained everything.<br />Fu&rsquo;s brows rose higher.<br />Brooklyn shrugged. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s not super common or anything, but all the big-shot wizards want a familiar who can do more than carry the groceries.&rdquo; He leaned deeper into the cushion, voice dipping into that dry, smooth sarcasm. &ldquo;Wizards are vain bastards. Always competing&mdash;who&rsquo;s got the strongest spells, the nicest robes, the flashiest familiar.&rdquo;<br />Fu snorted. &ldquo;Yeah, I hear that. Knew this one wizard once&mdash;cheeky little asshole.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Mhm. I rest my case.&rdquo;<br />A comfortable silence followed. The space heater buzzed gently. The blanket shifted a little as Brooklyn adjusted his legs.<br />Then Fu leaned over slightly. &ldquo;Sooo&hellip; can I see it?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s ears shot crimson, the left one flopping down instantly.<br />&ldquo;Wh-what?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s see some magic, corgi! Dazzle me with your prowess.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh! S-s-sure!&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn cleared his throat and extended his right paw. With a series of soft pops, three small blue flames winked into existence above his pads. They twisted and danced in the still air, casting flickering light across his fur and skin. It shimmered like sunlight rippling across a pond&mdash;gentle and mesmerizing.<br />&ldquo;I can only do fire and lightning,&rdquo; Brooklyn said softly. &ldquo;Anything heat-based, really.&rdquo;<br />Fu watched, transfixed. This kid. Every hour brought a new surprise.<br />Then a thought hit him. A very specific, wet dog-scented thought.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Wait. Heat?&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked. &ldquo;Yeah?&rdquo;<br />Fu narrowed his eyes. &ldquo;Could you have dried and warmed yourself this whole time?&rdquo;<br />For half a second, betrayal bloomed in his chest. He&rsquo;d run for towels. Toweled the guy&rsquo;s sack, for Pete&rsquo;s sake. Had that been&mdash;? No. No, wait.<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s ears drooped immediately. &ldquo;Oh! Oh no, I mean&mdash;I can warm air, but I haven&rsquo;t pulled that one off right in a while. Not since&hellip;&rdquo; He trailed off, then forced a smile. &ldquo;Just can&rsquo;t get it to land anymore.&rdquo;<br />And just like that, Fu&rsquo;s suspicion vanished. It deflated almost embarrassingly fast. He wasn&rsquo;t even sure why it had flared up in the first place. Maybe because&mdash;deep down&mdash;he didn&rsquo;t want to believe any part of this had been fake.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Huh,&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Alright then.&rdquo;<br />The flames flickered gently in the dim room, their soft blue light dancing in both their eyes. Brooklyn was warm. But not from the fire.<br />With a flex of his paw, the flames snuffed out.<br />&ldquo;Yeah,&rdquo; Brooklyn said, brushing his pads together, &ldquo;familiar magic isn&rsquo;t like wizard magic. I&rsquo;m stuck with one element. No spellbook&rsquo;s gonna change that. So don&rsquo;t go asking me to conjure anything flashy.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Aww, and here I was hoping for a new squeaky toy,&rdquo; Fu said, putting on a theatrical pout and widening his eyes to full puppy-dog level. He&rsquo;d invented the look and knew its power.<br />&ldquo;If you ask nicely, I&rsquo;ll grab you one for your birthday. No magic required. Just fast legs and the four-paw discount.&rdquo; Brooklyn winked and mimed a clean snatch with his paw.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re too innocent to make it in the pound, kid. Don&rsquo;t go stealing. Not with those little legs&mdash;you&rsquo;d never escape the coppahs.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s smile didn&rsquo;t falter, but he drew in a scandalized gasp. &ldquo;Bringing up my short legs again, sir? How dare you! A duel! Pistols at dawn! My honor must be restored!&rdquo;<br />He pantomimed peeling off an invisible glove&mdash;though the white fur made it convincing&mdash;and gave Fu&rsquo;s smug chops a delicate, imaginary smack.<br />&ldquo;I accept your challenge!&rdquo; Fu declared in his best medieval knight voice&mdash;authentic, seeing as he had grown up at the tail end of that era. He lunged and wrapped Brooklyn in a headlock, mussing up his ears and fluffing the corgi&rsquo;s head with practiced, merciless ruffling.<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s giggles rang out in bright, high bursts&mdash;like a string of chiming sleigh bells&mdash;before he wheezed through laughter, &ldquo;Uncle! Uncle!&rdquo;<br />Victory attained. A decisive battle. And still, Fu didn&rsquo;t let go.<br />He simply pulled Brooklyn back into his chest and slung an arm around his side, the moment settling into that kind of stillness that usually only comes with rain and nowhere to be.<br />After a while, Brooklyn murmured, his words soft and slurred with sleep, &ldquo;You always like this?&rdquo;<br />Fu glanced down.<br />&ldquo;Warm&hellip; grumbly&hellip; smellin&rsquo; like tea and cedarwood?<br />Fu snorted softly. &ldquo;Guess I&rsquo;ve been marinating too long in Lao Shi&rsquo;s house. Used to smell like cinnamon and bad decisions.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh, is that what that was?&rdquo; Brooklyn let out a tired chuckle. &ldquo;I like it.&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t answer at first. He just let the compliment hang, warm and unexpected.<br />&ldquo;You always smell like petunias?&rdquo; he asked eventually.<br />&ldquo;Mmm. Depends on the shampoo,&rdquo; Brooklyn replied, shifting slightly. &ldquo;Sometimes rosemary. Had a lavender phase once. Everyone said it made me smell like a herbalist&rsquo;s divorce.&rdquo;<br />Fu huffed a laugh. &ldquo;Ah, so ya got taste.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn murmured something under his breath and adjusted again, wiggling closer until Fu&rsquo;s arm was practically cradling him like a plush toy. His body was soft in places, but firm in others&mdash;lean and solid and so, so warm now.<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;re good at this,&rdquo; Brooklyn muttered.<br />Fu raised a brow. &ldquo;At what?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;This.&rdquo; A vague paw-wave from beneath the blanket. &ldquo;Being close without making it weird.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Sure it&rsquo;s not weird?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Oh, it&rsquo;s definitely weird,&rdquo; Brooklyn grinned against Fu&rsquo;s chest. &ldquo;But in a good way.&rdquo;<br />Fu chuckled low in his throat and let his head rest lightly against the top of Brooklyn&rsquo;s. Their breathing matched without trying.<br />Time slipped by. The show on the TV had turned into infomercials. Rain tapped gently at the window panes. And inside the blanket, wrapped in heat and closeness and the scent of fur and fabric and tired affection, they both started to drift.<br /><br />Fu didn&rsquo;t know how long he&rsquo;d been out when it started.<br />At first, it was just a shift. A wiggle.<br />Then again&mdash;closer. Firmer. A slow, unconscious grind of hips against his side.<br />His eyes blinked open.<br />Brooklyn was still asleep. Curled into him. Head tucked tight, breathing slow. But his hips were moving&mdash;rhythmic, gentle, and unmistakable.<br />Fu stiffened.<br />Then came the quiet noise&mdash;a half-whimper, half-sigh. Not from pain. Not from cold.<br />His heart started thudding in his chest.<br />And that wasn&rsquo;t the only thing that started rising.<br />Brooklyn moved again&mdash;this time more deliberately, unconsciously seeking friction. The blanket shifted slightly. And Fu felt it.<br />Soft. Warm. Firm.<br />He was hard. Brooklyn was hard again. And Fu was slipping out too.<br />Fu swallowed, trying not to twitch. His brain screamed at him to stay still, to ignore it. To not react.<br />But his body was a traitor.<br />Shitshitshit.<br />He closed his eyes, jaw tight, pulse racing.<br />The scent between them had changed. Still warm, but now tinged with something muskier. Pheromones. Heat. Want.<br />Fu&rsquo;s paw twitched&mdash;instinct telling him to grab, to hold, to pull the kid closer and grind back.<br />He didn&rsquo;t.<br />Instead, with a shaky breath, he shook Brooklyn gently by the shoulder.<br />&ldquo;Brooklyn,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Hey. Pup.&rdquo;<br />Another shift. Another grind. Fu grunted, and finally gave him a firmer shake.<br />&ldquo;Brooklyn!&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were glassy with sleep, unfocused.<br />Then realization dawned.<br />&ldquo;Oh&hellip; oh&mdash;OH SHIT!&rdquo;<br />In his panic, the blanket went with him, slipping off in a dramatic swirl and landing crumpled on the floor. Fu sat stunned, still tangled in the recliner cushions, very much exposed&mdash;and very much not alone in that.<br />Brooklyn stood a few feet away, frozen, breath catching hard in his chest. His legs were braced, tail stiff behind him, and everything was on display. His arousal hung between his thighs, flushed and fully out, shifting with every uneven breath. His fur was slightly ruffled, his body still half-damp, and that left ear had flopped straight down over his eye, as if trying to hide what the rest of him couldn&rsquo;t.<br />Fu&rsquo;s own situation wasn&rsquo;t much better. He was out too, knot growing inside his sheath, the heat between them having stirred something he hadn&rsquo;t been able to keep down. He hadn&rsquo;t even noticed when it happened&mdash;just that now, everything felt too warm, too close, too real.<br />They locked eyes.<br />Neither of them moved.<br />Fu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His paw hovered near his lap, but he didn&rsquo;t bother covering up. It was too late for that. Instead, he lifted his gaze and met Brooklyn&rsquo;s again.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Well,&rdquo; he said, his voice quieter than before, but steady. &ldquo;Guess now it&rsquo;s weird.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s mouth opened. No words came out. His eyes flicked downward for a half-second, then back to Fu&rsquo;s face. His ears twitched, his cheeks darkening beneath the fur.<br />Fu tried again. &ldquo;Definitely not the warm-up I had in mind.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn made a sound&mdash;half laugh, half wheeze. &ldquo;I swear I was asleep&hellip;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I know.&rdquo;<br />They stared a moment longer. Not with judgment. Not with panic.<br />Just&hellip; surprise.<br />Recognition.<br />Brooklyn blinked rapidly, then glanced down at himself again. His body gave a faint jerk, half-heartedly trying to hide, but he didn&rsquo;t run. He just stood there, awkward and exposed, still catching up to what just happened.<br />Fu leaned back a little, slow, deliberate. &ldquo;Okay. You breathe. I&rsquo;ll, uh&hellip; find the blanket.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn gave a stiff nod. &ldquo;Yeah. Okay.&rdquo;<br />Fu bent down to retrieve the blanket, shaking it out with one paw and draping it loosely over his lap. He didn&rsquo;t rush. Just folded it, slowly, giving the space time to cool.<br />Brooklyn rubbed a paw behind his neck, still not moving from where he stood. The tension in his shoulders had shifted now&mdash;not gone, but softer. Less panicked. More embarrassed.<br />Fu looked back at him, offering a lopsided smile.<br />&ldquo;Been a long day.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn let out a quiet breath, then nodded again.<br />&ldquo;Yeah,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It really has.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn stood there for a long moment, still flushed, still uncertain. Then his eyes flicked to the window.<br />The rain had stopped.<br />Golden sunlight streamed through the streaked panes, cutting warm lines across the wood floor. Outside, the storm had left the world glistening&mdash;rooftops shining, puddles glowing, the air washed clean.<br />Brooklyn gave a breathy little laugh. &ldquo;Well. Looks like the weather&rsquo;s got better timing than I do.&rdquo;<br />Fu didn&rsquo;t respond right away. He just watched him&mdash;still slightly damp, ears twitching, blanket somewhere on the floor, and tail giving the faintest embarrassed sway.<br />Brooklyn rubbed the back of his neck. &ldquo;I should head out. Everyone at home&rsquo;s probably wondering if I got eaten by brownies. Again.&rdquo;<br />Fu huffed. &ldquo;Now that&rsquo;s a story I&rsquo;ll need to hear.&rdquo;<br />That earned a snort and a smirk. But there was still that heat between them, unspoken, coiled tight just beneath the skin.<br />Brooklyn gave a small, awkward wave. &ldquo;Next time. Thanks for&hellip; everything.&rdquo;<br />Fu grunted. &ldquo;Try not to hump anyone else on the way home.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t make promises if I walk like this,&rdquo; Brooklyn muttered, blushing as he turned toward the door&mdash;bow-legged, nub high, leaving a scent trail Fu could still catch in the air.<br />He paused, just briefly, at the door. Glanced back.<br />And then he was gone.<br />Fu sat there for a while.<br />Still.<br />Blanket half on his lap. Body half-exposed. Mind very much not calm.<br />The moment hung in the room like steam after a long bath.<br />His thoughts drifted, trailing after Brooklyn. The scent. The way his body had moved. The tension in his hips. The way his sheath had glistened in the warm light. The way neither of them had looked away.<br />Fu couldn&rsquo;t lie to himself anymore.<br />He liked it. All of it.<br />He wanted to see Brooklyn like that again.<br />And again.<br />And this time&hellip; he didn&rsquo;t stop himself.<br />He stared up at the ceiling.<br />Then down.<br />Then groaned and buried his face in both paws.<br />&ldquo;Seriously?&rdquo; he muttered, glaring at the stubborn rise in his lap. &ldquo;You pick now to be sentimental?&rdquo;<br />He shifted, adjusting the blanket still warm with Brooklyn&rsquo;s scent&mdash;wet fur, cinnamon, rain, and that faint charge of residual magic that still hummed in the fabric. He hadn&rsquo;t noticed it before. Now it clung to everything, sinking in deeper than the heat from the space heater still buzzing in the corner.<br />Fu squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled shakily.<br />He could still see Brooklyn&rsquo;s sheepish grin. That floppy ear. The wide, dark eyes that held just a flicker of something more when Fu had turned around and caught him staring.<br />Fu bit his lip.<br />&ldquo;Go down,&rdquo; he whispered to himself, adjusting again. &ldquo;Just go down.&rdquo;<br />But his body had made up its mind. And his heart&mdash;traitorous, aching thing that it was&mdash;wasn&rsquo;t doing him any favors. There was no brushing this off now. No pretending it was just the heat, or the blanket, or one too many pastries.<br />This was him. This was Brooklyn. This was what had been simmering since the shop, since the first dumb joke, since that first stupid spark in his chest.<br />And now, for the first time&hellip; Fu didn&rsquo;t push it away.<br />He pulled the blanket to his muzzle, letting it surround him in everything Brooklyn. The scent, the memory, the weight of the corgi still fresh on his body. Longing dulled the edge of shame, blurred it until all that remained was want. Pure and personal.<br />Fu&rsquo;s paws tightened around the fabric. His breath hitched. He sank back into the recliner&mdash;his fortress, his sanctuary&mdash;and let himself feel it. Let his mind drift.<br />Paw tips graced aching flesh, the red traitor throbbing with each miniscule squeeze. Just the way he liked it. He brought his other paw down and with a quiet, wet pop, pulled his sheath down and allowed his full member out in the warm air. No, there was no more shame now. <br />He began moving his paw now, running along the growing reservoir flowing from his tip to aid in this deed. It wasn&rsquo;t just arousal. It was Brooklyn&mdash;bent over, teasing, shameless. A glimpse of that plush tail lifted. That tight rosebud winking back like a challenge. The thought made his gut twist, made heat bloom behind his eyes. Even more than when Brooklyn had been pressed to him, humping in his sleep.<br />Gods, that had been cute.<br />What if he let the corgi do his own thing? Maybe offer himself? No&hellip; not yet. He wasn&rsquo;t ready for that.<br />But to watch him&mdash;watch his face as he climbed higher and higher&hellip; yeah, Fu wanted that. Wanted to see every flush, every gasp.<br />He quickened his pace. He began panting, hot breath tantalizing his hotter flesh. He could feel the rise coming. That clifftop he knew if he reached would bring glorious release. Brooklyn between his legs now, that sweet muzzle finally quieted by something far more effective. Fu&rsquo;s paw tightened&mdash;and then faltered. Just for a second.<br />Except&hellip; he didn&rsquo;t want to silence that voice.<br />That voice was part of what drew him in. Gentle. Clever. Real. Sexy as hell, yeah&mdash;but never something to shut up.<br />His rhythm slowed. Then found its pace again&mdash;steadier now, more focused.<br />Brooklyn was sexy. The sexiest damn dog Fu had ever known. Every inch of him. That grin. That tail. That energy. It wasn&rsquo;t just desire&mdash;it was want.<br />The first hot jet released, flying over the recliner and streaking the nearby couch. Fu clenched his jowls, more streams of white streaking out and plopping on the blanket, on Fu&rsquo;s fur, the recliner. They seeped into fabric, into Fu&rsquo;s wrinkles where they tickled and warmed. The feeling was euphoric! It took everything he had not to howl and scream that damned dogs name.<br />He slumped back, a mess of breath and heat and pulsing afterglow. His body sagged. The air felt cooler now, the heater&rsquo;s buzz more distant.<br />And when the blood finally began to recede from his aching length, returning to his brain, Fu&rsquo;s thoughts settled, too.<br />He slumped back, a mess of breath and heat and pulsing afterglow. His body sagged. The air felt cooler now, the heater&rsquo;s buzz more distant.<br />And when the blood finally began to recede from his aching length, returning to his brain, Fu&rsquo;s thoughts settled, too.<br />There, in the quiet, wrapped in a mess of fur, scent, and feeling, he clutched the blanket close.<br />And he breathed.<br />&ldquo;&hellip;Stupid,&rdquo; Fu muttered.<br />&nbsp;Not at Brooklyn.<br />&nbsp;At himself.<br />&nbsp;For giving in. For needing this. For knowing it wouldn&rsquo;t be the last time.<br />The space heater crackled beside him, casting faint warmth across the sticky blanket clinging to his stomach. Fu lay still, eyes half-lidded, wrapped in the scent and silence of someone who wasn&rsquo;t there.<br />And for once, he didn&rsquo;t chase the feeling away.<br />He wanted that corgi back.<br />&nbsp;Not the way he&rsquo;d just imagined&mdash;though, stars, that too&mdash;but the way they were. Just talking. Just being. Holding each other in a way that didn&rsquo;t feel weird or heavy or desperate.<br />Just right.<br />&ldquo;F&uacute; gu&igrave; tiān gǒu!&rdquo; came a furious shout from the hallway.<br />Fu jumped, scrambling upright as Lao Shi&rsquo;s cane struck the floorboards with a sharp thunk.<br />&ldquo;I told you not to do that in the den! Time and again! Is this what your ancestors fought for?!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I was gonna clean it!&rdquo; Fu yelped, trying to gather the soaked blanket around his lap.<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll clean your filthy paws with a hot pan!&rdquo; Lao Shi snapped in Mandarin. &ldquo;Wǒ y&agrave;o bǎ nǐ chǎnle!&rdquo; <br />He vanished down the hallway, grumbling all the way.<br />Fu groaned, dragging the blanket higher as his ears pinned back in shame.<br />Then&mdash;footsteps again.<br />Lao Shi reappeared at the doorway, completely unimpressed.<br />&ldquo;And your little friend left this.&rdquo;<br />He slapped a sticky note on the doorframe and disappeared without another word.<br />Fu groaned again, face burning. He tugged the blanket tighter like a second skin, though it clung in all the wrong places&mdash;warm, damp, sticky. He sank back into the recliner with a low grunt, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the mess of fur and fabric over his still&hellip; persistent situation.<br />Not helpful, he thought, glaring down at himself.<br />But then he saw it.<br />The note.<br />Right there, stuck to the doorframe, slightly smudged from the rain but still perfectly legible.<br />He reached out with one paw, the blanket slipping just enough to make him wince at how ridiculous he looked&mdash;bare-assed, red-faced, and emotional under a questionable comforter.<br />The message was simple:<br />Still owe you a pastry &mdash;B<br />And beneath it, a phone number.<br />&nbsp;No hearts.<br />&nbsp;No doodles.<br />&nbsp;Just neat, clean writing.<br />Fu stared. Then smiled.<br />His heart thudded&mdash;not hard, not loud. Just steady. Just&hellip; there.<br />&ldquo;Damn kid,&rdquo; he whispered, brushing his thumb over the corner of the note.<br />And for a moment, the blanket didn&rsquo;t matter. The mess didn&rsquo;t matter.<br />&nbsp;Not Lao Shi&rsquo;s rants. Not the shame.<br />Because Brooklyn had left something behind.<br />Not just a note.<br />An opening.<br />Fu leaned back into the recliner, sticky note resting on his chest, eyes drifting to the ceiling.<br />Maybe he really was lucky, after all.<br /><br />&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;-BROOKLYN&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />The city glistened in the aftermath of rain. Pavement sparkled, windows dripped with gold reflections, and somewhere in the distance, a horn played a long, lazy note like the city itself was sighing in relief. Brooklyn walked with a spring in his step&mdash;and not just because his back legs were still wobbling from&hellip; whatever that night had been.<br />No. That wasn&rsquo;t it.<br />He was giddy.<br />Trotting along on all fours now, collar askew and fur still slightly damp, Brooklyn let the breeze catch his ears. He felt lighter than he had in weeks&mdash;like something in him had finally exhaled after being clenched too tight for too long.<br />The night had been awkward. Intimate. Unpredictably raw. And yet&hellip; Fu hadn&rsquo;t pulled away. Not after the accidental bump, not after the mutual exposure, not even when things got uncomfortable in a way that could&rsquo;ve ended everything.<br />If anything, Fu had leaned in. Stayed close. Held him like it mattered.<br />He stayed. He wanted to stay.<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s stubby tail flicked high with pride. He passed a pair of joggers who gave him a curious glance, but he ignored them. His earlier &ldquo;red problem&rdquo; was long gone, thankfully&mdash;but the memory? Still very fresh.<br />That wrinkled grin. That rough, steady voice. That body warm against his.<br />And all that fur, hiding a lot more than personality.<br />Brooklyn let out a quiet snort of laughter. &ldquo;I really hope he&rsquo;s gay,&rdquo; he muttered under his breath.<br />The last block fell away beneath his paws, and he arrived at a cast-iron gate nestled into a brick wall thick with ivy. The whole structure looked comically out of place next to the deli and apartment stoops nearby&mdash;like it belonged in a foggy British village, not Manhattan.<br />He glanced once up and down the sidewalk. No one watching. Good.<br />Rising to his hind legs, Brooklyn tapped in a quick sequence on the worn brass keypad. The lock clicked softly. The gate creaked open on hinges that had never squeaked in their magical lives.<br />And then, with one step forward, the world changed.<br />The street disappeared behind him. In its place: a sprawling magical estate, at least an acre of lush garden and rolling green lawn, crammed impossibly inside a city block by wizardry older than the U.S. postal system. The sky was clearer here. Always was. The clouds politely parted over the property, offering sunlight and birdsong on demand.<br />A crystalline pond shimmered just beyond the main path, its surface rippling with illusions and lazy koi the size of mopeds. Topiary hedges danced in slow-motion waltz, pruned to resemble mythical beasts, aristocrats, and one weirdly aggressive squirrel.<br />A peacock shrieked from somewhere near the greenhouse, sounding like a violin being punished.<br />The building at the center of it all loomed like something out of a catalog titled Wizards Who Want You to Know They&rsquo;re Rich. Victorian in shape, but deeply enchanted&mdash;walls made of pale stone veined with runes, windows that blinked or rearranged themselves out of boredom, and a spiral chimney that puffed little rings of magical smoke. Occasionally, it sighed.<br />British magic, Brooklyn thought, with a fond eye-roll. Overdesigned, overly polite, and always trying too hard.<br />Still, it was home. And as he jogged up the winding path, ears high and heart hammering, he felt the ache in his legs like a badge of honor. Every step reminded him this wasn&rsquo;t a dream. That it had really happened.<br />Two days, he thought. Just two days&mdash;and I already want more. A lot more.<br />He reached the steps just as the front doors swung open on their own, hinges bowing politely.<br />Brooklyn skidded to a halt. His paw raised mid-step. A long shadow stretched across the entry.<br />&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; came a smooth British voice from within, dry and amused, &ldquo;aren&rsquo;t we late.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn blinked up. His ears dipped low, just slightly.<br />The silhouette shifted, revealing a pair of sharply shined boots and the faintest outline of an unamused brow.<br />&ldquo;I do hope whatever detour you took was worth the delay. Or at the very least... educational.&rdquo;<br />Brooklyn&rsquo;s tail nub gave an involuntary flick. He tried to stand straighter, but couldn&rsquo;t quite hide the satisfied wobble in his hips.<br />&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; he said, smiling crookedly, &ldquo;you have no idea.&rdquo;<br /><br /></span>",
  "pools_count": 1,
  "title": "Getting To Know You - American Puppers: Fu and Brooklyn",
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