The Love we Hide (Gay Furry Romance/Thriller story) MA15+

C3P15 - Remember the fox?

Mike the lion considered his apartment to be quite cozy, thank you very much.

It was just the last apartment that you would expect to be involved in anything strange or even remotely mysterious to happen in. If it didn't have such tight walls, there would surely be picket fences, and such neighbours would probably lean over them and compliment lion for his very cozy way of living.

He drank tea instead of coffee, simply because he didn't put up with such caffeinated nonsense. If in the odd chance that someone were to serve him the incorrect milk with his tea, his eye would simply twitch, and he would smile and thank them profusely before walking away - sometimes even more so than if they had gotten it right.

And no, his mane is not powdered, thanks for asking. He strictly conditions it, with a natural home-blend almond oil extract. If you were to ask him about it, which no one does, he would boast about how it boosts his mane's fiery colours and slows ageing. Others often claim that it just makes him smell like a bowl of almonds that have been left out for too long.

Regardless, he's a remarkably polite tenant. He pays the bills before they can even be handed to him, with some humble barista money he earns just downstairs. And yes, he always makes people's tea with the right kind of milk.

Its a simple cycle of life, and a humble one. Its hard to know if the lion feels good about it, because you'd really see him looking glum in any way. Even when he sleeps, which in this moment in our story, he is - he snoozes out of a self-satisfied sort of smirk. And yes, he's earned it.

So you can imagine how pissed off Mike would be, when he wakes up to a rock turning his freshly cleaned sliding glass door into a shattered - although spotless - mess.

And if that's enough of a rough start for our humble lion, a cat with remarkably messy fur under her tight hoodie climb in through the rubble. Lavender's cherry lipstick seems to have missed her lips, and her eyes are wide and wild, as if our polite Mr. Mike were some horrifying ghost.

"The fuck are you doing?!" I think we can empathise with the lion's use of swearing, even though he's been doing so well with such words for a few weeks now.

Get this, this ragged cat doesn't even respond. And no, I don't consider it a suitable response, when she barks at Mike to shuffle over in his bed, and starts unloading metal gear from her backpack onto his very clean covers.

Dirty bear traps clunk against each other, a rusty shotgun stabs through the designer pillow-case. A couple of Fur War Two landmines poke uncomfortably into Mike's crotch.

Her face is calm as she unloads, but only if you could consider that grimace of complete feline insanity as something calming.

'Look what you've done to my covers!"

"Its rust." God she's just insane, isn't she?

'Beating around the bush', if Mike had understood the metaphor, would safely be his most despised form of conversation. "Yes its rust, that doesn't was out you psycho!" Ooh, some name calling, too.

"No, its Rust you fucking asshole! He's alive, dickhead!" Now Lavender has the upper paw in this name-calling. "He's going to kill us all, you fucking fuck!" Oof.

"What are you talking about?" In a life as orderly as Mike's, with the next day's orders of coffee as the few things that occupied his thoughts and dreams, there's not much to be uncertain about. Life becomes a calendar, and a good enough life becomes once of those fancy calendars with those pictures of beach resorts or topless girls taped over each month. Lavender didn't own a lighter, but in the few weeks to come, she's burn Mike's calendar until it was just the smouldering tatters of sizzled tits.