Free The Winter Courtship Rituals of Fur-Bearing Critters by Amy Lane Page A

spring.
    Ben looked up as Crawford swung over the fence, and he set down the bag of salt and rolled the top shut. “Morning, Rance,” he said mildly, but there was some hope in his eyes.
    Crawford’s smile was pure and whole. No one in the whole world had called him “Rance” since his mother had passed about six years ago, and damned if he didn’t love the way Ben said his name.
    Ben’s own smile grew slack, and his mouth opened a little, and as they stood, just looking at each other, those pretty eyes grew round and excited.
    Something is going to happen.
    Crawford blushed. Well, it was sort of up to him now, wasn’t it? He pulled his gifts out of his pocket and put them into Ben’s hand. Ben opened his hand and held both choices from thumb and forefinger, regarding them with sort of a shocked awe.
    “You said you had a question?” Ben asked, his voice squeaking.
    Craw looked at his handiwork, still pleased. “You said your dick was going to freeze off,” he said matter-of-factly. “These will make sure it doesn’t.”
    Ben’s eyes practically crossed. “They look a little, uhm, narrow to fit.”
    Crawford’s smile widened. “I’m pleased to hear that. They’ll stretch.”
    Ben’s entire body was shaking with silent laughter as he looked at the unmistakably phallic tubes of wool, each of them complete with a contrasting color on the mushroom head and the scrot sac for the twins. One was teal and rust and one was purple and gray, but it didn’t make a difference. What mattered was where they would be worn and who would know they were there.
    “Uhm….” Ben closed his eyes and opened them again, but no, they hadn’t magically changed into a sweater or anything while his eyes were closed. “Rance.” His voice squeaked. “You, uhm, said you had a question for me?”
    Crawford nodded. His voice sobered, and his grin faded as he said, “Wear my work.”
    Ben’s entire body stilled. “Wh—” he started out, but there must have been something in his throat, because he coughed to clear it and then tried again. “Which one? When?”
    “Whichever one you want. Tonight. As many nights as you can stand me after that. We’re getting ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Stay the night. Help me and Ari cook. Stay that night. Be with me when my friends arrive. Just….” Crawford looked past him for a minute, to his little house, to his animals, and even beyond, down the swept hill into the little valley of Granby and up across the mountains and into that infinite sky. “Just know that if you want to sleep in your own bed, for a night, for permanent, that when I want you, I want you. Not just the guy down the road.”
    Ben’s eyes grew gentle. He put the cock cozies in the pocket of his parka and took a few steps in. “Is that what you’ve been worried about me thinking?” he asked seriously, and Crawford shrugged, digging his own hands even deeper into the pockets of his jeans.
    “We’re two gay men in a very small town,” he said by way of explanation. “You didn’t know that… that my whole world stopped when I first saw you smile.” He was seriously sweating now, and it wasn’t warm. He could actually see steam rising from under his collar. How completely embarrassing.
    Suddenly Ben’s face was in his vision, his green eyes kind. “What was it you said? Something about ‘just because you put a mating pair in a pen doesn’t mean one of them’s going ass-up for the other one’?”
    Crawford knew his eyes went big. “You remember that?” he squeaked. God. Who knew his voice could break that hard?
    Ben nodded, some of his smile coming back. He took a step, and another, until they were close, intimately close. “I don’t go ass-up for just anyone, Rance,” he said softly. “It’s got to be someone who’s kind, and thoughtful, and simple enough that only an idiot doesn’t know where he stands.” His mouth turned down, like maybe he was thinking he was the idiot, and then he kissed