CRITTERS HAVE FEELINGS

Dog wasn't good at memory, as he wasn't at a lot other things Cat dutifully kept a very thorough, extremely precise and well-documented list of. Apparently, he wasn't good at entering rooms, for example. He kept doing it in a very graceless, extremely noisy way. At least that's what Cat said, of course, but Dog trusted him, 'cause Cat, oh, he was an expert at entering rooms. Actually, nobody quite entered rooms with the same room-entering skills Cat always showed. He was good at a lot of things, Cat, he was good at basically everything, so Dog had to trust him whenever Cat told him he wasn't doing a very good job at whatever it was Dog was attempting to do in that particular moment, may that have been eating, drinking, playing or napping. Yes, Cat always insisted Dog was the worst at napping. He kept rolling around, falling off the things he had decided to nap on - and the fact that he decided to nap on things despite clearly being too big to nap anywhere but in his own basket was already enough, for Cat, to award Dog with the Worst Napper Ever gold medal - and he was generally a mess, while Cat, well, Cat was great at napping, as he was great at everything else.

Anyway, bottom line was, Dog wasn't very good at memory, so he couldn't exactly remember when he had started to love Cat and Michael so much. He guessed it probably had to have started when he was brought into the house as a puppy, but he remembered nothing of that period, and for what he knew such a time could have very easily never been a thing. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was quite sure his first memory was eating some chicken leftovers from his bowl in the kitchen, something that couldn't have happened earlier than the day before, so, if asked about it, Dog wasn't sure he wouldn't have had to admit he firmly believed he had come to life, had been brought to home and then made to fall in love with Cat and Michael on the very same day, and that said day had happened no longer than 24 hours before.

That was how bad Dog was at memory, something Cat never ceased to scold him for. Especially whenever Dog dared to remind Cat how much he loved him.

"You love nobody, you ridiculous, clumsy idiot," Cat said, hissing at him, "You can't even remember my name, how can you love me?"

"You're called Cat," Dog answered, tilting his head to the side.

"No, I'm not," Cat said, jumping on a chair and sitting down, "I'm called Francis."

Dog blinked, confused. "Then why am I called Dog?"

"You're not either!" Cat scolded him, losing his patience altogether, "You're called Simon! Why can't you remember anything?! Are you stupid? How much of a brain do you actually have trapped in that clearly oversized rounded head of yours?!"

Cat was very good at being mean. Sometimes Dog envied him for that. He wasn't good at being mean at all. But he wasn't good at anything, so that didn't really come as a surprise for anybody, did it? It certainly didn't come as a surprise for Cat. 'Cause Cat knew everything. Always. He was that good.

One thing Cat wasn't very good at, though, possibly the only thing Cat wasn't that good at, at all, was understanding Dog. 'Cause Dog really did love Cat, and he didn't care for his name, or how long had they known one another, or if they weren't supposed to love each other at all following those "Laws of Nature" Cat always talked about with utter respect and that seemed to apply to everything despite Dog knowing exactly nothing about them. He really loved Cat just as much as he loved Michael, and he loved Michael a lot.

Michael was their owner. He was a young man with fair blonde hair, tall and slim, and with big, big hands that Dog loved really, really much, 'cause they were strong and big, but they were sweet. Michael also had the sweetest smile Dog had ever seen, and the sweetest eyes, too, made twice as big by the glasses he was forced to wear, or he would've tripped and fallen at every step of the way. He was blind as a bat, poor Michael. Bless him. Dog had often suggested him to take those glasses off and trust him, that he could lead him everywhere, he could help him cross the street, get to work, have dinner at his mum's on Sunday night, but Michael never really seemed to understand what Dog told him, and, according to Cat, it was better this way, that Michael couldn't understand him, so he could be spared of all the stupid things Dog always said. Cat thought Dog said a lot of stupid things. Dog had to trust him on this, 'cause Cat never said stupid things. Sometimes - not that often, but it happened - Cat was wrong about something, but he never really said anything stupid. Too much brain in that soft furry lil' head of his, Dog thought. There wasn't any empty room left for stupid thoughts.

Anyway, Dog really, really, really loved Michael a lot. Michael was his priority. Nothing came before him. And that was because Michael was perfect, Michael was good and most of all Michael provided food. Dog was very grateful to Michael for providing food. He had no idea how to provide anything edible. Cat was always on the hunt, he kept escaping the house and coming back with the most curious things, little mice, weird insects, sometimes squirrels!, but Dog wasn't allowed to leave. He could've gotten lost and Michael didn't want that, he had been very clear about it the first time Dog had tried to follow Cat outside.

"He's right, you know?" Cat had told him as he came back, later, holding in his mouth a little colored bird who seemed weirdly unresponsive to anything Dog tried to do to wake it up when Cat left it at his feet, "You'd get lost or killed or both in five minutes, if you ever got out. It's better if you stay inside."

"Are you worried about me, then, Cat?" Dog had asked, his eyes sparkling with emotion and affection as he forgot all about the lil' bird already.

"No," Cat had answered, "I'd rather he'd let you out," he had said, jumping on the couch and then, from there, to the kitchen counter, to take a nap on the empty cookie bowl, a constantly empty glass ball Cat seemed to love really much.

After Michael, anyway, Dog's only other priority was Cat. Man, Dog loved Cat so much. Cat didn't need to provide food or be sweet and kind to make Dog love him, and that was because Cat was so perfect at everything, yes, but mostly because Cat was very, very beautiful, in a way that confused Dog to no end more often than not. He just looked so very good, Cat, with his long, dark gray soft hair and those big, shiny, emerald green eyes. All slick and slender he was, and so smart and mysterious. He was also so very good at walking around the house at night. Dog managed, somehow, but not as swiftly. Sometimes he hit things, sometimes those things broke while hitting the floor and that was when Michael jumped off the bed with his myopic eyes wide open, murmuring "Simon? Are you okay?". Michael was so sweet, always worrying for Dog before he worried about the things he had broken.

As smart, beautiful and entrancing as he was, though, Cat wasn't very easy to handle. Dog had never really understood how to do it, actually, so much that he was fairly sure that inability was in the list Cat kept too, the list of things Dog wasn't good at. Possibly in between eating and napping, Dog was sure, "handling Cat" had to be right there. Sure, it'd have been easier if Cat had just explained Dog how to deal with him, but Cat never had, and that was probably part of what made Cat so interesting. He was a mystery, a riddle to crack. Dog loved Cat for being completely incomprehensible too, for completely incomprehensible things excited Dog very much.

Like, for example, the fact that, no matter how much dog could eat, there was always another canned food ration for the day after. Where did those cans come from? Did they magically appear in Michael's mystery cabinet every day? Dog couldn't fathom how that thing worked, and so he was fascinated by it, as he was fascinated by other inexplicable things such as water - how could water exist? It was a physical thing, Dog could feel it, but he couldn't catch it; that had to be some kind of sorcery, even if Dog wasn't sure if he actually understood the meaning of the word "sorcery" to begin with -, chocolate - chocolate tasted so good; and yet, oh, how bad it was for Dog's tummy, such sweet temptation and, at the same time, such dire torment -, or even Christmas - both Dog and Cat received presents from Michael, for Christmas; then, how come they weren't allowed to go shopping for Michael to buy him some presents too?

Such were the things Dog loved and didn't understand anything about, Cat being the first and most important among them.

Cat was already with Michael when Dog had arrived home. He was incredibly small, compared to how he turned out to be growing up, a lil' thing all eyes and mewling sounds, so soft Dog could easily fall asleep on him feeling as if he was in his own basket. Michael had told Dog that, before him, Cat felt so alone he spent hours and hours crying. That was because Michael, having an horrible disease called "full-time job", that kept him away from home for hours and hours a day, couldn't stay and keep lil' Cat company. So lil' Cat grew bored, felt alone and cried, he cried a lot, he cried so much all the neighbors had started to worry, and Michael, being so kind and sweet as he always was, worried too.

"Which is why I got you," Michael said, smiling at Dog and scratching him between his ears, "So Francis could be with you all day, and you could keep each other company."

As a matter of fact, Dog had never seen Cat cry in loneliness, because from the day he arrived Cat had found a way to keep himself occupied. He could spend all his time doing things to Dog, stealing his food, his toys, being mean to him, and so he didn't have to feel bored anymore.

Dog was very happy to be able to be of help. He was proud to be Michael's first present to Cat, even if Cat didn't seem really aware of the notion, most of the time. But how could Dog blame him? Dog himself wasn't aware of a lot of notions, all the time. He couldn't really blame Cat for ignoring one every now and then.

Dog had always loved Cat, for as long as he could remember. It wasn't much, that was clear, but it was something. He had always tried to show Cat how much he loved him, but Cat never seemed very inclined to understand the depth of Dog's feelings, nor did he feel particularly eager to reciprocate them. Every time Cat went to the Vet for some reason, Dog sat behind the door of the apartment, whining softly, his limbs trembling lightly in worry and anxiety, waiting for his return, and when Cat came back, lazily lying down in his lil' white cage, firmly held in Michael's hand, Dog instantly started to bark happily.

"Cat!" he screamed, "Cat! Oh my God! You're back! Did you miss me?"

"No," Cat answered mercilessly, but Dog didn't care. The moment Cat was let out of his cage, Dog jumped on him to hug him, squeeze him, kiss him all over, possibly drool over him a bit, 'cause, as Michael said, it's not love if it's not a little wet. Dog liked his love to be as wet as possible. And that meant a lot of wetness, for him.

The same thing happened when it was Dog's turn to go see the Vet. Dog loved the Vet. The Vet was sweet. He was a chubby, rounded, cherry-faced little man with a huge bow tie that always changed color when Dog came to visit. Dog was convinced the bow tie was alive, that it changed its colors willingly, like butterflies when they came out of their cocoon. He often daydreamed about that bow tie spreading its wings and flying away, especially when the Vet told him to lie down and then injected with that strange something that made Dog have weird dreams in which edible things like fruits and meat came alive and tried to eat Dog while he ran away.

Anyway, as much as Dog loved to go see the Vet, it was painful not to be with Cat. He kept thinking about him, all alone at home, and he knew Cat had to be sad in the empty, silent apartment, so whenever he came back he barked happily, "Cat! Cat! I'm back! Did you miss me?"

"No," answered Cat. As always. Dog had come to understand that, more often than not, "no" was indeed Cat's peculiar way to say yes. Or, at least, so he hoped.

But even if all those no were indeed no, even if Cat really didn't miss him when they were apart, even if Cat really didn't love him at all, Dog would've kept loving Cat anyway. There was simply no way out of it, 'cause Cat was so cute, and even his flaws were nothing but prettier qualities, for Dog. Cat was so sweet when Dog assaulted him and grabbed him and rolled with him on the floor, 'cause as Dog did that he kept hissing and biting at him and trying to scratch him, screaming "get off me, you filthy, stinky bag of fur!", but he never really managed to wriggle himself out of his hold anyway. And he sometimes did incomprehensible, weird things, like when he was scared about sudden noises and he ran away, disappearing on top of the closet or the cupboard and only coming down from it hours later, or how he started to scream when Dog tried to drag him together with himself in the tub filled with warm water for a bath - Michael said Cat never needed a bath, that he cleaned himself on his own and, for that reason, he didn't smell bad; Dog begged to differ, but he didn't want to tell Cat he actually stank too, so he just tried to convince him to take a bath together, even though, most of the time, he ended up getting scratched on his nose because of that.

And sometimes Cat did things that scared Dog shitless and made him want to crawl out of his skin in horror, like that first time he had spat a ball of fur. They were alone in the house and at some point, suddenly, after being quiet and completely still for hours, Cat had started to wheeze and pant, weird, rough, guttural noises coming in a shaky breath out of his throat, and his little body had started to tense and contract in violent spasms, and then he had spat out that ugly mass of half-digested, wet and stinky tied-up fur, and Dog had wailed in terror and run to hide under the coffee table in the sitting room, not daring to come out until Michael had come back home. Michael had seen the ball of fur and Dog's reaction to its sight and, laughing sweetly, had welcomed Dog on his lap, explaining to him the whole thing while petting him and scratching him behind his ears and Dog had finally managed to calm down, but he still remembered that feeling of sheer terror coming from hearing those desperate sounds coming out from Cat's mouth, and the deep sense of disgust and nausea coming to him from the vomited ball of fur, and even these days, though now he knew it was a natural, physiological thing, every time he started to hear those wheezing sounds coming from Cat's general direction, he ran to hide under the coffee table and only came out from underneath it when he was sure the tragic moment had passed.

Yes, Cat sometimes scared him, or puzzled him, or made him sad by not being very kind with him (at all), but Dog still loved him. It was a feeling that didn't need reasons nor explanations, it was just there. Dog loved Cat, and loved Michael, and felt really bad when he couldn't be with them.

Which is why night wasn't a really good time of the day, for him.

As long as the time to go to bed hadn't already come, Dog could still be with them. They'd all hung out in the sitting room, Michael half-lying down on the couch, dog crouching next to him with his head on Michael's lap and Cat sleeping, curled up in a ball on the armrest as far from them as he possibly could without being too far. They'd watch TV, some stupid show that'd make Michael laugh and that Dog wouldn't understand but would laugh about too just because Michael's laughter made him feel like laughing himself too, and Michael would eat a couple of after-dinner cookies together with a glass of white hot milk that made his glasses steam up, and if Dog was lucky, if he was very, very lucky, Michael would've shared half a cookie with him and would've let him lick the sweet, sugary taste of milk off his lips. Those were the best moments for Dog, the moments they could spend all tangled up together, but those were also moments Dog spent knowing soon he'd have to part from them for the night, and nights were so long when they couldn't be spent together with Cat and Michael. Even when he slept, they seemed to never end!

Dog didn't like to spend the night on his own - he never liked to spend time on his own, but nights were different because he knew Cat and Michael were still together, that they slept together in the bed, locked in Michael's room, and he was sad to the thought of them being together without him.

Dog wasn't allowed in Michael's bedroom. It was a small bedroom, barely big enough for the bed, a nightstand and a built-in closet, and Dog couldn't take a step into it without hitting everything. He couldn't sleep on the floor 'cause, blind as he was, Michael would've stepped on him without even noticing until it was too late every time he got up from the bed, and he didn't fit underneath it. Michael had tried letting him sleep on the bed together with him and Cat, but it hadn't worked out: Dog was literally everywhere, he couldn't find a comfortable position and kept rolling around searching for it, landing with his ass on Michael's face more often than not, making it impossible for Michael to sleep, which had been bad, 'cause Michael's full-time job disease forced him to wake up very early in the morning every day, and he couldn't do that without a good night's sleep.

In the end, Michael had decided Dog should have had to sleep out of the room. He had told Dog, and Dog had promised not to come in without permission, but at night loneliness had weighted on him so much he had sneaked into Michael's room, climbing on him on the bed. Michael hadn't been pleased. He hadn't shown it, obviously, because Michael was sweet and kind and he never got angry at Dog no matter what Dog did, but Dog had felt how disappointed he had been, he had felt it under his skin, and even if Michael hadn't locked the bedroom's door he would have never dared to sneak into it again, if only not to feel Michael so disappointed in him ever again.

Michael had locked the door anyway. It was safer this way, he said, so Dog wouldn't feel tempted.

That was true, knowing the door was locked had removed the temptation, but sadness remained, and Dog still wanted to sleep with them on the bed. He didn't hate them for spending the night together while he was kept out, but he envied them, he was jealous of them. And so, every night, when Michael said "time to go to bed!" and held a sleepy Cat in his arms, heading for the bedroom, Dog looked up at him, his ears down and his eyes filled with sadness and a silent plea, hoping his answer might actually change, if only for that night.

"Why do you always have to look at me this way?" Michael asked him as he stood up from the couch, Cat leaning on him, already sleepy enough not to be able to move on his own. Dog didn't answer, he just tilted his head, a soft, high-pitched whining coming out from his pursed lips, and Michael laughed tenderly, reaching out to pat his head. "You know I can't let you come..." he tried to explain, "You take way too much space, and Francis gets angry all the time, he starts mewling and he doesn't let me sleep."

Dog looked up at Cat, studying his relaxed expression, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his gorgeous long hair falling down his shoulders and his fluffy tail swinging right and left like a vine. He seemed so innocent and harmless. And then, all of a sudden, he opened his eyes, flashing a green angry glare towards him, alert and attentive as if he had never gone to sleep at all. "Don't you dare coming with us," he threatened, "Fat ass."

Dog wasn't fat, obviously. He was big. He had strong, powerful muscles all over his body, and it wasn't as if he could help it, anyway. He had done nothing to grow up this way, it had just come natural, and since Michael seemed really pleased with the way he had turned out to be, Dog didn't think there was anything to be ashamed of. Of course it stung when Cat called him fat, but Cat had his reasons, Dog thought: Dog was indeed bigger than him. Maybe Cat couldn't tell muscles from fat. Dog had to forgive him.

"Of course you don't care if Francis gets angry, though, do you?" Michael asked him, smiling gently, as if amused by the thought, "Why should you, after all?" Dog would've liked to tell him he cared a lot for Cat and his anger, he just wished it didn't have to be constantly aimed at him, but he knew Michael, lost in his own thoughts as he seemed right now, wouldn't have heard him, so he kept quiet. "Well, you know what?" Michael added with a mischievous sneer, "Tonight, I don't care either. Besides, tomorrow will be Sunday. You know what that means?"

Dog wasn't sure he did. In fact, he wasn't sure he knew what Sunday was at all.

"Idiot," Cat whispered in a scary hiss.

"It means I don't have to wake up early," Michael clarified in a soft chuckle, "It means it doesn't matter if I spend half the night awake. You're coming with us."

He was coming with them. At first, Dog couldn't even understand the words. They had come so unexpectedly, and after Cat's threats, too! He didn't think, not even for a moment, that Michael could say yes. But he had, and when Dog finally realized - and, by then, Michael and Cat were already halfway to the bedroom - he ran after them, barking loudly in utter happiness.

"Shush, sweetie, come on," Michael said softly, patting him on the head to try and calm him down, "You'll wake everybody up."

"Idiot," Cat repeated, "I hate you so much."

In any other moment, such a remark would've hurt Dog. It would've made him want to lower his ears and walk with his tail between his legs, but not now. Right now he was just too happy to be bothered by Cat's mean words.

He walked into the bedroom, this place he had been kept locked out of for years, with his brown eyes wide open, curious to see, touch, sniff and possibly lick everything at once. He was so excited he ended up knocking a pile of books down the chair Michael had stacked them up on, and getting a corner of the blanket wrapped around his paw, tearing it off the bed.

Michael laughed about all this, putting down Cat on the bed and then walking after Dog to clean up all that mess. Cat, instead, seemed to find nothing to laugh about all of that. Once he landed safely on the bed, he just turned his back at them, mortally offended at Dog for asking to be let in, and at Michael for saying yes.

"Ah, see?" Michael said sweetly, nodding towards Cat, "He's already grumpy. He'll make the rest of the night unbearable."

Dog couldn't understand how Michael could say such a thing. He looked at Cat, and for all intents and purposes he seemed sound asleep. So he just tilted his head to one side and then the other, he shrugged and then climbed on the bed next to him.

"Cat, Cat!" he called, pushing his nose against the curve of Cat's neck and inhaling his strong, familiar scent, "Are you asleep?"

"I'd like to be," Cat growled, annoyed, "And my name isn't Cat, you idiot."

"My name isn't You Idiot, Cat, it's Dog."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake...!" Cat growled again, turning around to glare at him, "Would you shut up and let me sleep?"

"Come on, you two, come on," Michael said softly, patting them both on their heads, "It's late, let's try and not make too much noise."

They both turned around to look at him, and what they saw left them both completely speechless. Especially Dog. He had never seen Michael so naked. Even when he bathed him, Michael still kept his t-shirt on, even though he rolled his sleeves almost up to his shoulders. Granted, he wasn't completely naked now either, he still had his pajamas pants on and so his legs were covered, but still. Dog had never seen Michael bare-chested. And he was a vision.

"Do you see him like this every night...?" he asked Cat in a small, dreamy voice.

"Yes..." Cat answered, with the same little voice.

"And you haven't gotten used to it, yet?"

"I doubt I ever will."

"My good boys," Michael complimented them for their sudden silence, sliding under the sheets next to them, "That's how I want you, quiet and happy. Why can't you two get along? You were so cute when you were puppies. I couldn't keep you apart."

"Really?" Dog asked, almost jumping on him and pressing his paws against his chest, his tail swinging happily up in the air, "Tell me more, Michael, tell me more! I don't remember this!"

"Oh, God, shut up..." Cat whined, curling up as far as he possibly could from them without falling off the bed.

"Oh, yes," Michael said, lost in his thoughts as he reached out to pet Cat, his fingers passing slowly through his full, soft hair, while he kept his other hand on Dog's head, gently stroking it, "You seemed glued to one another. Sweet things you were. Simon was always running after you, Francis, just like he does now. Do you remember?" he asked, chuckling.

"So annoying," Cat answered bitterly.

"But what Francis doesn't like to remember," Michael added, looking at Dog with warm, affectionate eyes, "Is that he used to run after you all the time too!"

"Not true!" Cat protested in a loud meow, lifting his head up from the pillow.

"See how worked up he instantly gets?" Michael said, laughing softly, "That's because he's embarrassed. He likes you to believe that you're the needy one, but he'd be lost if you weren't here. So never think, not even for a moment, that Francis doesn't love you, Simon. He adores you."

Slowly, very slowly, as if scared that if he moved too quickly or too clumsily he might make all of that disappear, Dog turned to look at Cat. What Michael just said seemed unbelievable, but at the same time it had warmed him up inside as nothing had ever been able to do, not even hugs, and Dog loved hugs. He wanted to know if it was true.

Cat was looking at him with the most embarrassed expression Dog had ever seen on him. His emerald green eyes were glistening in the darkness of the room, and he seemed so confused and lost Dog couldn’t help himself. He had to get near him, he had to get closer, and so he clumsily covered the distance between them, snuggling by his side, pressing his whole body against Cat’s softer one. “Is it true?” he asked, pressing his nose against the curve of Cat’s neck, “Do you love me? Cat, do you really love me?”

“I— I don’t, you…” Cat swallowed, looking away, “You’re too stupid, I could never love you.”

“But Michael says you do,” Dog insisted, shifting against Cat to settle on top of him, covering his small, slender body with his own bigger, bulkier one, “Are you saying Michael’s a liar?”

“I never said such a thing!” Cat protested, unconvincingly pressing his paws against Dog’s chest, as if he wasn’t able to decide if he wanted him off himself, or if he wanted him to stay exactly where he was.

“Then what are you saying?” Dog asked innocently, and then he looked up at Michael, “Michael, what is Cat saying?”

“Aren’t you cute?” Michael said sweetly, as if he hadn’t listened to one single word, as he so often did, “Snuggling up together. Do you love Francis, Simon?”

“I do!” Dog answered eagerly, waving his tail as he leant in to cover Cat’s face in wet kisses, “I love him very much!”

“Stop it…” Cat whined, but even though he tried to avoid Dog’s kisses, tilting his face one way or the other, he didn’t seem to want to escape from his grasp, “You’re— You’re making a mess out of me, stop it!”

“Don’t you like to get messy, Cat?” Dog asked, looking down at him, his tail still wiggling up in the air, “’Cause I do, you know? I like to get messy. I’d like to get you all messed up too,” he added, nodding a little.

Cat seemed to blush, opening his eyes wide for a moment. “You don’t know what you’re talking about…” he whispered in a low voice.

Dog shook his head, disagreeing. “I do,” he said, his eyes locked with Cat’s, “Or, at least, I think so.”

Cat tried to move away, whining and mewling, pressing his lil’ paws against Dog’s broad chest. “Let me go,” he said in a tiny, embarrassed voice, as he turned his head and hid his face against Michael’s naked chest, “Michael, tell him to let me go…”

“Come, come, little one,” Michael said softly, welcoming Cat’s face against himself as he caressed his neck, affectionately and soothingly, “What’s wrong with some cuddling, now? Simon just wants to make you feel good. He just wants to feel you close, for once. Will you let him?” He leant in, pressing a little kiss on Cat’s forehead, “Will you be a good boy and let him?”

Cat turned to look at Dog with uncertain, shimmering eyes. “This is all your fault…” he whined.

“What is my fault?” Dog asked, tilting his head to the side and blinking confusedly.

“…now I can’t say no,” Cat answered, looking away, his little body all pressed against Dog’s.

Dog leant in, rubbing his nose against Cat’s. “Do you want to say no, Cat? Do you want to?” he asked.

Cat seemed to shiver as he kept quiet for a few moments. Then, his small, pink, rough tongue darted out of his mouth, leaving a little affectionate lick on Dog’s lips. “No…” he said, moving upwards, rubbing against Dog, “I don’t want to.”

“My good boys,” Michael said, his lips curled in a soft, loving smile, as he got closer to them. Dog tilted his head upwards, as always finding impossible to resist the urge to lick Michael all over his face when said face got close enough to let him.

He was so happy. He had never been this happy in his entire life. Michael was next to him, rubbing his back, patting his head, pressing small kisses on his muzzle, and Cat lied down underneath him, spread between his body and the softness of Michael’s bed, and Dog could feel every inch of his soft body, every sweet curve of it all pressed against his own hard, muscled one, and it felt heavenly.

He leant in, pressing a kiss on Cat’s lips and taking advantage of the split second in which Cat parted his lips to moan to slip his tongue between them, searching for Cat’s one. He could feel Cat’s paws close in a clumsy hug around his neck, and he took it as a sign that what he was doing felt good for him, that he could go on.

“You’re such a good doggie, Simon,” Michael said sweetly, soothingly, whispering into Dog’s ear as Dog started to press himself down on Cat, excited and aching for release already, overwhelmed by these never-felt-before feelings that left him dazed and confused and a little scared, but still hungry for more. “And you’re such a sweet kitty, Francis,” Michael went on, rubbing his face against Cat’s, forcing a low, pleased purr out of his throat.

Dog felt that little noise vibrate against his own skin and yipped, hiding his face in Cat’s neck and nibbling at it, frustrated and needy.

“Do you want Simon to go on, Francis?” Michael asked, his fingers tangled into Cat’s messy, long hair. Dog was thankful to Michael for being there, mediating between them. Even though Dog and Cat spoke the same language and could understand one another, it seemed as if only Michael, who couldn’t understand a thing of what they said, could at the same time understand them enough to make them really talk to each other. Besides, Dog knew he would have never been able to lift a finger on Cat without Michael’s blessing. And he was happy Michael had given it to him. He was happy he could share this moment with Michael too. With him and Cat both. It was important to be together, all three of them, on that bed. It was important and it was beautiful, and Dog was so happy about it he could’ve wept in joy, if only he hadn’t had Cat’s body pressed so close to his own, making his own craving for that body matter more than anything else.

“Yes,” Cat said, throwing his head back, still speaking to Michael instead of Dog, as if Michael could understand and he didn’t even want Dog to hear, “Yes, I want him to! Tell him to go on, Michael, please… tell him to go on!”

Dog let out a small, excited bark, lifting himself up from Cat’s body to let him free to turn around. Cat eagerly did that, wiggling himself out from underneath Dog to lie down on his stomach, pushing his ass up against Dog’s crotch, rubbing against him as a mess of confused whines, mewls and moans escaped his parted, wet lips. “Simon,” he whispered as he lifted his tail, exposing his little pink hole to the pressure of Dog’s raging hot hardness, “Simon, please, put it in…”

At that point, Dog wasn’t sure if Cat was referring to him – who was Simon, anyway? – but he didn’t even care anymore. Whoever Simon was, he wasn’t there, at that moment, and it wasn’t him the one Cat was rubbing himself so yearningly against. That was Dog, all Dog, and he couldn’t wait anymore.

Lifting himself up on his paws, he closed his mouth on Cat’s neck, biting at his nape and feeling him shiver and moan to the mixture of pain and pleasure that came both from his bite and the feeling of his erection digging its way into his own little body. Cat kept purring, the vibrations reverberating into Dog’s mouth, down his throat, deep into his stomach, prompting his hips to jerk forward faster and faster as he felt Cat tense all around him, sucking him into his body, squeezing him like a trap. And all the while Michael kept talking to him, to Cat, to them both, calling them his sweet boys, telling them how good they were and how happy he was they were finally getting along as he had always known they would, if they only gave themselves the chance.

Dog didn’t know if it was the soft sound of Michael’s voice or she sharp, whiny noises Cat kept letting out of his lips that triggered his orgasm. What he knew was that it felt good, that pleasure hit him hard when his climax mounted like a wave roaring as it waited to wash over Cat’s shore.

He came in a high-pitched yelp, pushing himself deep into Cat’s body, releasing his orgasm inside him in long, hot shots, so copious they leaked out of Cat’s stretched out opening, dripping slowly down his soft thighs.

Then, after the pleasure came weariness, and all Dog wanted was to lie down on top of Cat’s body and sleep, feeling his warmth and Michael’s so close to himself, wrapping him up in coziness like a wool blanket. He couldn’t, though, ‘cause his knot was still swollen, keeping him inside Cat, unable to move.

It was a bit painful, and he whined, nibbling at Cat’s ear in protest. He wasn’t Cat’s fault, of course, Dog knew that, but he didn’t know how else to express his discomfort.

“You’re an idiot,” Cat said, his voice low and satisfied, even a little tender, despite his harsh words, as he sprawled underneath Dog’s body, still purring, “Now it’s gonna be hours till you can come out of me.”

“What?” Dog whined, rubbing his face against Cat’s neck, “I hope it doesn’t last that long. I’m so sleepy. And I don’t wanna disturb Michael.”

But Michael was already sleeping, curled up in a ball next to them, his lips pursed in an happy smile, his bare chest moving up and down with every soft breath escaping his barely parted lips.

“I think he’s gonna be okay,” Cat answered, his eyes closing as he relaxed, getting used to Dog’s weight.

“And are we?” Dog asked him, tenderly licking at his ear after nibbling at it some more.

Cat didn’t answer, pretending he was already asleep, though he wasn’t yet. He smiled, though. Dog decided it would be enough of an answer for him, at least for that night.