Conflict of Interest
By Brathor Cyr

The wolf’s arms come down on either side of my head, romanesque columns supporting his weight and causing the mattress to bow so far down I think I can feel the hardness of the box spring underneath my back and shoulders. It’s not as hard as what I feel sliding along against my inner thigh. In that moment, I find myself wishing I was anything but a mouse. The sense of being exposed and vulnerable is making my heart pound in my chest. I’m concentrating on keeping my body from trembling as prey instinct screams at me to run. 

At the contact of his erection with my body, he lets out a soft breath and I feel wetness against my short fur. I fail to stop a shiver as it passes through me. He looks down at me, amber eyes contoured so deeply in black that it almost looks like he’s wearing mascara. He’s panting, and in his parted muzzle I see teeth that are bigger than most of my finger bones. 

This is so wrong, I think as I put a tentative paw against his chest. I’m trying to calm myself by focusing on his slower heartbeat. I don’t even know his name. He must smell my fear, and that might be why he’s hesitating. I see warmth in those eyes, and gentleness behind the lust. 

Slowly, I let my fingers slip down his stomach. I can feel his abs shifting, maybe reacting to my touch, or just anticipating what I’m about to do. 

I do an awkward half crunch to actually get between his legs, but as my small, slender fingers wrap around his cock – at least as far as they’re able – he grunts, then exhales again. The top of his muzzle wrinkles and I get another look at those sharp teeth when his next breath comes out as a snarl. It sends another shiver down my spine. I can smell the mint of his toothpaste and citrus of the juice he’d been drinking at the brunch. 

Legs resting against his thighs, I guide him to where I need him, unable to suppress a gasp when I feel the heat against my most sensitive skin. With a few strokes, I get another groan from him along with enough fluid to soak my ass and the base of my tail. I change my grip and tease him a little longer and feel strangely flattered by how much he’s producing. The scent of his arousal is almost overwhelming, though I like it. I’ve never been with a species that made this much precum, but given how big he is, I’m glad for the lubrication. I didn’t think to bring my own on this trip. 

I line him up, then look him in the eye. I see an intense scrutiny in the way those gold irises and pointed ears focus on me. I’m not sure if he’s having second thoughts, or if he’s just wanting to savor the moment. A soft squeak of frustration sounds through the room, and my ears fold down as I realize it came from me. 

When he does hunch forward, I swear I see literal stars. Even with that tapered tip, he’s thick. Probably thicker than anything I’ve taken before. I have a high pain tolerance, though, and I know that the reward, once I get used to this, will be worth it. I feel a pressure on one of my shoulders, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s holding me down. I've been writhing. I’m breathing in short, loud gasps and recognize I’m close to hyperventilating. 

I regain my composure over several long moments while a paw larger than my face slowly strokes a large rounded ear and a calm, steady voice whispers nice things to me. When I’m settled enough to speak with confidence, I offer him a weak smile. 

Interspecies romance has an ancient stigma attached to it. It’s particularly prevalent between predator and prey species. Things have loosened up over the last few decades, but raw predator-prey instinct is a powerful thing that can be hard to ignore, even vicariously. For the first time in my life, I have a firsthand understanding of just how difficult those instincts can be to control. 

I’m not really a hookup guy. Even by rodent standards, I’m short. I spend most of my time studying or doing extracurriculars, so I don’t exactly have an athletic build to show off. Those things combined, plus the fact that I’m a bottom like pretty much everyone else, I don’t feel like I’m ever going to get much attention at the gay bars that feel like meat markets. 

I’ve had some success with those “dating” apps, but I always feel a bit fucked up trying to use them. I mean, look, I get that for a lot of guys, dick pics are basically a pawshake and blowjobs are first base. It’s not like I haven’t had my fair share of slutty moments. But I want a serious relationship, eventually at least, and I just have a hard time thinking that the guys who spend all their time trying to get laid (half of them with shit like “no rodents, no femmes” in their profiles) are going to make good boyfriend material.

Not that this wolf is demonstrably better. The only thing I know about him is that he must be tied to the Falstaff Program – probably an intern, or maybe a former awardee, though he doesn’t really look like the bookish type.  

“S-sorry. Never been with a predator...” 

He huffs down at me, wearing an easy smile on his parted muzzle. I like that I can see it in his eyes. It feels authentic. “S’alright. I’ve never been with a mouse before.” He hesitates a bit, gaze drifting down my body until he’s looking at the ungodly amount of dick throbbing in anticipation. His tail flicks behind him a few times, as he apparently enjoys the view. 

“I think I’m good if you… y’know.” 

His eyes travel back up and there’s that smile again. It’s so warm I feel myself growing a bit hot in the cheeks. You’d think blushing would be hard to do when you’ve got a guy’s erection partially wedged inside you, but I manage. 
 
“You sure. We can do something else… I don’t wanna—” 

I interrupt him by wrapping a few fingers around his muzzle. I couldn’t actually hope to hold it closed, but he gets the hint. 

“It’s fine. I want this.” 

He nods, and I wrap my arms around his neck, drawing him into a soft kiss. He grabs my waist and pulls me closer and I feel him gasp into my muzzle from whatever sensations my body gives him. 

I realize now that I’ve wanted him since last night. 

We were at an upscale bar that catered mostly to corporate types around Midtown, so it was an appropriate setting for the meet and greet for this year’s Falstaff Scholar awardees. We were about to spend the next four days together in a series of lectures and other events, and it seemed like a good way to break some of the ice on the eve of the first day’s events. 

There were only nine awardees, and all of us were predictably-boring people. Getting an award like this took years of dedicated effort. There hasn’t been a lot of time for pursuing things we’re really passionate about. I didn’t hold it against anyone, but it did make for dull conversation. 

About two drinks in, I noticed this wolf checking me out. I wasn’t usually into big predator types. Most of the gay one’s I’d met were cocky to the point of arrogance, and that was a real turn off to me. But this guy is stunning. With a coat of blended gray and brown fur, a height of seven feet, and perfectly-styled headfur, he possessed the kind of authentic handsomeness that Hollywood types spend thousands to imitate. If that weren’t enough to make him stand out, the way he was dressed did – his sky blue button-up and khakis were a step down from the suits and other formal attire most of us were wearing. He even had the top three buttons of his shirt undone, allowing a generous amount of his chest ruff to show. 
 
Since he was in the part of the bar reserved for our event, I knew he was part of our group, but he wasn’t one of the awardees. Given that he couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than me, the logical conclusion was that he was an intern or some other low ranking staff member. It wasn’t that weird that he was checking me out. I’m not over-the-top flambouyant, but I’ve been told I give off pretty strong gay vibes, especially when I’ve had a few drinks. So, just to show that I didn’t mind, I bought the guy a whiskey sour – my favorite drink. 

The rest of the night was a game where we each caught the other staring but never actually talked. The few times he wasn’t in conversation with other people I assumed were staff members, I was too busy getting congratulated and being introduced to people with titles longer than their names. Besides, the sheepish way he tended to react when we did make eye contact gave me the impression he wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to me. 

I had heard that Falstaff treated their interns poorly, and at some point I resolved to go out of my way to talk to him just to spite whatever beancounter had told him he couldn’t talk to us. But by the time I was able to pull away from my other conversations, the gray and brown shadow that had been haunting my evening had disappeared. 

I was a bit disappointed, if only because I’d been curious to learn who the wolf was. But, by the time I got back to my hotel room, I’d basically forgotten the whole thing. 

The next morning was our first formal event – a brunch followed by several hours of presentations from the head of the program and a few previously-recognized scholars meant to introduce us to the intricacies of the program and what will be expected of us going forward. 

When I was seated at the same table as a mid-twenties wolf with gray and brown fur, I didn’t recognize him right away. He was wearing an expensive-looking three piece suit and tapping something out on his phone, so I didn’t even get a good look at him – although I noticed his ears perked as I sat. 

I have never been much of a morning person, and I was still struggling with some jet lag, so it wasn’t until I took a long sip of my coffee that I finally looked across the table and saw him regarding me with a pleased smile. 

I managed to offer an awkward hello, but as I glanced across the table I noticed he didn’t have a paper name tent like everyone else at the table. Before I could think to ask his name, three other awardees and four past awardees had joined us and there wasn’t exactly room to discuss whatever the spark between us was. As boring as the other students were, the former awardees were all extremely-accomplished people, and they soon dominated the conversation. The wolf and I had both faded into the background by the time the food started arriving. 
 
My morning took a frustrating turn when, like an uncoordinated toddler, I spilled a glass of cranberry juice over my oatmeal and onto my shirt. Swearing loudly, I got a few looks of shock from the other scholars. I calmed down after a few seconds, but soon found myself trying to clean up my mess while assessing the damage to my wardrobe. 

The wolf is the only one who thought to help, and as he used his cloth napkin to keep the disaster from spreading, I thanked him profusely. A member of the catering staff swooped in a moment later to clean things up properly. 

I turned down the offer for another bowl of oatmeal. I had lost my appetite, and needed to get back upstairs to find another shirt that would work for the day’s events. I was supposed to deliver a speech this afternoon, so the whole stain situation was going to be a real problem. 

As I was fighting the urge to rapidly tap the elevator call button, I heard a few heavy footsteps and glanced to my right to see the wolf jogging up to me. I raised a questioning eyebrow, and he just smiled at me with the dopey, lop-sided expression that canids are so good at. 

“Hey, you forgot your, uh…” he holds up an envelope containing tickets to a classical music concert we were supposed to attend the next evening. 

My ears and face turned pink again, which was made worse by the knowledge that he could see it through my fur. It pissed me off, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. Frustrated, I snatched the envelope and flicked my long tail in irritation. The tickets inside were soaked on one side, stained a particular shade of red.  “Dammit.” 

The wolf’s voice was a pleasant baritone that carried warmth with it as he tried to comfort me. “It’s fine. Some of these folks are a little… stuffy, I guess. But no one’s going to remember in a few hours.” He stopped, then looked back towards the rest of our group before a paw reached up to rub the back of his neck. The hangdog gesture was almost comical coming from a guy who's a good seven feet tall, but it seemed genuine enough. Almost immediately, I understood that he was trying to think up an excuse to stay with me rather than return to the brunch. 

“I could help you get cleaned up… If you want,” he said, adding the last part in a slight rush. “I know some tricks for getting stains like that out,” he gestured vaguely towards my torso. 

I think we both knew that when I said yes, we weren’t going to be spending a lot of time on laundry. 

The ride up in the elevator was another exercise in awkward silence. At some point, I noticed he was hard – it was hard to miss because when we’re standing next to each other, my head only comes up to the bottom of his chest. Instead of feeling awkward, however, the fact that I have apparently gotten him this excited quickly made me feel aroused as well. I was sure he could smell it on me, because when we finally got into my room, his earlier bashfulness was gone as he started to carefully unbutton my shirt. His thicker fingers struggled with the small bits of plastic, but his claws were surprisingly dextrous. 

I expected him to push me towards the bed once my torso was exposed. Instead, I was surprised when he took my shirt into the bathroom and began to run the sink. I started to second guess what I thought was about to happen, and found myself leaning against the bathroom doorway as he pulled one of those laundry detergent pens from his pocket and started working at the stain. 

“The most important thing is to get the worst of it as quickly as you can, before it has time to stain all the fibers,” he explained as he worked. The bathroom is sized for a rodent, so he had to hunch to comfortably reach the sink. “I always carry one or two of these pens with me, just in case. You’d be surprised how often they come in handy.” 

I started to realize how awkward this whole situation was when he pushed past me and started rummaging through my basket of coffee packets and other random hotel crap. He pulled something out of it, then opened up the minibar. “Salt and club soda,” he explained when he saw me looking at him with a confused expression. 

I appreciated his concern about my wardrobe, but this domestic competence was the last thing I expected from the guy. He ran the sink again, drained it, then dumped the things he rummaged from my room into the bowl before filling it with cold water. 

“It’s looking a lot better already,” he said as he stepped out of the bathroom, casually wiping his paws with one of my towels. “Just let it soak for like half an hour, and it should be OK. I think the hotel has a 24-hour cleaning service you could use if you want to get it properly cleaned before you try to wear it again.” 

I wasn’t sure what to say as my eyes wandered over his form. This was the first good look I’d gotten at him while standing. He had a lot more muscle on him than I would have expected from your average office drone. 

“Thanks,” I managed, unsure what else to say. 

I knew what was going to happen next, but it was still surprising how easily the wolf transitioned from his little household lecture back to the more expected lechery. It started with a paw on my shoulder and my muttered thank you. The next thing I knew we were kissing and frantically undressing each other. 

Now, just a few minutes later, the wolf is shifting his weight above me, and I cooperate as best as I can. He’s practically folding me in half to get my ass high enough to line up with the length of his dick. The shifting causes him to spear deeper into me, and my arms practically flail before I grab grab at his chest, thin fingers gripping at the thick fur. I do my best to push back, and he takes the cue to lean forward a little more. He’s only about halfway in when he hits the sweet spot, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. I don’t quite see stars this time, but I do start to feel good. 

With slight movements, I feel his hips start to shift back and forth against me. Even though he’s being gentle, I can’t help but feel like he’s using his dick like a battering ram, pulling back a tiny amount, then shoving forward with just enough force to stretch me open a little further than my previous limit. Each time he does, I feel that perfect union of pain and pleasure. My dick had gotten soft while trying to take him, but now that he’s mostly in, feels like a fucking steel rod. As I look down on it, the wolf’s gaze follows my own, and this surreal little smirk curls his lip. 

The next thing I know, he’s got a fist wrapped around the tip and I’m trying to hump into it, though every time I do, I rock on his dick, which brings new waves of intense sensation I’m not quite ready for yet. The softness of the leathery pads on the inside of his paws is unexpectedly sensual. The only bad thing about it is how small it makes me feel. By rodent standards, I’ve got a slightly above-average dick. But as he teases me, I’m annoyed to realize I’m just a bit thicker around than his pinky finger. It’s emasculating and I want to do something bratty, but then he gives me a proper thrust and all thoughts leave my mind as the movement of his thighs forces me into his paw. 

I scream. It’s embarrassing, but it’s one of those things that happens without thought. My entire body clenches up, my eyes lose focus, and I realize I’m about to have one of the most intense orgasms of my life. I’m aware of some wet noises, a hearty little chuckle above me, and the molten hot dick inside of me, but everything else is just consumed by waves of bliss that radiate from deep inside and then reverberate through my entire body. 

Time passes. I have no idea how much of it, because when I finally regain my senses, it feels a lot like waking up from a dream. The hardness inside me still hurts, and the aftermath of the orgasm has left me extra sensitive. Fortunately, the wolf seems to understand and he pulls out, although there’s a hint of reluctance. I don’t blame him. I haven’t really been a good lay for him. 

His paw is soaked in my cum, and as he stands back up at the end of my bed, he sniffs it a few times, then laps at it with a broad tongue. “That’s nice. Kind of sweet.” 

I laugh, not sure how else to react. No one’s ever commented on how my cum tastes before. Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time a guy even bothered to try to get me off. I’m still out of breath, and a shudder passes through me as the laughter causes my still sensitive dick to brush against my stomach fur.

“Just… give me a minute and I’ll get you,” I say, flopping back on the bed to just try to collect myself. 

It’s funny how much your mind clears after a good nut. Because now I’m starting to feel really self-conscious of the fact that I’m splayed out naked in front of a stranger who just fucked the cum out of me with like one-and-a-half thrusts. The wolf seems to be a good sport about it, though he’s still hard, and I can hear the sounds of his precum dripping onto the hard floor under my bed while he finishes cleaning off his paw. 

“You don’t have to, you know. I could just…” he makes a jacking motion in the air and I push myself up onto my elbows to give him a wry look. 

“Dude, I just came so hard I think my balls inverted. The least I can do is get you off. Just… let me catch my breath.” 

He tilts his head at the comment, maybe unsure what to make of it. Or me. Finally, he shrugs his big shoulders and gingerly climbs back onto the bed with me. It’s a good-sized bed, at least by mouse standards. Four guys my size could probably sleep on it no problem. But with wolfie, here, I have to move over to make enough room for him. The bed frame makes a creaking noise that’s mildly alarming, but when nothing collapses, I’m just glad the hotel didn’t cheap out on the bed frame.  

“Mind if I like, hold you for a bit?” he says in a strangely tentative tone considering what he’s already done to me. 

I raise an eyebrow at him, but after a moment I just kind of nuzzle into him by way of answer. It feels a bit like snuggling into a warm blanket as I nose into his chest. The muscle there is softer now, and I can smell the floral notes of his shampoo, along with a more natural scent underneath. I feel a heavy arm work around me, and before long I’m basically using the guy as a pillow. It’s unexpected, but this feels much more intimate than what we were doing a moment earlier. 

“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he says after a few moments of awkward silence. 

My fingers have drifted down to his dick, and I’m absently playing with it, mostly just to keep him hard and leaking. The heat of the moment isn’t back, at least not yet, and he doesn’t seem in a hurry to push things. I look up at him, making eye contact as a few of his own thick digits trail down my spine. 

“What, bang strangers?” 

He nods. “I mostly date women. Other canids. This is… sort of a once in a while thing.” 

“I guess there’s nothing wrong with that,” I say, unsure how else to react, but I shift my grip on his dick and give it a few firmer strokes to let him know I don’t mind him being bi or whatever. “For what it’s worth, you’re pretty good at it.” 

He chuckles. “I don’t know if what we did is enough for you to judge that.”

“Fair point,” I say. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

It’s a bit awkward to get him to lay all the way back. His feet end up hanging off the edge of the bed by a few inches, and straddling his hips is a bit uncomfortable for me – he’s just really thick. Fortunately for the wolf, my drive’s starting to come back, and it’s easy to ignore the discomfort as I reach back and once again position him. With me on top, it takes a good five minutes, but I finally manage to get most of him inside me. It doesn’t hurt as much this time, though I can feel that his knot is starting to form. 

His heavy paws rest on my shoulders at first, occasionally sliding down my lithe body or tweaking a hard nipple. The action spurs me to begin moving up and down on him. It’s difficult, but it feels good, and when his hands move down to my ass, I just feel really fucking sexy. That probably explains why I’m hard again. 

His paws are so big that even though they’re on my hips, his fingers can make my entire ass disappear. He’s using the size difference to his advantage though. Despite my being on top, he’s the one setting the pace now. I have this weird moment where I feel like I’m being used like one of those pocket pussy toys and even though I know I’ll be annoyed by the thought later, I’m getting into it now. In fact, the only thing I really care about in this moment is getting this guy off, hopefully in a way that makes him feel as good as I do right now. 

I lean forward to make it even easier for him to control the pace, my paws coming to rest on his chest. I can feel the muscles there working in time to the lewd, wet noises coming from my ass. The steadily increasing pace reminds me of a fucking machine, but in all the right ways. With increasing alarm, I realize I’m already getting close to cumming again, but I grit my teeth and start trying to think about anything other than how hot I’m finding this wolf. 

My mind drifts to the brunch downstairs and I wonder if I’m being missed. Or if the wolf is. I try to think about the speech I’m supposed to give today. Of all the effort and sacrifice I’d put in to receive this award. Of how I’d been one of just a few students selected from tens of thousands of applicants. About how my Falstaff Scholarship status meant I’d be held to a higher standard of achievement for the rest of my life. 

All of those thoughts feel like candles next to the sun as the wolf snarls below me and I realize he’s about to cum. His hips buck and his paws grip hard around my waist, some of his fingers overlap at the small of my back. I realize he’s trying to shove his knot into my already battered ass, and in a moment of panic, I reach down to try to stop it by gripping him instead. I’m too slow, though, and in a blinding flash of pleasure and pain, he somehow managed to brute force his way inside. 

I cry out again, and I realize I’d already been making quite a bit of noise. The sound echoes off the walls of my hotel room, but I don’t care. I’ve never felt so full in my life. The pain is intense. But god, does it feel good. I shudder, my entire body rigid as few feeble ropes of cum spray out onto the wolf’s stomach. It feels more like an extension of my first climax rather than the usual sensation, but I still get the extra rush of dopamine and all my concerns and anxieties are gone. 

At the same time, I feel a pulsing sensation deep inside me and the wolf lets out a growling moan. His thick legs relax, and his hips settle back to the bed, his knot pulling me with them. Again, I lose myself in the midst of the overwhelming sensations and soon I find myself resting my upper body on the wolf’s chest and stomach. 

We stay like this for a while, each breathing hard, reveling in the afterglow of the catharsis. 

His fingers stroke my body in gentle movements that trace the edges of the muscle groups in my back. Some of my fur stands on end as I’m still very sensitive, especially with his dick still tied in me. It’s a good feeling, though I’m still a bit annoyed at the tie. I really need to be getting back downstairs. 

Still, I’m starting to relax. I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until the wolf lets out a soft grunt and I feel his dick slip out of me, along with an embarrassing amount of his cum. I’m really glad I don’t have a roommate for this event, because that stain on the sheets would be hard to conceal or explain. 

I shudder again, feeling more satisfied than I have in a very long time. Reality is starting to seep back in, however, and as I start to feel a familiar sense of pressure, I glance towards the bathroom. “I’m going to need another shower.” 

The wolf huffs a soft laugh against one of my ears. The breath tickles. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’ve been kind of pent up.”  

“I’m not complaining, but I’m going to need to get back downstairs soon.” 

“Me too,” he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I’d offer to help with the shower, but I don’t think I’d fit.” 

Reluctantly, I slide off of him and carefully get back to my feet. I find my towel from this morning and use it to mop up some of the excess fluids still oozing out of me. With irritation, I notice a tell-tale pink stain on my stomach fur from the juice. 

“You know, I feel a bit awkward asking this after…” I gesture to the bed. “But I don’t even know your name.” 

He props himself up on an elbow as he turns towards me, eyes narrowed as if appraising me. 

“Seriously? You don’t know who I am?” 

Oh god, is he some pseudo celebrity I’ve never heard of? I try to think of the canid Falstaff Scholars that came up while researching for my speech. His eyes soften as he looks at me, apparently accepting my ignorance. 

“Shit. I’d just assumed,” he runs some fingers through his headfur as he sits up. The bed makes a dubious sound, but after what it just endured, I’m confident in its integrity. He looks at me with a wry smile that looks almost sad. “I’m Thaddeus Falstaff,” his voice takes on a mockingly dramatic tone as he adds, “The Fourth, technically.” 

I stare at him, a numb feeling leaving me paralyzed as my brain makes the obvious connection. Looking concerned, he rushes his next words. “I usually go by Teddy. Or… well, my dad insists on Ted when I’m working.” He says this as if the reason I’m looking shocked is the bizarre old-timey name. 

I swallow. “Are you telling me I just had sex with the guy whose about to give me one of the most prestigious scholarships in the country?” The Fallstaffs aren’t exactly A-list celebrities, but a scandal like this would still probably make most of the tabloids. Jesus, what did I just do? “I thought you were supposed to be like a 70-year-old fat guy.” 

He shrugs, then looks away, his voice quiet. “Dad handed things off to me this year. Sorry. I assumed you’d know.” 

“Wait… this isn’t like… you didn’t give me the award because you wanted to…” I can’t even bring myself to finish the question, but he picks up quickly on what I’m getting at. 

He stands up now, and even though his dick’s still half out of his sheath, he does a remarkably good job of looking earnest. “Jesus. No! It’s nothing like that. I barely had any say on that stuff. The committee makes the final decisions and I just sign off on them.” 

“So this was just completely spontaneous?” I ask the question with a skeptical tone. 

He looks at me, ears down, tail lower than I’ve seen it. “Well, I did read your essay.” 

The essay where I detailed my coming out experience, the fallout with my ultraconservative family, and the advocacy groups I’d joined to help other LGBTQ teens in similar situations. I put my face into my paws. Is that how he knew I was gay? “Oh my god.” 

He puts a paw on my shoulder, and I flinch away from it. He lets out a high pitched sound and it takes me a second to realize it’s a whine. It just makes me more angry.

“Do you realize what this could do if it gets out? You can just go back to working at your dad’s company or something and no one will care in six months. I’ll be that fuckboy who Thaddeus Fallstaff fucked in the ass that one time. For fucks sake, the entire Fallstaff Program could be delegitimized by something like this.” 

“It’s not like I was planning to send a press release about it, Andrew. This stuff happens all the time. It’s not a big deal. What difference does it make who I am?”

I put my arms down and glare at him as he asks the question. “I go by Drew, actually. You’d know that if you’d bothered to ask rather than creep on my application.” I pause for a second, then add, “And the reason it matters is that it’s going to look like I seduced you to get my scholarship or something. Ignoring how it looks, you actually did use your position with the program to basically pick me up.”

I cringe as I think about the photo I’d submitted of myself attending last year’s pride parade. By those standards, the tanktop and shorts I was wearing were pretty modest, but… well, they weren’t something I’d wear every day either. The point was to try to make my application stand out to the committee. 

The wolf is shrinking back on himself, and I think it’s finally dawning on him that I’m more than a little pissed off. Perhaps trying to gather some dignity, he starts searching around for his clothes. 

“OK, look. I’m… really sorry about this. I—” he pauses and looks back to me, trying to make eye contact. He doesn’t manage it for very long, and instead busies himself by putting his underwear back on. His still-full sheath makes the tight fabric bulge out in a way that leaves little to the imagination. “I promise, I didn’t have any designs or anything when I saw you yesterday. I just thought you looked cute, and I remembered your essay, and I thought maybe you’d be open to something. If I’d known you’d be this upset, I never would have taken things this far.” 

He sounds genuine enough. I’m not exactly in the forgiving mood, but I can forget. At least for a while. Right now, all I really want to do is wash his cum off me and get back downstairs before anyone gets suspicious of why both the head of the program and an openly gay awardee both disappeared from the brunch for nearly an hour. 

“Thaddeus—” 

“Teddy,” he insists. 

“Teddy, you need to get back down there and be seen before I do. If we go down together, it’ll be pretty fucking obvious what just happened.” 

His frown deepens as he finds his slacks near the bathroom door. “I’m going to need to rinse off too. There are other canids down there. They’ll smell you on me.” 

I wave a dismissive paw in his direction before I pick up his shirt and vest. The shirt is wrinkled now, but it’ll probably be hard to notice once he’s got the rest of the suit on. “Aren’t you supposed to give an address at the start of the conference? Won’t they all be waiting on you?” 

He buttons his slacks, then reaches for the shirt. “No. I asked Janice – the committee chairperson – to handle things this year. I’m basically the same age as you guys. I thought it would be weird to give the opening speech like Dad usually does.” 

That’s a relief, at least. My absence could be explained by the juice incident. Chances are that Teddy was right, and this really isn’t a big deal. I’m probably overreacting. Ever since the shit with my parents, I have a hard time dealing with any drama having to do with my sex life. It’s a trust issue.  

He finishes buttoning his vest, then looks down at me. Even though he towers over me and is at least a few years older, he has this questioning, sad expression on his muzzle that makes me think of a puppy. With a sigh, I grab the front of his shirt and pull him down. He moves stiffly at first, but he gets what I’m doing after a couple seconds and bends forward and I give him a kiss. It’s a bit strange because I can taste myself on his tongue, but he locks his muzzle against mine and kisses back. 

“I’m sorry,” I say when I pull back. “This whole thing has been kind of confusing. I don’t do this stuff very often either.” 

He returns to a straight position and starts pulling his vest on. I notice his tail’s swinging a bit, so I guess he’s back to being pleased with himself. I’m still ticked off, but I believe him when he says he didn’t mean anything malicious.

“Sleep with guys?” 

“With strangers,” I say while looking at the bathroom door. I’m already calculating how long I’ll need to get presentable again. I have a backup dress shirt in my bag, though it’s going to be wrinkled as fuck. I don’t think I have time to iron it. 

He nods once, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair he tossed it over. “For what it’s worth, you’re pretty good at it.” 

I move to open the door for him, then hesitate. “Look, Teddy. I, uh… had a good time” God, I sound like I’m saying goodbye to my prom date. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do this again.” 

His ears go down again, but he puts his paws in his pockets and nods. “If you think that’s best. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

I should really just leave it at that, but something keeps me from opening the door. “Are you going to be around for the rest of the conference?” 

He nods. “I’m mostly just watching this year to get a feel for things. But yeah.” 

“If you want to, you know, talk. Maybe go out for a drink back at that bar, I might be up for that.” 

He tilts his head, but I don’t miss the way his tail picks up speed. “You mean like a date or something?” 

I shrug, “If you want to call it that.” 

I hold the door open for him, and he gives me a genuine smile and an awkward hug before stepping out into the hallway. 

When the door shuts behind him, I lean back against it and just take a few deep breaths before walking into the bathroom and starting the shower. 

As the hot water cascades over me, my thoughts start to catch up with me and I scowl.

What the fuck am I doing? Whatever else this thing with the wolf is, it’s a dangerous diversion. It took me years to get here. I’m the first mouse to be admitted to this program in 20 years. When this conference is over, my real life will finally begin. Graduate schools will be competing with each other to recruit me. High power careers in politics, law, business, and academics will be wide open to me. Am I seriously going to put that at risk because some wolf has a smile that makes me blush? 

I’m emotional. That’s what’s really pissing me off. I’m so used to the logical, analytical part of my mind being in the driver’s seat that the simple feeling of infatuation is making me feel like I’m spinning out of control. 

Even now, I’m having a hard time not thinking about how good he smelled. About how much I’d enjoyed the sex. About how nice it would be to do it again when everyone’s gone to sleep. 

I swear, then turn the water temperature down with an impulsive jerk of my arm. Ignoring the immediate shock of the cold water, I grab the hotel-provided scent bar from the inside ledge and start working it into my fur. The lavender-citrus blend is designed to help mask dubious scents from people with strong senses of smell, so I’m generous with its application. I try not to think about how just the thought of the wolf was enough to get me partially erect again and wash my dick as mechanically as the rest of my body. 

A few minutes later, I’m standing in front of the full length mirror near the entrance to my room, trying to decide if the remnant of the pink stain on my stomach will show through my shirt. I get a new pair of slacks and underwear from my bag, just to make sure I’m fully presentable, but when I start buttoning up my backup shirt, I start to feel self-conscious. As I’d worried, it’s badly wrinkled, and I’m second guessing my decision to bring a shirt with vertical stripes. I feel like a 90s businessman. One who doesn’t own an iron. 

With a sigh, I rummage through my bag, looking for something that might help. As I pull out a navy blue sweater vest Mom must have packed when I wasn’t looking, I swallow down another string of expletives. My height already makes it hard for people to take me seriously. Now I’m going to look like a 14-year-old chess club reject. Unfortunately, it’s the best option I have. At least I’ll be presentable. 

By the time I step out into the hallway, my mind rehearsing the speech I’d already memorized two weeks ago, I’ve almost managed to stop thinking about the wolf.