Thresholds

THRESHOLDS
By G.M. Rader

Wendell Jones–that is, newly promoted Sergeant Wendell Jones–put on his beret one-handed as he exited the building housing the Transition Assistance Office, snapping off a smart salute to an officer entering the building. Walking toward the street, spotted his boyfriend’s car. Micah’s sharp coyote vision had already spotted what little of Wendell’s leopard rosettes were showing and was pulling the car up to the curb so he could get in.
Wendell put the folder of paperwork on the dash and buckled up. Micah glanced at it as he pulled back into traffic. “Are they still trying to convince you to reenlist?” he asked, half-chuckling.
“Nah, that’s a different guy. These people are all about helping you prepare for ‘The Transition To Civilian Life.’“ Wendell reached for the A/C vents to turn them away. Micah had it running full blast. “How to write your resume, look for jobs, that kinda thing. How can you stand it this cold?”
Micah chortled. “You’re not in the desert anymore, cat. Eighty-five is a hot day. Didn’t you grow up here?”
Wendell grunted. “Yeah, yeah.” His dad had been stationed at this same Armyarmy installation for about half of Wendell’s teenage years, before retiring and moving back north just after Wendell himself enlisted. But after six months where mid-eighties was a cool night and the daytime was a hundred and ten in the shade…”I’ll get used to it again.”
Micah’s ears flicked upright and he grinned. “Guess you’ll just have to snuggle up to a coyote to keep warm at night.” He clicked on the indicator to make a turn into a grocery store parking lot. “I need a few things for the barbecue. You should come in. I want to walk around with you.”
Wendel tensed at the reminder of the upcoming party. They had been talking about moving in together since the repeal of the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy, midway through this last deployment. While Wendell was overseas, it seemed to come up at least twice in each of their almost-daily long-distance conversations. Micah had rented the place about a month before Wendell came back. Then he’d found out he made the list for promotion, and now…Micah had managed to wrap up four or five different celebrations into one event. Housewarming, sort of a formal coming out–—although everyone pretty much knew about him and Micah–—and Wendell’s promotion, plus celebrating their return from deploymentstateside. Fortunately, it would just be a few close friends in attendance, mostly Wendell’s squad.
Wendell sighed. “Yeah, I’ll go in with you.” He glanced at Micah as he unfastened his seatbelt, noting the coyote’s look of concern. He flashed his canines in a grin, and that seemed to ease the concern as he hopped out of the car. Wendell’s grin faded almost as soon as the coyote looked away. It’s just a party, he reminded himself. Nothing fancy, just friends. They all know. It’ll be fine.
#
“Hey Jones–—I mean, Sergeant Jones.” Rogers laughed, the old joke of forgetting his squadmate’s promotion ever-hilarious to him. “You sure you don’t want one?” The jaguar held up the cigar he’d just lit in one hand and the box he had taken it from in the other. Rogers had purchased them as his contribution to the festivities, but only three of the six soldiers in the squad were partaking,along with–as well as Green’s date.
Wendell shook his head. “Nah, thanks. You guys enjoy them.” He rattled down the ice in his glass then swirled the remnants of the cubes in the bourbon and cola. June Tennessee heat had the ice melting fast.
Beside him, Micah tapped the grill with the spatula, looking at him sidelong, as if he was about to say something, but Wendell shook his head and smiled, trying not to fidget. The sliding glass door opening interrupted them anyway. Corporal Powell and his wife, Deanna, a pair of wolves, stepped outside; Powell slid the door shut and Deanna smiled widely.
“This is a really nice place you guys have here,” she said, Micah started to reply, but Rogers interrupted. “Yeah, I was expectin’ shelves made of cinderblocks and sheet metal furniture, like Jonesy’s room in the barracks!” He laughed at his own joke, just a little too loudly, as always. Wendell and Hunter, Wendell’shis former barracks roommate and closest friend in the squad, had a theory that Rogers laughed at his own jokes to fill in for the silence while everyone else was rolling their eyes. But they regarded him with good-natured tolerance; he was part of the team and a pretty good technician, one of two in the squad who kept the satellite communications gear running for everyone else.
“I moved my things out of my old apartment,” Micah said. “And when he–—that is, when you all got back, we brought his stuff over from the barracks.” He smiled and started flipping the burgers over. “Of course, some of his things were at my place, too.”
Hunter, one of two cheetahs in the squad, raised his glass. HWendell’s best friend for about as long as they’d been together in the unit, he had known about their relationship since Wendell and Micah first started dating, and had been to the partly-shared apartment many times. “Sure beats the B’s, don’t it, Jonesy?” He grinned. “‘Scuse me, Sergeant Jonesy.”
Wendell snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s only been a few days…” He glanced at Micah, who was already eyeing him and lifting the spatula menacingly. He suppressed a grin. “But yeah, I’d have to say so. No more room inspections. And they were going to make me move out anyway after getting promoted.”
“Yeah,” Hunter said. “Rest of us single folk still suffering along while you live the good life.” He winked.
“You know you can always come hang out with us here,” Wendell said, feeling suddenly a little guilty. “I mean, any of you can.” He looked up and scanned the rest of his squadmates.
“Just be sure to call first,” said Micah. “We might be busy.” He flipped one of the burgers again.
The others snickered, and the conversation moved on. Wendell rubbed the back of his ear, not really listening. They’d been back Oonly a week back, just starting to adjust from being overseas, and already so many other changes. New responsibilities with the promotion, now Assistant Squadleader, bumping Corporal Powell out of that spot. Actually starting the process of getting out of the Armyarmy, while at the same time moving into a house with his boyfriend, whom he could now openly acknowledge, after so many years of hiding his preferences so he could stay in the Armyarmy. He shook his head and blew out a long breath.
Micah twitched an ear and glanced toward him, but didn’t say anything. The others didn’t seem to notice much, and Wendell shook his head again, coming back to the conversation.
He immediately had thethat feeling thatlike everyone was looking at him and he just missed something important. He looked at Micah. The coyote was looking at him expectantly.
“Huh?” Dead giveaway, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to cover.
“I said,” Micah said with exaggerated patience, “what do you want on your burger? They’re done.”
“Oh. Uh, you know, whatever. The regular.”
Micah nodded, looking at him a moment longer, before he turned back to the grill. “The rest of you are going to have to make your own. Special treatment is only for my Sergeant.” He said it with an exaggerated sweetness and a toothy smile.
Wendell forced a chuckle he didn’t feel, while everyone else laughed more freely. He didn’t like being put on the spot, and Micah knew that. He moved toward the table with the condiments. “I’ll do it,” he mumbled. “I don’t need any ‘special treatment.'”
Micah waved the spatula at him, already holding a plate with a burger patty atop a bun. “No! Bad cat! Outta my way. Promotions are rare and I want to spoil you.”
Wendell flicked his tailtip, annoyance growing, but he relented and stepping back. The others queued up by the table, apparently not noticing the exchange or Wendell’s tension. There was that, at least.
He took his burger with along with a helping of potato chips and macaroni salad and retreated to one of the patio chairs. He listened to the conversation whenever the group got loud or laughed at someone’s joke, but didn’t join in, quiet with his thoughts and glancing at Micah now and then. The coyote still seemed at ease, talking and laughing with the others.
Glancing around the group, though, he found Hunter watching from the other side of the patio. Their eyes met for a moment and the cheetah flicked one ear forward inquisitively. Wendell shook his head and picked up the remains of his burger, finishing it off with a scowl.
He stood up as he finished the last of it and mumbled something about throwing his plate away, then stepped inside, and closing the door behind him. Carefully.
He dropped the plate in the kitchen trash, then stood there a moment, until he heard Micah’s voice behind him. “I put a trash can outside, hon. It’s by the door, you went right past it.” He turned, startled. He hadn’t heard the door.
Wendell’s annoyance spikedsurged again. “I wanted to throw it in this one,” he said, lamely, trying not to snap and only partially succeeding.
Micah’s looked concerned. “Hey…that’s fine. I mean…” He laid his hand it on Wendell’s arm. “You okay, hon?”
Wendell shook it off, taking a deep breath and turning around. “I’m fine.” He growled, jerked a cupboard open, then closed it, opened another, and found a glass. Filled it with water at the sink. Why couldn’t everyone just… back off a bit?
He drank his water, then set the glass carefully on the counter, forcing himself to calm down. “I’m fine.”
Micah nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. “Just… let me know if…” He trailed off, then finished with, “I’ll just be outside.”
Wendell squeezed his eyes shut and let out another quiet growl, leaning on the counter. Why the hell was…why the hell was everyone annoying him tonight? It’s just a barbecue, he reminded himself. Just my buddies and my boyfriend. It’s cool. Everything is fine.
He shook his head, breathing deeply again–and as he turned to go back outside, caught a glimpse through the window blinds half-open over the sink: Micah talking intently to Hunter, while trying to look casual. Hunter glanced toward the house.
He growled. “Same shit,” he muttered, suddenly not wanting to go outside. And in a minute, Hunter would be come looking to ask if everything was all right, at his boyfriend’s request, when the only thing that was wrong was that everyone kept asking him if something was wrong!
He muttered and left the kitchen, taking a route to the front door that didn’t go by the sliding glass door onto the patio. He closed it quietly behind him, looked across the front yard to see if any of the neighbors were out. They weren’t, so he sat down heavily on the steps, ducked his head to rub behind his ears, and sighed. It would be an escape for a few minutes, at least. However long it took Hunter to search the house.
His ears twitched up at an indistinct sound from down the street. It turned into the rumble of a lawn mower, several houses down and not very loud at this distance, but it caught his attention for some reason. He looked toward it.
Half a block away, a car pulled up to the corner and stopped there. The neighborhood was pretty quiet (except for the lawn mower now), and the black SUV with tinted windows sat there longer than seemed necessary to verify there was no traffic coming. Which there wasn’t.
He leaned back, narrowing his eyes and taking partial cover behind one of the bushes flanking the porch, just enough that he could still see the vehicle. It started to roll forward, no turn signal. Then it rolled out into the street and turned away from him.
He let out a breath and started to relax, chiding himself for his paranoiaacting paranoid, when Hunter’s voice startled him.
“Sup?” Hunter stepped up onto the porch and leaned on the railing, crossing one bare cheetah foot over the other. He was quiet with no shoes.
Well, at least he hadn’t asked if he was all right. Wendell shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked back down the street, toward the lawn mower and the now-departed car, still feeling silly. He decided not to say anything, lest he sound paranoid, crazy. What was up with that, anyway? It’s cooling off, time to mow the lawn. And the car’s driver was probably just checking their phone or something.
Hunter pulled a pack of cigarettesLlamas out of his shirt pocket, tapped one cigarette out and captured it in his lips, freeing it from the pack. He held the pack toward Wendell. “Mmh?”
Wendell shook his head. “Nah, thanks. I just quit. Promised Micah I would.”
Hunter fished his lighter out of the same shirt pocket and lit the cigarette. He grunted and deposited pack and lighter back in the pocket. “Yeah, I should quit again, too.” He looked down the street, then back at Wendell.
“Good idea,” Wendell said. “Knocked half a minute off my run time already.” He glanced up at the standing cheetah. “Micah send you out to ask if there’s something wrong, too?”
Hunter shrugged and blew a puff of smoke. “Nah, not really. I mean, that’s what he wanted, but he didn’t say that. Just asked if I’d go talk to you.” He examined the claws of the hand holding the cigarette. “But I was gonna anyway.”
“You were, huh? ‘Bout what?”
Hunter shrugged again, casually. “You seem a little stressed out since we got back. More than when we were downrange, I guess.”
Wendell focused his eyes somewhere in front of him. Across the lawn, across the street. He narrowed them slightly, thinking. It was true, he was definitely feeling off today, but couldn’t put his finger on exactly why–—other than everyone doing things seeming specifically designed to bug him–—and it had been going on for a few days, now that he thought about it.
“Yeah. Maybe. I guess.” He curled his tail around his hip, rested his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands in front of him. He flexed his claws once, then stopped and flicked his ear, annoyed. Jesus, everything was annoying him. What’s is up with that?
Hunter took another drag on his cigarette and didn’t say anything for a long moment. HeHunter seemed to be waiting for Wendellhim to say something else, but when he kept his muzzle shut, until eventually, Hunter went onspoke again. “Was a weird deployment. It’s Nnice to be back now. But it seems like the weirdness is lingering. I’ve noticed it.” He stepped off the porch, stripped the ember from his cigarette, then pocketed the butt. “I’ll toss it in the trash out back. You wanna come back out, feel free; it’s your place, after all.” He grinned, then paused. “And you know you always have my ear.”
With that, he walked back around the house, leaving Wendell to his thoughts again.
#
Wendell stayed quiet for the rest of the evening, though he rejoined the others and eventually his mood improved enough to chuckle along with the jokes. And when the evening ended and everyone went their ways, he and Micah stood on the porch and waved together.
He leaned against the door after shutting and locking it, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Micah stood in the doorway to the living room, watching him.
Wendell sighed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.” He paused, but not long enough for Micah to decide that was all he was going to say. “I don’t know why. I’m just…kind of irritable lately. Too many changes all at once, maybe. Right after getting back, you know?”
Micah nodded, smiling. His face had a pleasant glow about it in the setting sunlight streaming through the window set in the top of the door. “I understand. I mean, mostly. You know what I mean?” He stepped forward and slipped his arms around the leopard’s deep chest, resting his chin on Wendell’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”
Wendell sighed. “Micah, I’m fine, really.”
Micah laid the heel of his hand on Wendell’s collarbone and stroked his fingers lightly down the leopard’s throat fur. “Yeah, you got that right. Damned fine…” He grinned and touched his nose to Wendell’s. “And everyone’s gone, now.” He plucked at Wendell’s shirt, then reached over and clicked the lock on the door, arching a brow, still grinning.
Wendell couldn’t help but grin back at the coyote. He had always been charmed by the way he could turn playful, mischievous, on a dime. “Yeah, bedtime,” he said. He feigned an elaborate yawn.
“Well, I intend to keep you up a little longer. You don’t have to work tomorrow. Or the next day.” Micah hooked his fingers in Wendell’s pants and turned down the hall. “C’mon, cat. I know it’s cold here. Let’s warm you up.”
Once in the bedroom, Micah turned toward him, sitting on the bed, and tugged him closer, fingers still in his jeans. Tail wagging and a goofy smile on his muzzle, he unfastened the leopard’s pants and tugged them down, while Wendell pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. He started trying to work his pants off, but Micah slid his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, promptly wrapping his hand around Wendell’s swelling sheath, tugging it back, and then wrapping his lips around the bared feline flesh.
Wendell inhaled slowly, closing his eyes and laying his hands on the coyote’s head, rubbing his ears slowly. Warm tongue sliding up the bottom of his cock, lips following until they held only his tip; then a swirling lick around the head of his cock and a slow swallow…and just like that, he was rock hard.
Micah pulled back, curling his fingers around Wendell’s cock, stroking as he looked up. “I’ve been waiting months to do that,” he said, tail wagging across the bed behind him. “And to get you behind me. I wantcha, cat. Grrr!”
Wendell quashed a grin, but already he was feeling better. “Well, how’m I supposed to do that with all those clothes on you? That won’t work at all.”
Micah laughed and scooted back on the bed, working his pants off and kicking them aside, then pulling his shirt off. He wasn’t wearing any shorts, and his own hard-on was already half out of his sheath. He laid back naked on the bed and arched a brow, drumming his fingers with a smug little smirk while Wendell finished pulling his pants off, hopping on one foot a couple of times to keep his balance, laughing softly and shaking his head.
Finally divested of his clothing, he leaned forward over the coyote, climbing onto the bed, while Micah wiggled back further to make room. Wendell brushed his fingers up under Micah’s sac, lightly applying his clawtips, rolling them lightly over his fingertips with his thumb. The coyote drew a sharp breath, canting his ears back and curling his toes, spreading his knees a little wider. He raised a hand to stroke Wendell’s chest, then laid back and reached across the bed to his nightstand, pulling the drawer open and rummaging for a moment, before coming up with a tube of lube.
Wendell moved his hand to cup the coyote’s balls, then curling it around his shaft, stroking him casually and watching, feeling him stiffen in his grasp; a moment later, Micah pulled back, moving onto his knees and reaching for Wendell’s cock, closing his fingers around it, cool gel squeezing through them as the coyote stroked him to spread it along his full length.
“Mmm. It’s good to feel you doing that again,” Wendell murmured. “My own hands get old.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.” Micah chuckled, still stroking him, before finally turning and lowering his shoulders, resting his head on the pillows while reaching up between his own legs to apply the lube under his tail. He shifted his knees and shimmied his hips.
Wendell growled and put a hand on the coyote’s rump, squeezing firmly, with just a hint of claws again, and squirmed up behind him on his knees, his other hand angling his cock forward. He nudged forward, a little too low, and Micah reached back to help line him up, but the leopard’s cock slipped out of his fingers, both still slick. He laughed, while Wendell growled, frustrated.
“It’s been a while,” the leopard muttered, lining up again.
“Tell me about it. It’s fine just–—o…oh…yeah. There…” Micah pushed back, pantingstarted panting, pushing back, and then groaninged softly, just as Wendell felt him spread around his cock.
“Fuck,” he growled, pushing a little deeper, swallowing hard. He put both hands on the coyote’s ass, thumbs tucked up under the root of his tail, and pushed forward, clenching his jaw as he tried to restrain himself, keep from going too fast. He was already panting.
Micah didn’t help. Ears laid back from the intensity of being filled after so long, he still rocked back firmly, arching his back and propping himself on his elbows. “That’s…yeah. Yess…”
Neither of them said much more, panting and growling as excitement grew. Wendell growled, finally giving up on trying to go easy, and just let the coyote push back, hilting him until his balls brushed just above the coyote’s. Then he drew back, beginning to thrust in earnest.
The bed was new, unfamiliar, but it didn’t rock as much as the old one, gave him better control over his motions, but Micah’s body felt just the same–—no, better, after all this time. Tight, hot, responsive; he’d been dreaming of this for months, too, needing it, craving it. He swallowed heavily and slapped his hips up against Micah’s ass, hard and throbbing as he hilted again and again, harder, heart pumping faster until he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, the metallic taste of exertion on his tongue, the prickling of hackles lifting along his neck and shoulders…
He flicked an ear, panting, swallowing again, harder. He flexed his fingers on Micah’s hips, nails pressing through fur, a little too far pricking skin and making the coyote squirm.
“Easy there, claws, kitty…” Micah laughed, breathy with his panting, and closed his teeth on his lower lip. “That… yeah there…ngf!”
Wendell looked down at his hands, lifting his fingers lightly. Have to be careful. The rush of his pulse in his ears turned more to a thud; his chest tightened and his head swam a little, and he slowed his pace. Mouth dry, he tried to swallow again, head buzzing. Something…something was wrong.
He paused, panting, shaking his head to clear it and catching his breath. Micah looked back at him over his shoulder, starting to say something, then tensed–—Wendell could feel that around his cock, under his fingers.
“You okay?” the coyote asked.
Wendell looked up at him. Blinked. Fuck, that? Now?! He tried to push back the frustration. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…gimme a second.” He swallowed again, rubbed his head with one hand.
And felt himself going soft. Fuck!
He shut his eyes tightly, tried to focus, tried to think about how good sex with Micah was, how much he’d missed him, how much he wanted to finish… then sighed. “Damn it.”
He slipped out, turned away, and sat on the edge of the bed. Micah got up and turned toward him, rubbing his shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft, concerned.
“N–—damn it, nothing is wrong!” Wendell cringed at the frustration in his voice., frustration ringing in his voice, almost pleading.
Micah sat behind him, wrapping his arms around the leopard’s body, resting his cheek on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s all right.” He nuzzled the leopard’s neck, holding him and swaying lightly side to side.
Wendell shook his head, laying his ears back, eyes closed. Nothing was fine. Could anything else go more wrong? The tightness in his chest returned. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, breathed through his mouth, willed the moisture away from his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Micah shook his head. “Shh, nothing to be sorry for. It happens sometimes.” He kissed the side of his neck and squeezed him tighter. “It’s fine, really.”
Wendell shook his head, then nodded. “Yeah…s’okay,” he agreed.
It felt like a lie.
#
Sunday went by without major incident, guilt keeping Wendell’s ongoing frustration and consequent irritability mostly under control. He and Micah sat together for a while on the patio in the evening, but when they went to bed, the coyote was cautious not to press.
Wendell was, if not exactly not in the mood, still feeling some guilt over their interrupted interlude. Something else about it, or his reaction to it, bothered him as well; but he couldn’t put his finger on it until he was drifting off to sleep–—and that brought him wide awake again for another half hour, while Micah snored softly beside him.
Shame. He felt shame mixed with disappointment and guilt, and overarching frustration, at not being able to finish the act of sex with his boyfriend. And not even knowing why.
It still grated on him Monday morning at PT formation, fueling his push-ups and grass drills. Those at least kept his mind occupied. The three-mile run at the end did not.
He didn’t like running to begin with, and liked running around the track even less. Twenty-five minutes of tediousum, monotonous exertion, panting the whole time, heart rate kept up by design…the very things that had triggered his inexplicable interruption with Micah in bed, and that to stew over, as well. He growled, frustration and exertion turning to anger, while the underlying feeling of wrongness boiled. He ran faster as the physical and emotional fueled each other. Heart pounding. Chest tight.
By the end of the run, he was in a near frenzy, heart pounding hard enough to make his head buzz and swim, sweaty, tired, the sudden nausea that came with not-running.feeling of not moving. He panted hard, gasping, pacing and trying to walk it off but never getting enough air. He stopped, bending forward far enough to brace his hands on his knees but keeping his head up lest he pass out.
The two cheetahs in his squad, Hunter and Staff Sergeant Bennett, had naturally finished the run before him, but only barely. He heard SSG Bennett say something to him about a good job improving his run time, but he ignored it, not even faking catching his breath. He was dimly aware of the two of them watching him as they waited for the others to come in. It bothered him, but he couldn’t stop them, and he couldn’t catch his breath to say anything. As if he hadn’t run fast enough. Far enough.
Rogers came in about a minute after him, the heavier wolf panting, too. Wendell was still hunched over, panting like he couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t even get a throatful of air; Rogers clapped him on the shoulder and said, admiringly, “Damn, Jonsey, leave some oxygen for the rest of us!” The wolf actually managed to bark a laugh.
Something snapped. Wendell stood up, turned to face Rogers. Stepped forward, planted both his hands in the wolf’s chest, and shoved. “Shut the fuck up, you little shit!”
Rogers staggered back, surprised. His ears went back and he stepped forward, hands curled into fists at his sides. “The fuck, man?” he snarled, still panting. “Learn toYou take… a …fuckin’ joke?”
Wendell’s hand came up, claws out–—but before he could strike, rake his claws right across that smartass’s wolf’s muzzle, someone grabbed him from behind and two other bodies got between him and Rogers, pushing them apart.
He twisted his body to break free or turn on his new assailant, threw an elbow back, but the arms held him tight, pinning his left arm against his body. He looked down, ready to dig his claws in and pry off whoever’s arms were around him, and saw spots. Cheetah spots. Hunter’s scent.
“Settle the fuck down, Jones,” Bennett growled. She was one of the two between him and Rogers. She turned to face him. Behind her, Rogers was turning and walking away, hands held up.
Bennett started to say something else, and a fourth voice interrupted. Authoritative. Pissed. “Exactly what the hell is going on here?” Sergeant First Class Andrews. Their platoon sergeant.
“This motherf–” —” Wendell snapped, shaking Hunter off and leaning to one side to point past Bennett at Rogers, not even realizing that he wasn’t sure what he was going to say yet.
Andrews cut him off anyway, the fox scowling. “Shut it, Jones. I don’t want to hear it. My office, zero-eight thirty. Both of you.” He looked at Rogers, too.
Wendell laid his ears back, still scowling. But with raised voices of authority now in play, military bearing took back over. Andrews turned back to him. “You hear me, Jones?”
He growled. “Yes, Sar’nt.”
Andrews turned away and took his place in front of the platoon, everyone watching warily. “Everybody here? Form it up! Form it up!” Wendell fell in with his squad, Bennett on one side and Corporal Powell on the other. On Powell’s other side, Rogers look bewildered.
#
At 08:15, Wendell was waiting in the hallway outside SFC Andrews’s office. At 8:20, Andrews walked past him, unlocked the office, and entered silently. Two minutes later, Bennett walked by and gave him a look, but didn’t say anything, either. She went in after Andrews and shut the door behind her. Wendell could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He scowled, and then Rogers showed up, too, but also didn’t say anything, just standing arm’s length away in the hall at parade rest, head and eyes forward.
Wendell sighed. He turned his head slightly, not quite all the way toward Rogers. “Look, I’m sorry about this morning. I was winded from the run and I’ve been in a bad mood… Some stuff happened over the weekend. I know you were just joking. I shouldn’t have lost my shit at you.”
Rogers didn’t reply. A moment later the door on Wendell’s other side opened, and Bennett stepped halfway through. “Specialist Rogers.”
Rogers glanced at him and gave a just-perceptible nod as he stepped past and into the office. The door closed again. More muffled voices, more time to sweat. It wasn’t long though. Rogers came out, apparently dismissed, not stopping as he went down the hall.
“Sergeant Jones.” Bennett put some emphasis on the rank, and Wendell’s jaw tightened. Yeah, he was going to get his ass chewed.
He did a right face toward the door and marched in briskly, directly to the appointed spot in front of SFC Andrews’s desk, coming to attention, head and eyes straight forward.
“Sergeant Jones reporting as ordered, Sergeant.”
“At ease. You want to tell me what happened this morning?”
Wendell snapped to parade rest and worked over what he’d planned to say in his head. When he answered, his speech sounded clipped, even to himself.
“Specialist Rogers slapped me on the back while I was catching my breath and I lost my temper, sar’nt. There’s no excuse for my reaction.”
Andrews seemed to have been expecting exactly that response; he didn’t miss a beat. “No, there’s not. Especially with an NCO, a leader, dealing with his troops.”
“It won’t happen again, sar’nt.” Wendell kept his eyes straight forward.
“See that it doesn’t. That’s not all I’m talking about, though. Is there something else you want to tell me about?”
Wendell looked down to meet Andrews’ eyes, surprised. The fox sat with his hands clasped on his desk, watching him. He cleared his throat to cover the pause. “No, sar’nt.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, sar’nt.” Wendell set his shoulders and raised his head to eyes-forward again.
Andrews looked at Bennett and sat back in his chair. “Have a seat, Jones. Relax. This isn’t an ass-chewing.”
Wendell did not relax, but he did sit in the chair in front of Andrews’s desk, tense, on guard. He could handle getting chewed out, he was prepared for that. Being told to relax put him on edge.
Bennett spoke up next. “Deployment is stressful no matter how many you’ve been on,” she said. “Pretty sure everyone knows that. People don’t realize that coming back can be just as stressful, sometimes even more. We just got back and we’re all on edge, at least a little.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I talked to Hunter,” she went on, and Wendell tightened his jaw again. “You two ‘have been close, and he said he’s noticed you’ve been a bit out of sorts. For a while, but especially since we got back. I’ve noticed, too. And now it’s affecting you more directly.–”
“I’m fine,” Wendell growled, interrupting. “There’s nothing–“—”
Andrews broke in just as easily. “Not saying you’re not, Jones. But this morning happened, and it wasn’t really a surprise. We want to deal with it before it becomes an actual problem. For you, for us, for the unit. You know how this works. And you’re not the only one.”
“I’m fine, sar’nt.” Wendell repeated himself firmly, setting his jaw.
Andrews sighed, leaning forward to slide a folded sheet of paper across the desk. “Look this over. Resources. We’ll talk again in a few days, and we’re going to have some unit training this week. If anything comes up, you can come directly to me or SergeantSar’nt Bennett. Dismissed.”
Wendell stood and took the paper. “Roger, sar’nt.” He came to attention, then faced right and strode toward the door, stuffing the sheet of paper into his pocket.
“Leave the door open,” Andrews said.
Wendell looked back over his shoulder and gave another “Yes, sar’nt,” before stepping into the hall. Bennett followed, checking her watch.
“Motor pool, nine-fifteen,” was all she said.
“Yes, Sar’nt.”
He left the building, frustration simmering just beneath his carefully controlled exterior military bearing. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone? The only thing that was wrong was constantly asking him if something was fucking wrong! He scowled, crossing the parking lot, flexing his claws as he reached past the paper in his pocket for his car keys.
Someone called his name.
He scowled. Hunter. Of course. The designated smoking area was just on the other side of the parking lot by the street, and they both parked there, next to each other, by old habit, even though Wendell had quit smoking.
He stepped around his car and onto the grass, laying his ears flat. Hunter froze, his own ears tipping back.
“What the fuck, man?” Best friend or not, Wendell’s simmering frustration needed an outlet. “Way to throw your buddy under the fucking bus. The hell are you doing?” He stopped a couple of steps away from the cheetah, tail lashing.
Hunter’s ears stayed back, but he didn’t back up. He took another drag from his cigarette, looked at it, and tossed it into the bucket of sand serving as the butt can. He blew the smoke out after a moment and looked Wendell in the eyes.
“Trying to help you,” he said evenly. “You’re getting more and more–“—”
“I don’t need any fucking help!” Wendell threw his hands up, started to turn way, then changed his mind, jabbing a finger in the air. “What I need is for everyone to back the fuck off and give me some goddamned space!” He turned and stalked back to his car, jerked the door open and got in. Slammed the door, started the engine, and pulled out into the parking lot without looking. He checked his mirror as he pulled into the street. Hunter was rubbing his forehead, walking toward the building.
Wendell muttered, shifted gears, and put his foot down on the gas.
#
Wendell’s mood was barely improved by the time he got home, but the way Micah’s expression went from cheerful to ears splayed when he saw him brought the guilt back.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
It seemed that was it, so Wendell went to strip off his uniform and change clothes. He took a deep breath, resolving to be less crabby, and went back to the living room and dropped heavily onto the couch.
Micah turned down the TV. “Everyth–—How was your day?”
Wendell caught the shift in the question, but he was determined to let it slide. The replacement query was loaded, too.
“Well…” He shrugged. “Got into a fight at PT. Got a ticket. Got referred to the shrink. Otherwise…” He shrugged again. That about summed it up.
Micah blinked. “You got a ticket? For what?”
“Fifty in a thirty-five.”
Micah blinked again. “Jesus, cat. Was that before or after the fight?”
Wendell shrugged. “M.P. let me off with a warning. ‘Cause there was no traffic.” He looked at the TV. “You heard, huh?”
“Yeah. Bennett called, told me about it. Asked if we’re doing all right.” He cringed a little at Wendell’s restrained growl. “She also thanked us for having her over for the barbecue. Her husband is still deployed. That’s all.”
Wendell grunted. “Yeah. He gets back next month, probably.”
There was a long pause. When Wendell didn’t seem to intend to break it, Micah did. “I know you don’t like it when people ask if you’re okay, but–” —” he hurried on before Wendell could reply “–“—we all care about you, you know that. Especially me. But Hunter’s been your best friend for a couple of years, and Bennett is looking after you, too. And these deployments have been coming non-stop for years. You can lean on us. Talk to us.” He laid a hand on Wendell’s arm.
Wendell looked down at it. “I know that,” he said slowly. “But really, there’s nothing wrong. I’m fine. Seriously.”
“You got in a fight with Rogers. I mean, his jokes are bad, but he’s harmless.”
Wendell slumped further into the couch. “I was trying to catch my breath.” It still wasn’t a good excuse.
“You weren’t the only one they’re talking to, either. They have to talk to everyone in your unit. It’s a policy.”
Wendell looked at him sidelong. “I thought that was all.”
Micah flicked one ear back, looking a little sheepish. “Well, we talked for a while. Like, half an hour. She really does want to help, though. Hunter does, too. And so do I.”
Despite his resolution to stay calm, be cool, the frustration was simmering again. Wendell tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and took a breath. “I…hell, Micah, what the hell does everyone think is wrong with me? Everyone keeps asking, am I okay? Is everything fine? Like you’re expecting that there’s something terribly wrong. But what is it?” He turned a momentary glare toward the coyote, then sat forward and rubbed his face and muzzle.
“I don’t know.” Micah was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. Maybe something happened while you were over there?”
Wendell rolled his eyes and scowled. “No, nothing happened while we were over there. Seriously, nothing. It was quieter than the last deployment. We literally just went to work every day and sat in air-conditioned trailers, or the air conditioned chowhall, or the air-conditioned hooches. Except for being there it was practically the lap of frickin’ luxury.” It was mostly true.
Micah turned his hands palm-up. “I’m not trying to push the issue. I mean, I am, kind of, because I want you to be happy. But I don’t want to fight about it.” His ears were angled back.
Wendell sighed, closed his eyes for a moment. “Look, it’s fine. I’m fine.” He looked back at Micah, offering a weak smile, one he certainly didn’t feel. But he didn’t like seeing the coyote unhappy, either. He leaned over and nuzzled the coyote’s muzzle, closing his eyes a moment. “It’s fine, really.” He got up and stepped around the coffee table, pausing almost mid-step when he realized he had no idea where he was going. He just needed to get up, burn off some of the energy. Get some peace and quiet.
“I think I need to go for a walk.” He tried to sound upbeat as he said it, glancing over his shoulder. Micah perked his ears up. “I’ll be back soon.”
#
He started off in the uphill direction because it was easier to burn off energy that way. The sidewalk crested the hill and then started down again before it hit the main road at the edge of town about a mile later, which wasn’t quiet; but on the other side it looked like the road continued through trees, not too many houses either. He crossed at the light and, because the sidewalk ended, walked on the shoulder of the roadpavement.
It was a few minutes of walking before he came to the first building–—not a house, but some kind of old store, long since boarded up, the sign taken down. A quarter mile later, as he came around a curve, an old bridge came into view.
He stopped, stared, and then grinned broadly, realizing where he was. as he recognized it from his teenage years, as the bridge over the river. They’d just called it “the bridge” in his teenage years; it spanned the river which, downstream, ran through the middle of town, along the scenic riverwalk. The passage of time made it smaller than he remembered, dirtier, the pavement cracked and patched, but never repaved. He walked down the sidewalk on one side to the middle of the span, leaned against the concrete railing, and looked down.
He hadn’t recognized the area because back then, he and his friends would come from the other direction. But bBack in the day, he and his buddies…John? John and Richard, and that other kid–—hell, he couldn’t even remember his name now. They’d walked or riddenride their bikes into town along this road, and they’d always stopped at the bridge, tossing rocks or, he remembered with a touch of guilt, soda bottles, down into the river below to sink to the bottom or be carried off. Inevitably, there were dares to climb over the railing and jump into the water below.
That looked like a shorter distance, too, he thought, leaning over the railing. Maybe twenty or thirty feet, where memory would have sworn it was at least fifty. The river was only a couple of hundred feet wide, muddy water that didn’t move too fast. That much hadn’t changed. Back then, he had gone as far as climbing over the railing and clinging to the outside, but he had never jumped. Some of the others had, of course. He heard about one kid, someone he didn’t know, who broke his shoulder or something trying it. All their parents had given them strict warnings to stay off that damned bridge, which, of course, they’d ignored. Nothing like that would ever happen to them. Ah…the immortality of youth.
He didn’t feel immortal anymore. Partly because growing up did that, and partly, he thought somberly, because of the people he’d seen, people he’d known, people he’d heard of, coming back from deployments with life-changing injuries. Some from combat, some just from accidents. And of course, some never came home at all.
He was lucky, he thought. His first deployment, there were a few mortar attacks, and they’d had to take shelter in the bunkers, but never anything nearby. The second one, the one they’d just returned from, nothing “exciting” really happened at all. Some helicopters had come back with battle damage, but everyone had been okay as far as he knew. There was some gunfire, but it was always way outside the wire, sounded like it was miles away. Eventually, you’re you even learneven able to sleep through it.
He put his palms on the rail and pushed himself up, feet leaving the ground a few inches, balanced on the inside, so he could bend forward and look over, down into the water. Here, it was peaceful. Quiet, no traffic, no people. Serene, even, the river’s surface rippling and opaque. No kids throwing trash into it just to make waves or free their hands for horsing around on the walk home.
Roger, that was the name of the kid who’d jumped and messed up his shoulder. He chortled at the fact that he could see Rogers, from his squad, probably talking about doing something like that, but never actually doing it, even though it was only twenty feet or so, maybe twenty-five. How that kid had hurt himself jumping off, he couldn’t imagine. Hell, he could lean forward a little further, and probably manage a full somersault before he hit the water. Shoot right through the surface, disappear into that silty, opaque water, maybe all the way to the bottom. The way the valley was shaped, it couldn’t be all that deep. It was probably quieter there.
He was almost felt tempted. It was almost certainly survivable; hHe might be a cat, but he knew how to swim, and the drop to the surface wasn’t nearly as intimidating as he remembered.
The sound of running feet interrupted his reverie. His ear swiveled before he looked, hearing a familiar voice calling his name. Micah. He let himself back down to the walkway, dusting his palms on his pants.
Micah came to a stop two or three paces from him, panting, looking a little wild. “What are you doing?” There was a frantic edge in his voice.
“What? I’m…looking at the river. Used to come here as a kid.” Wendell tilted his head, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”
Micah swallowed and his shoulders relaxed, but the coyote still looked tense. “I thought it would be nice to go on a walk together, so I figured I’d join you. By the time I got my shoes on… It took me this long to catch up with you. You walk too fast, cat.” He spoke in bursts, still catching his breath, and offered a smile, but it looked forced. He hesitated, but his tension seemed to ease. “You used to come here as a kid? I didn’t know that.”
Wendell shrugged and started walking back the way they had come, slower so Micah could keep up more easily. “Neither did I, until I saw it. I didn’t recognize anything out here until I saw the bridge. I didn’t realize we were in the area. Me and some friends used to walk this way into town. Or ride our bikes. There was a convenience store up the road…actually, that’s the boarded-up place I passed. I didn’t recognize that, either. It was kind of an odd place for one, out in the middle of nowhere. At least at the time. Maybe that’s why it closed up.”
While they walked, he went on about living near the base when his father was stationed there, and how he hadn’t really thought about any of it in years, how it was actually kind of nice to see it again. He told him about John and Richard and the other kid whose name he couldn’t remember, and about Roger.
But by the time they reached the edge of the road, traffic noise was loud enough to halt conversation until they got into the quieter neighborhood. It was strange how finding the bridge and thinking back, looking down at the placidly running water, made so muche of the tension fall away. He felt more of it coming from Micah, now, than himself.He didn’t notice Micah watching him quietly, warily.
Once back at the house, he flopped down on the couch, the TV off this time, and Micah sat beside him, leaning against his side. Wendell draped his arm over the coyote’s shoulders. “That was a nice walk. We should do that more often.”
Micah relaxed and let out a breath. Wendell felt him shudder, and looked down. “Hey, you okay?” He flicked an ear wryly, realizing that after feeling like he was being asked that non-stop, he was the one asking now.
Micah nodded. “Yeah… I’m fine. I’d like that. It was nice.”
There was a long moment, then Micah sat up a little. “Actually, no I’m not. I mean, not really fine.” He looked at Wendell, but held his muzzle low.
Wendell felt his ears shift back, lifted his hand to brush his knuckles through Micah’s cheek ruff. “What’s wrong?”
Micah didn’t answer immediately. He cleared his throat, looked down at his hands in his lap. “When I saw you on the bridge… I was worried.” He paused. ” I thought you were… thinking about jumping.” He looked up. “You looked like you were going to. And you’ve been acting… really out of it lately.”
Wendell leaned back, laid his ears back. “Huh? What would give you that idea?”
Micah looked at him levelly. “You were hanging out over the railing. Looking down. Just staring down.” He waited a moment; Wendell just stared at him, at a loss for words. Micah asked quietly, “Were you?”
“Was I what? Thinking about jumping?” Wendell laid his ears back, then got up off the couch. “No! Don’t be ridiculous. I was just looking down at the water, and the railing is too high. I was less than three inches off the walk.”
Micah splayed his ears back, but didn’t look down. “I don’t want to live without you, Wendell.”
Wendell turned to face him, his voice firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to jump off a bridge. That’s not what I was doing.”
Micah nodded and slumped back on the couch. Wendell rubbed his face. “I need a drink.”
He walked into the kitchen, got down a glass, filled it from the tap. Ridiculous, he thought. Not going to jump off a damned bridge. And that one ain’t even that far.
But…
He had been thinking about exactly that. He’d never understood, through all the Army-mandated suicide awareness and prevention classes the Army mandated, how anyone could get to that point and not realize they needed help. How people around them couldn’t notice, say something, do something. It always seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.
But Micah had done that, said something, just now. Obvious…?
The fur on the back of his neck prickled, and his ears laid back of their own accord. Is that how it starts? Just a few quiet thoughts in a peaceful moment, not even realizing what you’re thinking about?
His tail lashed low by his ankles. He wanted to ignore this whole line of reasoning, but now that it had come up, now that Micah had said something and he started questioning it himself, he couldn’t. If he did nothing, or did… something, the coyote would be devastated. And now Hunter, and Sergeant Bennett, and Sergeant Andrews, everyone he was close to and respected was worried about him. If he were headed down the road of malaise and depression by himself, he might “suck it up and drive on,” as they say in the Army. But they were all doing what they could to offer him a way out if it came to that. And he did not want to let them down. Especially not Micah. He tightened his grip on the glass of water and exhaled deeply, staring down into the bottom of the cup. He could decide to get help, too. Maybe he should.
Maybe he should. Either way, he could worry about it tomorrow. He drank the water, set the glass down, and went back out to the living room, joined Micah on the couch again. The TV was on this time. They sat, each with their own thoughts. Micah curled up against him halfway through the first commercial break.
#
“Hey. You awake?”
Micah opened his eyes slowly and yawned. “Mmyeah…”
Wendell chuckled. “Show’s over.”
“Yeah. I know. You can turn it off.”
Wendell turned off the TV with the remote, then touched his nose to the coyote’s forehead. “I love you, you know.”
Micah nuzzled up under his chin, grinning. “I know.” Then, “Love you, too, cat.”
Wendell paused, then grinned. “I want you, too,” he added, lashinged his tail., grinned broadly, and He leaned over to slide both his arms under the coyote, one under his knees and one behind his shoulders, then slid forward off the couch and stood up, staggering once before planting his feet wide and regaining his balance. Micah laughed and threw his arms around the leopard’s neck to hang on.
“I haven’t carried you across the threshold here yet,” Wendell said, still grinning.
“There’s plenty of time if you want to.” Micah put on a thoughtful expression. “You could do it now. The front door is right there.”
“I think the bedroom door will do for now,” Wendell growled. He grinned wider, showing his teeth, and carried the coyote down the hall, stepping dramatically though the bedroom door, and then tossed Micah onto the bed.
Micah laughed as he bounced. “Feeling better, I take it?”
Wendell lashed his tail, unbuttoning his pants, a low, rumbling purr in his throat and a sly look in his eyes. “Are you…?”
“Yeah.”
Their clothes came off, faster as more fur came into view; by the time Wendell climbed onto the bed, crawling up between Micah’s lifted knees, he didn’t need the coyote’s hands to unsheath him. He pushed into the exploring fingers, rocking forward as Micah slipped one hand down to cup his sac, exhaling a heavy breath as he stroked the leopard’s stiffening length. Wendell looked down, propped himself on one hand’s knuckles, and curled his fingers around the coyote’s cock. Stroking him in turn, grip sliding over the the stiff warmth of his flesh. He squeezed the swelling knot, pleased with the way Micah arched under him, fingers tightening around the Wendell’s own cock, a panting groan as he slipped his grip back up, angling the coyote’s hard-on to lay next to his own and squeezing them together. His own breath came quicker, shallower.
Micah looked up at him, stopped stroking his cock to reach for the nightstand, where the bottle of lube still sat. Wendell watched, lashing his tail, listening to the snap of the cap opening, watching the coyote’s dexterous use of the fingers and thumb of one just one hand to squeeze a dollop of the gel into the same palm, before dropping the tube beside him.
He groaned, arching and panting faster, feeling his lover’s fingers close around his cock again, swiveling, smearing the cool gel first at the tip of his cock, then gliding down and up, down and up to smear the length of his rigid shaft. He looked down when Micah let go again, finding the coyote grinning up at him as he slipped his hand down between them to spread some under his tail, too, his tail wagging enough to brush against the backs of Wendell’s thighs and calves.
He gave the coyote’s knot another squeeze, then propped himself up on both hands, moving back just a little, while Micah gave his cock one more slow stroke, then angled it down, brushing past the coyote’s balls, lining him up…
The first push was maybe too quick. Micah gasped, and his tail stopped wagging, tucked up against Wendell’s ass… he swallowed, lowered his head to bump his nose with Micah’s, and pushed again, slower.
Both of them held their breath a moment, muzzles touching, Wendell because of the tight warmth wrapping around his aching erection, the tickle of Micah’s tail brushing against his own. Micah because of the aching fullness of Wendell’s cock pressing, gliding, pulsing deeper, his belly pressing against his cock, and the scent of hot, wanton arousal flooding his nose. It was as much Micah’s legs wrapping around Wendell’s hips that hilt the leopard’s cock as it was the urgent thrust the leopard’s put into them. They lay pressed together a moment, Micah rubbing his muzzle against the leopard’s throat and squeezing him tight, inside and out; Wendell panting hot, quick breaths against the coyote’s shoulder, cheek pressed against his ear.
Micah was the first to move. Holding Wendell in with the grip around his hips, he pushed with one arm, rolling them both over until Wendell was on his back. Then he sat up, straddling the leopard, and began to ride him.
Wendell arched, clawing at the bed before moving one hand to the coyote’s hip, following him up and down, the other wrapping around the coyote’s cock. He grinned up at him as his fingers found the stiff length already slick; he hadn’t even noticed the coyote smearing the lube on his own cock. Micah somehow looked a little smug even with his tongue hanging out, panting, but he never missed a beat.
Wendell laid his head back, narrowing his eyes, but not quite closing them, trying to remember not to press his claws too hard on Micah’s hip, letting the coyote’s pace guide how he stroked him, faster and faster…trying to focus just enough that he wouldn’t finish too quickly. It must have shown on his expression; Micah leaned down with a sly smile of his own, the squeeze of his ass gliding up almost to the leopard’s tip, and breathed in his ear, “Here, kitty, kitty…” His little code phrase telling him, Come.
Wendell groaned and thrust up hard, his cock sinking deep, hips slapping the coyote’s ass. Faster, harder, tension mounting, the rushing buzz of blood in his ears louder as he laid them back, clenched his eyes shut, clapped both his hands to the coyote’s hips and hilted again…
A strangled yowl broke from his throat as the pressure broke, pulsing waves of pleasure radiating through his body. His breath caught, he swallowed, and his arms slid up from Micah’s hips to wrap him in a tight hug hard against his body as his climax peaked, the coyote tense and trembling with him, shallow, shuddering breaths against his cheek, before he began to relax, the peak subsiding.
He planted a hand against Micah’s chest, pushed him back upright, and curled his hand around the coyote’s cock again., He strokeding him quickly, urgently, wanting to feel himMicah cominge, too, clenching tight around him before the bliss began to subside. He rocked his hips lightly, still hilted deep, and with his other hand, dragged his nails lightly over the coyote’s balls, then before slipping it up to curl and squeeze around the swollen base of his shaft and squeezeing, still stroking. MicahThe coyote liked that, he knew: the dangerous feeling of claws, of a tight grip, while knowing he was never safer than with his leopard. He held his breath, writhed slowly back and forth, and then exhaled explosively, his cock pulsing hard and fast in Wendell’s hands, streaks of his cum painting his mate’s belly clear to his chest.
They collapsed together on the bed, laughing softly, needing no words. Wendell slipped free but pressed closer, spooning up to the coyote’s back, holding him tight, muzzle resting between his shoulder and neck.
#
PT the following day was uneventful, and Wendell made sure he didn’t run too hard. He changed at home, but Micah was already gone to work. He still felt unsettled, frustrated, but for the moment, had some motivation to do something about it. For his coyote, at least, he would try.
He dried off after finishing his shower, took down a fresh uniform, and got dressed. He paused, then, before leaning down to open the hamper. His pants from the day before were still on top. He reached in, pulled out the paper Sergeant Andrews had given himfrom the day before, and read it: a list of resources for soldiers returning from overseas. People to talk to, to assist with readjusting, for those who needed it.
He tucked it into his pocket and picked up his car keys and cell phone. Just a quick message, sent to Micah.
I’ll *be* fine, promise. Thank you for asking. Love, Cat.