"René"
He was lounging poolside. Ren’s back arched slightly, tail twitching with slow, idle rhythm. The sun sliced through storm clouds in slats of red and gold, everything too vivid. His fur, that impossibly tight swim brief, the cocktail sweating beside him.

Clay’s throat was dry.

He hadn’t meant to look. Not really. Not like this. His eyes had found Ren like they always did.

The fox had filled out since they last saw eachother. Three Julys and a week ago. Broad in the hips, soft along the belly. Green top tight enough to hint at what jiggled when he laughed too hard. He looked so damn comfortable, so unaffected, fingers wrapped around his drink like he owned the whole fucking sunset.

The heat slipped down Clay’s chest, into his stomach, low and aching and it dropped lower still.. He tried to shove it back, tried to lock it deep in the part of his brain haunted old ghosts and shames: the intrusive thoughts, church memories where innocent hearts were lashed by promised of hellfire, the locker room silence after his eyes lingered far too long..

But it didn’t go away. It never did. Not when it was Ren.

He wondered what it would feel like. If he could just press a hand to that curve of Ren’s back. Contact. To feel the heat of him. To feel softness yield beneath callused fingers. To not flinch.
He imagined the line where Ren’s top dug into his side, pulling it up an agonizing inch. Enough to see the stretch of fur where belly met hip. He imagined kissing there. Letting Ren laugh, tease him,, then go quiet when Clay didn’t stop.

Jesus, he thought, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Get a grip.

He wasn’t…he didn’t…he couldn’t.. That word still felt too sharp in his mouth, too foreign. A shirt that never fit no matter how many times he tried it on in private.
But Ren made him feel... not safe, exactly. Clay didn’t think he’d ever felt safe a day in his life. But Ren made it feel possible. Like if he stepped forward, Ren might open it instead of slamming it shut.

Ren turned then, just slightly, glancing back. Eyes met eyes. Caught.

And Ren smiled.

Clay’s stomach flipped. He looked away fast, pretending to adjust his sunglasses, his shorts, anything. He wasn’t sure if it scared him more that he wanted it... or that some part of him had always, always wanted it.