Waterways (20 page)

“Does that mean we can drive to the Rainbow Center?”

“”’Fraid not. My dad still needs to go to work and my mom needs to run errands. I’m only allowed when they’re both home.”

Mrs. Rodens car, the older of the two, smelled strongly of fox, the different Rodens’ scents mingling in Kory’s nose as he slid into the passenger seat. He always remembered his first ride in the car, and his mother’s reaction to the scent of fox, whenever he smelled it strongly. By now, the flash of resentment towards her came and went easily, gone by the time Samaki turned the key in the ignition and the car sputtered to life.

Kory grinned, and Samaki’s tail thumped the seat. “I’ve only taken the car out once on my own. You’re my first passenger. So buckle up.”

“Don’t worry, I always do.” His mom had drilled that into his head.

“All right. Here we go.”

The car lurched only a little on its way out of the driveway. By the time they were on the streets, Samaki was driving smoothly, both paws on the wheel, only the flicking of his ears betraying any nervousness. “Where are we going?” Kory asked him.

“A little place down by the river,” Samaki said. “With the moon and all, it should be pretty tonight.”

“Where on the river? Is it near Tom’s Landing?”

“I don’t think so. It’s on the south side of the city.”

Kory settled back and watched the city go by as they drove. As he often did when visiting Samaki, he thought about how Hilltown was really five or six different cities. He only knew the one he’d grown up in. Samaki had grown up here, where the houses leaned up against each other, streets and sidewalks were narrower, and the scents mixed on air currents and jumbled together so that it was harder to tell where one property stopped and the next started. Samaki’s more sensitive nose had less trouble, able to pull nuances of scent out of the air that Kory couldn’t catch. But on the other paw, Kory thought, he still wasn’t as good a swimmer.

“What are you grinning at?” Samaki said, looking over.

“Nothing.” Kory grinned wider. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“I know how to drive,” Samaki said, flipping his tail over to rest on Kory’s leg. The otter smiled and stroked one paw along the soft, thick fur as Samaki navigated them along the dark streets of the city. The privacy of the car was unexpectedly secure, a small world in which the two of them might go anywhere without worrying about college or family or any of that. Even the ever-present worry about his mother poking her nose into his life receded to the point that he only noticed it by its absence. He looked out the window up at the stars, imagining that they could keep driving on past the river and out into the night.

“Is this area safe?” he asked as Samaki pulled into a dark parking lot. Behind them, the lights of the city cast long, faint glimmers into the darkness ahead. He waited for his eyes to adjust.

“I wouldn’t bring you here if it weren’t.” The fox turned the car off. In the silence, Kory could hear the water of the river lapping nearby.

“I’ll hold your paw even if it’s not dark, you know,” he said.

“I know.” Samaki leaned over in the car and kissed him, and when Kory turned his head they kissed for real.

Kissing was awkward between the fox’s longer muzzle and Kory’s short, stubby one, not to mention the differences in height. The only other person Kory had ever kissed—the real, tongue kiss that started at the mouth and ran all the way down the spine to the sheath—had been Jenny. Two like muzzles came together more easily than the fox and otter did, but kissing Jenny had been black and white, muted, awkward. Kissing Samaki was hot, riotous color and passion.

Kory turned his muzzle to the side and parted it, meeting the fox’s turned and parted muzzle over the middle of the seat. Their tongues brushed in the open space between the muzzles, teasing even though they couldn’t seal their mouths together. Kory closed his eyes, the musky maleness of the fox now familiar and exciting, the kiss a passionate reminder of their bond. Even without holding or groping each other as they kissed, he felt his sheath harden as if they were, responding to the light, loving brushes of the fox’s tongue along his muzzle and the cherished lines his own tongue covered in return. The kiss suspended them in a bubble of time, where outside the world slowed to a crawl while they said with licks and soft chirps what they rarely put into words.

“Mmm.” Samaki leaned his head back and grinned, the violet of his eyes nearly as black as the night. “Come on. I didn’t bring you here just to park.”

“Aw.” Kory grinned, getting out of the car as Samaki did and locking his door. The night did not seem nearly as intimidating now. “Why did you bring me here?”

He saw the white flash of the fox’s tail tip circle the front of the car. Samaki took his paw and led him toward the sound of lapping water. “To get away.”

They made their way down a short path to the riverbank, through a small copse of trees. The bank itself was grassy and clear, the river a dark plain beyond it that shimmered with movement in the thin moonlight. Ahead of them, a concrete arch spanned the water, and now that they were in the open air, Kory could hear the soft rumble of a car passing over it. Above the bridge, the quarter moon gleamed, dropping its reflections down onto the ripples of the water. “You come here a lot?” he asked, keeping his voice almost to a whisper.

Samaki shook his head. “Dad used to bring us down here for picnics in the daytime. Lots of families from our neighborhood did. I only snuck down here at night with a friend once, but I remembered how pretty and isolated it was.” He turned his head. “It’d be nicer with the full moon.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kory said. “The moon reminds me of the tip of your tail. It looks like there’s a fox in the sky.”

He took Samaki’s paw as the fox chuckled. “Not one in the river?”

“A whole host of foxes in the stream,” Kory said, pointing out the gleaming reflections in the ripples. “There, and there…”

“And where are the otters in the stream?”

Kory grinned. “Under the water.”

“Under the foxes?”

“Sure. Foxes can’t dive.”

Samaki laughed softly and kissed him again, and this time they wrapped their arms around each other as they did, pressed close, sheaths rubbing through the fabric of their clothing. Kory’s fur prickled with the nervous exhilaration of kissing outside, under the open air. He felt the swish of the fox’s tail, curling around , and wondered how far Samaki intended to go. They wouldn’t be able to do anything at his house tonight, so maybe he had brought Kory here to make love outdoors, in a more private place than his house.

But was it more private? There was the bridge; anyone walking across it might see a couple silhouettes kissing on the riverbank below. Someone might come across the parked car and wonder who was down by the river.

Samaki’s intentions became clearer as his paw slipped past the waistband of his pants, slender ringers brushing Kory’s sheath and then pressing against it, cupping and rubbing it. Passion dulled Kory’s worries; he moaned softly and slid his paw down over the fox’s rear.

Samaki’s tail curled up to brush his wrist, the fox’s paw still rubbing warmly. Kory shifted as Samaki’s other paw came around to undo his pants, breaking the kiss to press his muzzle into the fox’s shoulder. “Oh,” he moaned softly. Passion surged through him, forcing him to brace his knees. Samaki’s chuckle rang in his ears and the slender fingers tightened around him.

“Like that?”

“Mm-hmm.” Kory grinned, rubbing up against the warmth between the fox’s legs. In a moment, he thought, he’d have to reach down there himself, but not quite yet. He opened his eyes, looking down the river and sighing as the tingling between his legs rippled and glowed just like the water’s surface.

Then his ears snapped back and he lifted his head, staring at the woods. “What was that?”

“Just an animal,” Samaki said, but his paw hesitated. “Nobody ever comes down here. We’d have heard the car.”

Exhilaration fled Kory. He took a half-step back, acutely aware that he was standing out in plain sight with a fox’s paw down his pants. Samaki kept a grip on him, until Kory reached over to grasp his wrist. Slowly, he released the otter, his ears sliding downward as he watched Kory fasten his pants. “Sorry,” Kory said. “I just…” He looked up into Samaki’s dark eyes.

“It’s okay,” Samaki said. “I guess I should’ve warned you. Or maybe we could’ve done something in the trees instead of out here. I just like this spot. It’s always so quiet.”

“Some other time, maybe.” Kory looked up at the bridge again. “Sorry.”

“Hey. Don’t be sorry.” Samaki leaned forward and gathered Kory into a hug again, a chaste one this time. Kory slid his arms around the fox, feeling guilty for being so insecure, and at the same time relieved that they’d stopped. The magical and frightening quality of the night receded as if it had been borne away on the river, and he was just a guy out walking at night with a friend. Nobody coming upon them now or looking down from the bridge would notice anything out of the ordinary.

“So is there anything else down here?” he said, aware of how lame the words sounded but needing to break the silence and start a conversation.

“Not really.” Samaki followed Kory’s gaze up to the bridge. “I like being here under the bridge, though. It smells bad if we get too much closer, but there’s a nice place with a couple benches a little further up. I didn’t go there because that’s where people would be if they’d be here.”

His smile, in the moonlight, was a ghostly shadow on his black muzzle, his ears half-lowered as if apologizing. Guilt made Kory reach down and grasp the fox’s paw. “Lets walk up there, then.”

Samaki smiled, his tail swishing, and squeezed Kory’s paw as they set off under the moon. The sounds of the river accompanied them, burbling along quietly while Kory took in the wet, earthy smell of the riverbank, the wild, woody smell of the looming trees. The scent of fox was familiar and comforting, and the brush of Samaki’s tail against his, the paw closed warmly around his own, made him feel safe.

“This college thing is crazy,” he said abruptly, in a low voice so as not to disturb the silence too much.

“What do you mean?” Samaki responded equally quietly.

Kory sighed and squeezed the fox’s paw. “Everyone knows where they want to go, what they want to be. They’ve got lists and applications and application strategies and recommendations. Even you know where you’re going.”

Samaki didn’t respond immediately. “If you’re really set on State,” he said finally, “I won’t argue with you.”

Kory shot a quick glance up at the fox, whose eyes were set ahead of him, gleaming with moonlight. “Really?”

Now Samaki did turn to look at him, ears up, smiling. “Sure. I mean, you can make your own decisions, right? Nobody else knows what’s best for you.”

Warmth suffused him, flowing outward from his heart. He returned the smile. “You’re the only one who seems to understand that. Thanks.”

“That’s part of my job now.” The fox rested a paw on his shoulder. Though I admit to being swayed by the thought of seeing you more than just a couple times a month. Maybe we could room together.”

“Maybe.” The thought sent a giddy flash of joy to Kory’s stomach, then a lurch as he imagined what the other people at school would think. Samaki wasn’t exactly shy about their relationship, and he’d resent any attempt Kory would make to hide it. The otter shook his head and pushed those thoughts away. Certainly, he would much rather be near Samaki than not. They could handle the details in time. “I mean, yeah. Of course we would.”

They walked on until they came to the benches, and it was there, sitting by the river with his shoulder against Samaki’s chest, that Kory felt the knot inside him loosen. He didn’t have to make a decision yet, after all; perhaps Whitford and all the other schools would reject him, and then he would have to go to State. In the moonlight, with the water lapping the shore by his feet, the rest of the world didn’t matter; it was remote and insignificant compared to this reality, that he was here with Samaki
(his boyfriend)
, who believed in him. He leaned his head against Samaki’s shoulder, breathed in the scent of fox as well as the river and trees, and reminded himself that here were the important things.

He didn’t say anything, but Samaki turned to look at him, and then it felt right to lift his head and kiss the fox’s muzzle. Samaki hesitated at first, then pressed forward, resting one paw on Kory’s leg, but going no further than that. And that was a nice place to stay for a few minutes, muzzles together, tongues touching, the slight chill in the air offset by the warmth between them.

“We shouldn’t sit here too long,” Samaki said when they broke from the kiss. “We need to walk back and get home soon.”

Kory swung his tail behind the bench. “Just a little longer,” he said. “It’s nice and peaceful here.”

The fox swung his tail back, curling it around Kory’s hips. “All right, then.” He paused. “I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“What’s that?” Kory turned to smile, but Samaki wasn’t looking at him. The fox fidgeted.

“My school does a dance in the spring. Like a prom. They were asking for volunteers to help work on it this week.”

The otter grinned. “You want me to help work on your dance?”

Samaki shook his head. “I… want you to be my date for the dance.”

Kory didn’t process the words right away. In the space that followed, he focused on the river and how calm it sounded. When Samaki said his name, gently, he said, “Is that allowed?”

“I don’t see why not. Nothing says that I have to bring a girl.”

“Has anyone else done it?”

“Does that matter?”

“I guess not.” But it did, even though Kory knew it shouldn’t. “So it’d be like a protest?”

“No.” Samaki’s tail slid away from the otter’s hips. “I just want to go to the dance, and I want to bring you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Kory said. As strange as he’d felt when Samaki asked him, he felt worse seeing the fox’s ears down. “I didn’t say no. It’s just strange. Maybe it’s too soon.”

To his relief, Samaki’s ears came up, slowly. “It’s a long way away,” he said.