Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Through the Hallways

ONE - I Don't Like Mondays

Monday mornings at Spoonerville High were slow-moving, like the whole building was still rubbing sleep out of its eyes. The first bell was ten minutes off, and the seniors who’d bothered to show up early hung in little knots by their lockers, trading weekend stories in voices still thick with yawns.

Max Goof was at his locker, twisting the latch that always stuck, while P.J. Pete leaned against the one next to him, his backpack hanging half-open. Down at floor level, Bobby Zimuruski sat cross-legged with a Styrofoam cup of vending machine coffee, gesturing wildly with his free hand.

“Dude, I’m tellin’ ya, that was the single most righteous nat twenty I have ever seen,” Bobby said, dragging out the words like he was trying to savor them. “Like… the dice hit the table, bounced twice, spun, and just—boom—critical hit, baby. The goblin didn’t even know what plane of existence he was on.”

P.J. grinned. “I wasn’t even supposed to be able to make that shot. The DM said it was, like, impossible without disadvantage.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you didn’t hear the way Chad groaned, man,” Bobby said, clutching his chest. “It was like his soul left his body. Like—ugh—tragic opera.”

Max smirked, finally getting the locker open with a loud clack. “You two realize you’re talking about killing a make-believe goblin like it was a war crime, right?”

“Hey, bro, you weren’t there,” Bobby shot back. “This wasn’t just any goblin. This was the goblin. Like, Big Bad Evil Guy’s right-hand goblin. Took us three freakin’ sessions just to get into the same room as him.” He slurped his coffee and added, “And P.J. here, with the blessed dice of destiny, just one-shots him like a boss.”

“It was a longbow, not a boss fight,” P.J. said, but he was still grinning.

Max shook his head. “I’m just saying, maybe this is why you two aren’t exactly in danger of winning Homecoming King.”

“Pfft, like I’d even want that crown, man,” Bobby said, leaning back against the lockers. “Too heavy is the head that wears the cheap plastic.”

They laughed, their voices mixing with the distant sound of lockers slamming and the faint smell of cinnamon rolls drifting from the cafeteria. Just another Monday in Spoonerville—same friends, same inside jokes, same slow crawl toward graduation.

At least, it was… for now.

P.J. was still chuckling over Bobby’s “blessed dice of destiny” when he glanced down the hall toward the senior bulletin board. “Y’know,” he said, “they put up the prom info over the weekend. Same hotel as last year. Guess they’re goin’ with the ‘Under the Stars’ theme again.”

Bobby groaned theatrically. “Bro, ‘Under the Stars’? What is this, the third time in four years? Somebody tell the committee to get a fresh playlist and a new thesaurus.”

Max shrugged, swapping textbooks. “It’s not ‘til June. Still way too early to be stressing about it.”

“Too early?” P.J. raised an eyebrow. “Dude, you know people have already bought their tickets, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Max said, slamming his locker shut. “Not like you two have dates anyhow.”

Bobby straightened up, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Uh… correction, Maxie-boy. I do have a date. Stacey, bruh.”

Max blinked. “…Seriously?”

P.J. lifted a hand. “I’ve got a date too.”

Max turned to him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Kim from art class. We’ve been talking after school, she asked me if I was going, and… here we are.”

Max stared between them, a mix of disbelief and sudden, unwanted pressure tightening in his chest. “Great. Guess I’m the only one flying solo.”

Bobby grinned like a cat who’d just swiped a steak. “Don’t worry, bro. There’s still plenty of time to find your prom queen. Just gotta keep those eyes peeled. Could be anyone.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was no shaking the thought now. The hallway noise faded in and out as they moved on to another tangent, but in the back of his mind, the clock to June felt like it had just started ticking.

Max was halfway through spinning his combination lock shut when something in the air shifted. It was subtle at first — the kind of pause you only noticed after it happened — but the hallway chatter thinned, heads turned, and a few people whispered behind hands.

She had just walked in.

The boots hit the linoleum with a heavy, deliberate rhythm — black, chunky, and scuffed in a way that looked intentional. A navy pleated skirt swayed with each step, hem brushing the tops of white thigh-high socks. The red hoodie hung loose, the hood down to show soft blue-and-white fur and long ears, one flopped lazily forward. A thin leather collar peeked at her neckline, catching a bit of light every time she moved.

She didn’t look like anyone from Spoonerville High. Not the pastel-preppy girls with their blowouts and matching tote bags. She was something else entirely — city edges in a small-town hallway. She kept her chin up, gaze steady, like she’d walked into stranger places before and learned to own the space.

P.J. followed her with his eyes, squinting. “Wait a second,” he said, voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. “I know who that is. That’s Buster. Met this kid from Acme High at a chess meet back in February, the same year as us. He said she’s, uh… y’know… a tranny. Like, full-on chick with a—”

Bobby broke into a laugh before P.J. could finish, almost spilling his coffee. “No way, bro. For real?!” He made an exaggerated gagging sound, slumping against the lockers. “Oh, man… welcome to Spoonerville.”

Max didn’t join in. He barely even heard them. His eyes stayed fixed on her — the way her boots made every step sound like a choice, the little smirk tugging at her mouth like she was in on a joke no one else got.

She passed by without a glance, and the hallway slowly filled with noise again.

P.J. was still muttering something about “guess that’s what passes for new blood around here,” and Bobby kept fake-coughing between chuckles.

Max just turned back to his locker, but whatever book he’d meant to grab didn’t matter anymore.

The shrill clang of the bell cut through the hallway noise, and the usual shuffle began — books slammed shut, lockers clanged, and the crowd started breaking into separate streams toward first period.

P.J. hit Max with a quick fist bump. “Catch you at lunch, man,” he said, still shaking his head. “Seriously though, what kind of school sends that here?”

Bobby stood, groaning as he stretched. “Later, dudes. Try not to let the freak show throw off your groove.” He gave Max a lazy salute before sauntering toward the stairs.

P.J. was still muttering under his breath as they split up — something about “blue fur and a skirt, what a joke.”

Max just slung his bag over his shoulder and started toward class. His mind wasn’t on P.J. or Bobby anymore.

That girl — Buster, P.J. had said — she’d looked… confident. Not in the fake way some kids strutted down the hallway, but in the kind that came from knowing exactly who you were, even if everyone else was staring. If she were from Acme High, she must have just transferred. That couldn’t be easy — moving schools with graduation only a couple of months away. And on top of that, being transgender? In Spoonerville? Where there were more Christian fundamentalists than firemen?

Max felt a pang of guilt at the way his friends had talked about her. He didn’t know her, but… she didn’t look like she needed pity. She’d walked through that hallway like she belonged there, and no one could tell her otherwise.

With those thoughts lingering, Max pushed into his first class, the door swinging shut behind him.

First was math.

What a way to start the day.

Max slid into his usual seat near the back, backpack hanging off one shoulder. Mr. Jenkins, the teacher, was already scribbling an equation across the board, muttering something about factoring quadratics. Max opened his notebook, copied the first few examples, and tried to pay attention. The lesson dragged on with the usual mix of explanations, examples, and groans from kids who would rather be anywhere else. Max followed along well enough, occasionally tapping his pencil against the desk to keep himself awake.

Next was English, where Ms. Whitmore was discussing symbolism in The Great Gatsby. Max tried to focus, jotting down notes and underlining key points. Pencils scraped, pages flipped, and the occasional cough echoed through the classroom. He kept his attention on the lesson, though once or twice he glanced out the window, thinking about lunch and how long the line at the cafeteria might be.

When the bell rang, Max grabbed his backpack and made his way to the cafeteria. Bobby and P.J. were already at their usual table, trading commentary over their lunches.

Bobby’s tray was a disaster of sugar and grease: a towering slice of chocolate cake, a mountain of candy bars, and a soda bottle precariously balanced next to a small pile of nachos. “Check it out, bro,” he said, grinning. “It’s an edible apocalypse.”

P.J., in contrast, had a carefully arranged tray with a lean turkey sandwich, carrot sticks, and a small salad. “Gotta stick to the plan,” he muttered, stabbing at the lettuce. “No cheating today, or it all goes downhill.”

Max finally looked at his own lunch and groaned. Potato salad. With raisins. His dad’s idea of a “special treat.” He poked at a raisin with his fork, sighing. “Oh, come on…” He took a reluctant bite and grimaced. Day officially ruined.

Bobby snorted. “Duuuude, what even is that?”

“It’s potato salad… with raisins,” Max said, waving a hand. “My dad made it. I hate my life.”

P.J. gave him a small, sympathetic nod. “Yeah… that’s rough.”

He set the tray aside and leaned back, letting the chaos of Bobby’s sugar-fueled commentary wash over him. For the moment, it was just another lunch with his friends, full of noise and teasing and minor disasters — and not a bad place to be.

Max was halfway through poking at a raisin in his potato salad when he noticed a shift in the room’s energy.

Buster.

She walked in like she owned a small bubble of space around her, boots thudding against the floor. Heads turned, whispers rippled, but she didn’t flinch. She moved to a corner table along the far wall, setting her tray down with a quiet confidence and sitting alone.

Max watched her for a moment. Clearly, she hadn’t made any friends yet. No one was near her; the other students were too wrapped up in their own groups to approach someone new. Too biased. Too simple-minded.

P.J. spotted her immediately. “Oh… it's him,” he muttered, voice loud enough for Max and Bobby to hear.

Bobby snorted, nearly spilling his soda. “Oh man, I wonder if he got choppy-choppy or still has his dick?” he gagged dramatically, leaning back against the table.

Max froze for a moment, spoon halfway to his mouth. His stomach tightened. He glanced at the corner where she sat alone, eating a sandwich. Something about the way she carried herself told him she didn’t need pity, but hearing his friends talk like that made his stomach twist anyway.

Without a word, Max grabbed his tray, pushed his chair back, and started walking toward her.

“Wait, where’re you going?” P.J. called after him.

“To say hello,” Max said, voice calm but firm.

The two of them watched silently as he crossed the cafeteria, weaving past tables, ignoring the whispers and sideways glances from curious students. He stopped at her table, leaning slightly forward.

“Hey,” he said. “Mind if I sit?”

She looked up at him, expression neutral for a heartbeat, then nodded toward the empty seat across from her. “Sure.”

Max set his tray down, sat, and offered a small smile. No jokes, no commentary — just a simple acknowledgment that maybe, for the first time today, the corner of the cafeteria felt a little less lonely.

Max picked at his potato salad reluctantly, glancing up every so often to gauge her reaction. She sat with her bag tucked neatly beside her, boots planted firmly on the floor, posture straight but relaxed. For a moment, neither of them spoke, letting the cafeteria noise swirl around them.

Finally, Max cleared his throat. “So… uh, I’m Max. Max Goof.”

She looked up at him, ears twitching slightly. A small, polite smile formed. “Buster. Buster Bunny,” she said. Her voice was calm, even, with a faint edge of humor tucked in. “And… this is the part where you ask me if I am new here.”

Max blinked, then shook his head. “No, I mean… yeah, I do. I just… haven’t seen you around before.” He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to sound awkward. “You just transferred?”

“Yeah,” Buster said, shrugging. “From Acme High. Just moved here… a couple of weeks ago.” She tilted her head, studying him briefly. “I see you left your buddies back there.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, Bobby, P.J.” He made a vague gesture toward the table behind him. “Though they can be, uh… loud.”

She let out a quiet chuckle, the kind that sounded like it came from genuine amusement rather than politeness. “Yeah, I could tell.”

A pause lingered. Max hesitated, then asked, “So… do you like it here so far?”

Buster considered the question for a moment, tracing the edge of her tray with a gloved fingertip. “It’s… different,” she said finally. “But that’s not necessarily bad. I just… haven’t really made anyone I’d call a friend yet.”

Max smiled gently. “Well… maybe that can change.” He nodded toward her corner table. “I mean… it’s a start, right?”

Her ears flicked, and she returned his smile, faint but genuine. “Yeah. A start sounds good.”

For a moment, the cafeteria’s noise faded to background static. Two new acquaintances, just finding a footing, both aware of how awkward high school could be — but at least for this small corner of the room, they had each other.

Buster stirred her fork absentmindedly in a leafy salad she hadn’t touched when she finally looked up at Max, a sly little smile tugging at her lips. “So… are you going to ask me?”

Max blinked. “Ask me? Ask you what?”

Buster let out a soft, melodic chuckle. “You really never talked to a trans girl before, have you?” She leaned back slightly, still smirking. “Usually it’s like, ‘Oh, are you pre-op or post-op?’ ‘How big is your dick?’ ‘Do you have an OnlyFans?’ You know, chaser stuff.”

Max furrowed his brow, utterly unfamiliar with the term. “Am I supposed to ask that stuff? I don’t… I don’t know what a chaser is.”

Buster fought to keep herself from laughing, her ears flicking in amusement. “Oh, poor, sweet boy. You’re so adorable.”

Max felt heat creeping up his neck. “I—uh…”

Buster leaned in just a little, lowering her voice playfully. “A chaser is someone who goes after trans girls to fulfill a fantasy. No connection. Just lust. They saw a girl with a dick in a porn and now want to…” She made finger quotes, “experiment.”

Max nearly choked on a bite of his potato salad. “No, no, nothing like that, I swear!” He waved his fork in protest, eyes wide, cheeks red.

Buster laughed softly, shaking her head. “Relax, Max. I can tell. You're a bit too... innocent for that.”

Max exhaled shakily, feeling both mortified and relieved. Somehow, in the chaos of the cafeteria and the bigoted antics of Bobby and P.J., he’d managed to stumble into… a real conversation. One that was awkward and honest and, somehow, entirely worth it.

The cafeteria noise faded into background static as Max and Buster settled into a comfortable rhythm. Conversation flowed more easily now, no awkward introductions to trip over.

“So, you skateboard?” Buster asked, nodding toward the board stuffed in Max's backpack.

“Yeah,” Max said, grinning. “Mostly around town, some tricks at the park. And video games. I’m a huge nerd when it comes to that stuff.”

“Nice,” Buster said, ears flicking up with interest. “I’ve been getting into music lately, and movies — like, old classics, weird indie stuff. I could spend hours just digging through soundtracks.”

Max laughed. “Soundtracks? You mean like, actually listening to them on purpose?”

“Of course!” she said, mock indignation in her tone. “What’s the point of a great movie if you don’t appreciate the music too?”

They talked like that for a while, sharing favorite games, movies, bands, and funny moments from school. Max told her about a recent skateboard wipeout that had left him with a bruised ego and a scraped knee. Buster laughed, the sound melodic and unselfconscious, then shared a story about accidentally singing the wrong lyrics in a school choir performance, complete with dramatic reenactment. Max laughed so hard he almost forgot his potato salad entirely.

Time flew. Too fast. Too soon.

The bell rang sharply, cutting through their corner of the cafeteria and dragging Max back to reality. He glanced over his shoulder and saw P.J. standing at the doorway, arms crossed, waiting for him. Gym class.

Max stood, a little reluctantly. “Well… it was nice meeting you, Buster. See you around?”

Buster’s ears twitched, and she smiled warmly. “Sure. I would like that.”

Max turned to leave, backpack slipping onto his shoulder, but stopped midway. He took a deep breath, cheeks heating up. “Hey… uh, if you want, we can, like… maybe, just wondering… if you wanted to walk home together after school?”

Buster’s smile widened, calm and encouraging. “Sure. We’ll meet at the front entrance after last class. Sounds good?”

Max felt his stomach flip. “Yeah… yeah, sounds… awesome.”

He finally turned away, exhaling slowly, and jogged toward P.J., who was already giving him a quizzical look. Max pulled his backpack strap tighter to his shoulder and fell in step beside him, still grinning despite himself, knowing that lunch had gone by way too fast — but in the best possible way.

At least until P.J. opened his big, fat mouth.

“So… how was your lunch date with him?” P.J. asked, elbowing Max.

Max froze mid-step, jaw tightening. “Her. Her. And dude, why are you being so dumb about this? She’s a person, like you or me.”

P.J. scoffed, tossing his hands in mock exasperation. “He, she, whatever, is nothing like us, bro. Dressing up as a girl doesn’t make you one. You’re telling me I’m supposed to just—what—call some dude a girl now? C’mon, Max.”

Max stopped, turning to face him fully. “No, you’re not ‘supposed’ to anything. But the right thing is to treat people like who they say they are. You wouldn’t want someone making jokes about you or calling you the wrong thing, right?”

P.J. rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m not comparing myself to a freak. This is different. That’s not normal. It’s… weird, man.”

Max’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched. “Weird? You know what’s weird, P.J.? Thinking it’s okay to dehumanize someone just because they don’t fit into your tiny little box. Buster’s a person. She’s smart, funny, and confident. And yeah, she’s trans. So what? You gonna tell me that means she deserves to be treated like a joke?”

P.J. shrugged, smirking like he had the moral high ground. “Whatever, bro. Call me old-fashioned. But I still think you’re letting yourself get too close to… gay stuff. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but—”

“That’s it.” Max’s voice dropped low, sharp, and dangerous. Before P.J. could finish, Max grabbed him by the collar, spinning him around and slamming him up against the nearest locker. Metal clanged beneath P.J.’s back, and students nearby stepped back, eyes wide.

“Don’t you ever talk about people like that again,” Max hissed, his hands gripping P.J.’s hoodie tight. “Not her. Not anyone. You don’t get to reduce someone to a joke or a fantasy. Got it?”

P.J. struggled for a second, startled and winded, then finally sagged against the locker. Max released him, breathing hard, staring him down.

“Got it?” Max repeated.

P.J. nodded, voice small. “Yeah… yeah, fine. Chill.”

Max shoved his backpack back over his shoulders, turning sharply and walking ahead, leaving a still-stunned P.J. against the locker. Gym class awaited, but Max’s blood was still boiling. He didn’t care who saw. Some things weren’t worth staying quiet about.

The rest of Max’s day blurred into a haze of noise, sweat, and barely-contained irritation.

In gym class, dodgeball became more than just a game. Every throw, every duck, every calculated aim at a careless opponent was fueled by the anger still simmering from his confrontation with P.J. Max moved like a whirlwind across the gym, dodging and weaving, then hurling balls with pinpoint accuracy. His classmates barely had time to blink before they were hit, and even his teammates stared, half in awe, half in fear. By the time the whistle blew, Max’s chest heaved, and his eyes were still bright with adrenaline. He didn’t feel guilty. Sometimes you needed a release.

Home Economics came next. Max had to make a pie, but his thoughts kept drifting, over and over, to Buster. He measured sugar incorrectly, forgot to set the oven timer, and nearly set off a small smoke alarm when he leaned too close to the stove. Ms. Cartwright shot him a pointed look. “Max! Focus, please!”

“I… I’m trying!” he muttered, panic rising as the crust threatened to blacken. Somehow, he managed to pull it back from the brink of culinary disaster, but his mind was still spinning, thinking of her quiet smile in the cafeteria, the way she had listened, laughed, and been… different.

Finally, mercifully, the last bell rang. Max exhaled so hard it was almost audible, tossing his backpack over one shoulder without stopping at his locker. He didn’t want to see P.J. or Bobby right now. He just wanted Buster.

Stepping outside the front doors, he spotted her immediately. She was sitting on the railing by the school steps, booted feet kicking lightly, a playful smile on her face. “Thought you might have got scared off,” she said with a soft chuckle as she hopped down.

Max shook his head, letting a grin tug at his own lips. “Nah. Honestly? Couldn’t wait for the day to end…”

He realized too late that his voice had dropped slightly, his black fur warming with an unfamiliar blush. Buster’s ears twitched, and she giggled softly. “To get out of class, right?”

Max stumbled over his words, cheeks darkening, but she only rolled her eyes gently. They started walking side by side down the sidewalk.

“Yeah… out of class,” Max mumbled.

Max fell into step beside Buster, keeping a careful distance, letting the rhythm of her stride set the pace. The spring air smelled faintly of cut grass and exhaust, a typical Spoonerville afternoon, and the chatter of kids heading home drifted behind them like a soft soundtrack.

“So… where about do you live?” Max asked, glancing to the side without meeting her eyes.

Buster shook her head. “Not too far actually, a few blocks west, on Maple Drive.” Her voice was calm, almost guarded, like she was testing him with each word. “You always lived in Spoonerville?”

Max hesitated. "Wait, Maple Drive? Word, I live on Oak Street. Like, one street over.” He smiled. “And nah, I moved here when I was about eleven, with my dad. But, I guess Spoonerville is what I would call my hometown. My formative years and all that.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Something to put in your memoirs, huh?” she said after a moment, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Where I grew up, it was not much bigger than this, but it felt… different. Less predictable. People aren’t as wrapped up in what everyone else thinks.”

Max grinned, imagining it. “Yeah, Spoonerville’s… small. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Sometimes it’s comforting. Sometimes it’s… not.” His ears flicked back. “I mean, P.J. and Bobby are… loud. Obnoxious. But friends, y’know?”

“Loud can be fun,” Buster said softly, “if they’re not jerks about it.” Her tone softened further, a little wistful, like she’d had her share of the latter.

They walked on for a few silent steps, the kind of pause that feels full rather than empty. Max watched her carefully, noticing the way her boots thudded against the pavement, the faint flick of her ears as she listened to the world around her.

“Hey,” Max said finally, “I like your boots.”

Buster glanced down at them and smiled. “Thanks. Custom-made, Etsy. I’ve… always liked that scene-kid style, even before, you know… deciding to transition.”

Max swallowed, letting the compliment linger unspoken. “I… uh… I don’t know much about… about trans people. I don’t really know where to start.”

Buster’s ears twitched, curiosity lighting her eyes. “Then ask me. What do you want to know?”

Max chewed on the inside of his cheek, nerves making his paws fidget. “When… when did you know?”

Her eyes softened, thoughtful. “A couple years ago. I realized I never felt like a boy. It wasn’t a light bulb moment — more like… noticing the world never really fit me. I stopped pretending, slowly.”

Max nodded, trying to absorb the weight of that. “And… how does it work? Like… the transition?” His voice was careful, respectful, but there was obvious hesitation there.

Buster let out a small laugh, light but not dismissive. “Well, I just started HRT a few months ago, so I’m basically a science experiment.” She lifted a paw to her chest, a little dramatic. “Hormones change your body, your voice, even… well, your chest.” She shot him a teasing glance. “I’ve already started developing tits.”

Max froze mid-step, ears burning, black fur flushed bright with a blush that spread from his cheeks to his neck. “Oh! Uh… wow. Uh… that’s… cool. Yeah. Science!”

Buster giggled softly at his reaction, a laugh that didn’t mock but filled the space with warmth. It’s a journey. Takes time, patience… and a little chaos.”

Max exhaled shakily, both embarrassed and impressed. “You… you’re brave. That’s… wow. Seriously. I mean, being yourself when everything else pushes back… I don’t know if I could do that.”

Her ears flicked, touched but subtle. “Thanks, Max. That’s… that’s really nice to hear. Not everyone gets it right away. Some people just… don’t try.”

They walked the last few blocks in a comfortable silence, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows along the quiet streets of Spoonerville. Max found himself glancing at Buster occasionally, taking in the slight bounce of her step, the way her hoodie hung over her skirt, and the faint confidence she carried even in the simplest gestures.

Finally, she stopped in front of a modest two-story house, pale blue with white trim. She turned to him, “Well… this is me,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks for walking me home, Max. I really… appreciate it.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and a small scrap of paper, holding it out toward him. “Here… my Facebook. Add me when you get home? We can chat on Messenger later if you want.”

Max’s ears twitched nervously as he took the paper. “Y-yeah… sure.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the quiet of the street stretching between them. The sun slanted across the lawn, catching her fur and making it shine faintly. Max’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want this moment to end.

Then, without warning, Buster stepped closer and hugged him. Max froze, caught completely off guard, unsure what to do. His arms hovered, then slowly moved around her back, hugging her back carefully. She smelled faintly of her perfume, something sweet and calming, and it made his chest tighten in a strange, dizzying way.

They stood like that for a beat, maybe too long, until Buster chuckled softly. “You can let go of me now.”

Max blinked, cheeks burning, and stepped back. “S-sorry… talk at you later.”

Buster’s smile was gentle, teasing even. “You sure will.”

She turned, hopping up the short concrete stairs to her front door. Her hips swayed slightly with a confident rhythm, her little rabbit tail twitching through the small hole in the back of her skirt. She paused at the door, glanced back at him, and bit her lip just a little before disappearing inside.

Max stood on the sidewalk, hand still gripping the paper in his paw. He finally exhaled, a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, feeling lighter and… oddly exhilarated all at once.

Chapter Text

TWO - Behind the Clock

Max lay sprawled across his bed, shirtless, phone glowing against the dark of his room. Goofy’s TV downstairs murmured softly, but Max wasn’t paying attention to any of that. Dinner had been mercifully quiet—Goofy’s attempt at shepherd’s pie had been surprisingly edible—but now all that mattered was the conversation lighting up his screen.

Buster: omg u gotta see this meme
Max: ok hit me

A picture popped up of a dog sitting at a desk, staring blankly at a textbook, captioned: “When you realize mid-class that you forgot to do literally everything assigned last night.”

Max snorted, nearly dropping his phone as he typed: me. every. time.

Buster: hahah omg same. math homework was evil. like, actual evil.
Max: i know right?? i stared at the problem for 20 min and still got nothing. my brain betrayed me
Buster: ur brain is fine. u just need better snacks while doing hw. study snacks = essential
Max: lol. noted. i have like… gummy worms and leftover pizza. does that count?
Buster: 100% counts. pizza > sanity

They traded jokes, memes, and little observations about school for almost an hour. Max laughed harder than he had all day, feeling light in a way he hadn’t realized he’d needed. Buster sent screenshots of her playlist: upbeat indie-pop, video game soundtracks, and a few cheesy pop hits she swore were “secret guilty pleasures.”

Max: wow. the boy-band one? fire. don’t @ me
Buster: i respect ur taste. secretly cultured, huh?
Max: cultured chaos. best combo

As they typed back and forth, Max realized he’d never met anyone he could joke around with this easily. No weird pressure, no trying to impress anyone, no worrying about how he came across. Just laughter, honesty, and… connection.

Max: u r so easy to talk to… like… wow
Buster: haha, thanks. u too. didn’t think i’d meet someone who actually laughs at my dumb jokes
Max: ur jokes are not dumb. it’s like… u get me. i don’t have to explain why i’m lame
Buster: officially, best lames ever
Max: officially. love it

The hours ticked by as they swapped memes, teasing, and little confessions about school life. Max didn’t notice the time passing. He didn’t think about homework, or chores, or even his dad upstairs. He only thought about Buster’s messages, her laughter through the text, and how naturally the conversation flowed.

For the first time in a long while, Max felt like someone really saw him. Not the awkward kid in class, not the son of Goofy who was always “just a little off,” but him. Just Max. And somehow, that felt… incredible.

Soon, it was past 1 am.

Normally, he’d be trying to get some sleep, maybe scrolling through a few memes or doing as anyone his age would be doing: jerking off. But tonight, all he could think about was the messages lighting up his screen, the effortless way Buster had drawn him into conversation.

Then the next one appeared, and Max froze mid-scroll.

Buster: ughhh i hate these hormone injections sometimes

Max stared at it for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Why?” he typed, almost unconsciously, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Buster: they make my libido… go through the roof. like, every little thing is distracting and ughhh… squirmy

Max blinked. He froze in disbelief. His chest tightened, ears flicking back nervously. She was… so open. So raw. Max had never talked to anyone this frank about anything, let alone something so personal. His mind raced: How do I respond? Do I say something? Am I supposed to say something? His paw hovered over the keyboard, typed a reply, deleted it. Typed again, deleted it. He stared at the phone like it might burn him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled shakily and typed, carefully weighing each word:

Max: just curious… do u… still have… y’know, downstairs?

Almost immediately, the reply came, and Max could feel his heartbeat trip over itself:

Buster: 😅😅😅😅 omg r u thinking i’m some victorian character home or something? downstairs?

Max groaned and buried his face in his pillow, wishing he could disappear into it. The glow of the phone felt almost too bright against his flushed cheeks. He could feel himself fidgeting, claws scratching at the comforter, ears twitching uncontrollably. And then another message appeared, breaking the tension like a wave:

Buster: yeah… i still got a dick

Max froze, mouth slightly open, paws clutching the phone like it was a grenade. His fur flared hot across his ears, cheeks, and neck. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, every nerve buzzing with a mixture of shock, curiosity, and a wild, uncontainable awareness of how close this all suddenly felt. He bit his lip so hard he thought he might draw blood, trying to focus, trying to be calm, but failing spectacularly.

All he could manage was a single, stammering reply:

Max: cool

He stared at the screen, unable to look away. The word felt laughably inadequate, a pale shadow of all the thoughts and sensations swirling inside him. His stomach twisted, a heat blooming deep in his chest, and yet… beneath the embarrassment, there was a strange thrill. He didn’t feel ashamed. He didn’t feel weird. Not really. It wasn’t about judgment or confusion. It was about trust, about being allowed in to this tiny sliver of her life, and realizing she’d never blinked at his curiosity.

Max lay back on the bed, gripping the phone a little tighter. He couldn’t stop thinking about the honesty of her words, about the confidence it took to be that open, and about how naturally he’d fallen into wanting to be part of her world—even just a tiny part. His chest ached with a confusing mixture of awe, nerves, and something new that made his stomach twist deliciously.

Then came another message.

Buster: u wanna see it?

Max’s heart stuttered. He could feel his cheeks burning up, his paws clamming up. This was it—the moment he’d never seen coming. The question that made his throat tight and his mind race with images of what he might see next. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within.

His reply was short. One typed word: sure.

The anticipation was thick, his heart racing. He waited, phone clutched in his paw, the glow of the screen casting a soft blue light across his room. His bedroom felt smaller, the air denser.

Then it came. A notification.

Max's heart stopped. He swiped his thumb across the screen, his eyes widening as the image loaded. It was Buster, leaning back on her bed, a cheeky smile on her lips. She wore a pair of pink panties that looked like they were painted on, the fabric stretched over the obvious bulge between her legs. It was a picture that was both intimate and playful, a declaration of trust that she'd sent to him. Max felt his cheeks burn, his throat dry, his ears twitching with a mix of shock and something else—something that was definitely not shock.

Buster: so what u think?
Max: it’s... it’s cool. really cool.
Buster: cool? cmon my guy give me something a bit more here ur killing me!

Max’s eyes darted around the room, his heart racing. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what they were doing. But it was thrilling—exhilarating, even. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. He quickly typed and hit send.

Max: okay so it's like really hot. and now im horny.

Max nearly tossed his phone away in a panic. Did he just really tell her he was horny? Stupid.

Then Buster started typing.

Max watched the bubbles appear on his screen, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He could almost feel the anticipation of her response, his mind racing with what she might say. The moment stretched out, a taut string holding him in suspense.

Buster: u gonna show me yours?

Max’s paws trembled, his breath shallow. The question hung in the digital air, a silent dare that thrummed with electricity. He’d never sent anything like this before. But something about Buster made it feel like the most natural thing in the world. Like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to be a little wild.

Max: the whole thing or...???
Buster: surprise me 😉

"Fuck," Max muttered to himself. He glanced around his room, the messiness of it seemingly amplified by the sudden turn of events. He took a deep breath and stood up, his legs wobbly as he walked over to the full-length mirror on the back of his door. His reflection stared back at him, a mix of excitement and terror dancing in his eyes. He pulled his track pants and boxers down, revealing his half-hard cock. He took another deep breath, his paws shaking even more as he held up his phone to take the picture.

He snapped the shot and sent it off without looking at it, his heart racing like he'd just run a marathon. The wait for her response was agonizing, each second stretching out like it was minutes. The phone buzzed in his paw, and he looked at the message with bated breath.

Buster: holy fuck. that's hot af, Max. 😍😍😍

Max flopped back in his bed, not bothering to pull his pants back up, his heart racing. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He’d sent Buster a picture of his dick.

"I am out of my fucking mind," Max mumbled as he began typing again, only to be interrupted when another notification popped up.

Buster had sent another photo.

Max's heart stopped again. He stared at the image on his phone, his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat. She was lying on her bed, the same cheeky smile, the same pink panties, but this time she had pushed the crotch aside, revealing her smooth, pink cock. It was already hard, the tip peeking out, glistening with precum. Max had never seen anything so beautifully erotic in his life.

He felt his own cock twitch in response, and before he could think twice, he was fully hard, the heat of arousal flushing his cheeks. He took another deep breath, trying to steady his trembling paws. He had to respond—but what the fuck do you say to something like that?

Max's mind raced, trying to find the right words. He stared at her message, at the picture of her cock, and felt his heart thud in his chest. He'd never felt so alive, so... turned on. He took another deep breath and typed.

Max: fuck, you're gorgeous.

The words slipped out, unbidden, raw. He watched the message bubble pulse before it turned blue, his heart racing as he waited for her response. He felt like he'd just confessed his darkest secret, but instead of fear, there was a strange, pulsing excitement that had his free hand gripping his cock, slowly pumping.

Buster’s reply was swift.

Buster: u jerking off?

Max felt a thrill, a mix of excitement and nerves that made his heart race even faster. He looked down at his erection, standing proud and demanding, precum dribbling from his tip. He typed quickly, the words tumbling out like a confession.

Max: yeah i can't help it. u really got me going!

Buster’s reply was accompanied by a selfie of her biting her lower lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief, cock in her fist. Max’s cock responded immediately, thickening in his grip, his breath coming faster as he stroked himself.

Buster: im so horny max fuck. sorry if this is getting carried away
Max: it’s not. i like this. a lot.

With those words, the floodgates opened.

Buster: i wish u were here right now.

The words hit Max like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of him. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his cock aching in his hand. He wiped his precum-slick fingers on his blanket and typed back.

Max: what would we be doing???

Buster’s response took only seconds and was filled with a challenge that sent a thrill down Max’s spine.

Buster: i’d be straddling you, grinding my cock on yours. i’d whisper dirty things in your ear while we kissed.

Never in his life, as short and uneventful as it was, did Max consider himself anything but straight. His search history on his browser was adamantly guy-on-girl porn. But the thought of feeling Buster's girl cock against his right now had his toes curling and his fist working faster, his own erection pulsing with need. He felt like he was in a dream, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

Buster: what would u do?

Max's thumb hovered over the screen, his heart racing. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and let his imagination run wild.

Max: i'd suck you off until u cum in my mouth.

The words sent a shock through his system, and he couldn’t believe he’d just sent that. But he couldn't delete it, couldn't take it back. He watched as the message bubble turned blue, his heart hammering so hard he was sure it would break out of his chest.

Buster’s response was another image.

This time, she faced away from the camera, lying on her stomach, her tail lifted. The fabric of her panties had been pushed aside to reveal her tight, pink asshole, stretched open slightly as she grabbed her ass, a look of pure, seductive pleasure on her face as she gazed over her shoulder and bit her lip. Max’s hand froze on his cock, his eyes widening in shock. The photo was raw, unfiltered, and incredibly arousing. He’d never seen anything quite like it, and it was from someone he’d only met today.

Buster: you wanna fuck me max?

Max's eyes widened at the explicitness of her question. He'd never been so bluntly propositioned before, especially not by someone as incredible as Buster. He swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around his erection, stroking it gently as he imagined how she would feel. The image she’d sent was burned into his brain—the curve of her ass, the way her tail was flipped up, revealing that secret part of her that was so deliciously obscene yet tempting.

Max: fuck yes.

He stared at the image, his hand moving almost of its own accord, stroking his cock in time with his racing heartbeat. Was this gay? He didn't even know anymore, nor did he really care; all he knew was that Buster was making him feel things he never had before. The heat grew, his mind racing with images of her, of what they could do together.

Another message from her.

Buster: fuck i am gonna cum.

Max read the message, his hand moving faster, the friction of his palm against his swollen tip sending bolts of pleasure through his body. He couldn’t believe what was happening—how quickly things had escalated.

Buster: mmmm, max, i’m so close, i wish u were inside me

Max’s mind reeled, his hand moving faster. He’d never felt like this before, a mix of nervousness and excitement that had his heart pounding and his palm sticky with precum. The image of her, her ass in the air, her cock pulsing with need, was all he could think about. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know if he was allowed to feel like this, but he couldn’t stop.

And then he came.

His orgasm hit him like a truck, his body spasming with the sudden release of pleasure. Max’s grip tightened around his cock, his hips bucking into his hand as he shot ropes of cum across his chest and abs. He watched the screen, his eyes glazed over, as Buster’s message turned to a string of emojis and exclamations.

Buster followed up with a picture, her, on her back, cum streaked across her tummy fur, eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Max’s throat went dry, his heart racing. He’d never seen anything so erotic, so... right. Max lay there in his bed, panting, phone in hand, the digital silence between them thick with unspoken questions and newfound desires. Max’s mind raced, trying to process the turn of events, his hand still sticky from his release.

He stared at the image, his cock still pulsing slightly, and realized he didn’t know what to say. This was all new, all so incredibly intense. He felt a mix of excitement, confusion, and a hint of fear. What did it mean that he was attracted to Buster? That he’d just jerked off to her? Was he straight? Was he bi? The questions swirled in his head, but he pushed them aside for now as he finally typed.

Max: that was so hot. did you have fun?

The question felt like a whisper, his voice barely above a breath. The screen glowed with Buster’s response, and he could almost feel the weight of her grin.

Buster: fuck yes i did. did u not see how much i came? LOOOOL!

Max couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. He wiped the last of his cum off his stomach, feeling a strange mix of liberation and trepidation. He’d never been so openly sexual with anyone, let alone someone like Buster. But there was something about her that made it feel right—like she saw him, really saw him, and didn’t judge.

And he didn't judge her.

Buster: shit it's almost 2am!! We should get some sleep. walk me to school tomorrow?
Max: yeah, totally. have sweet dreams.

The conversation ended there, the silence of Max’s room seemingly louder than ever. He lay there, his body still tingling from the rush of his climax, the screen of his phone a stark blue in the darkness. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing with thoughts of Buster, her words, her images. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, let alone someone who was trans. It was all so new, so overwhelming, but somehow, it just felt right. He scrolled through their chat, rereading their exchange with a mix of shock and wonder. It was like he’d stumbled upon a secret part of himself that he never knew existed.

And finally, around three in the morning, his eyelids grew heavy. He rolled out of bed, stumbled out of his room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Pee, wash up, and then a look at himself in the mirror. Max Goof had just had the most erotic exchange of his life. With a trans girl. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, replaying her words in his head. The way she’d opened up to him, like he was someone she could trust. Not just with the sexting, but their entire night of conversation.

He didn't know if tomorrow would bring any awkward feelings, but he knew he wanted to see her as soon as he could. So, with Buster's words and images still seared into his mind, he shuffled back to his bedroom, plugged in his phone, set his alarm, and slid under his covers, and hugged a pillow against his chest as he let sleep overtake him, the sweet release of unconsciousness taking the edge off the tumultuous storm of emotions swirling inside him.

Chapter Text

THREE - Denver Luna

The alarm blared far too soon.

Max groaned, rolling over and fumbling for his phone to shut it off. The glowing numbers stabbed his tired eyes—7:00 a.m.—and he swore he’d only closed them a few minutes ago. Four hours of sleep after that kind of night… his head was foggy, but under the exhaustion was a restless hum of energy. Buster was all he could think about. He promised they’d walk to school together this morning. Just the thought of her made his chest feel tight and his stomach turn over in an odd, jittery way. Especially after last night—after how far things had gone.

He dragged himself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom. Steam fogged up the mirror as the shower hissed to life, and he stepped in, letting the hot water beat against his shoulders. It didn’t do much to wake him up, but it helped smooth the restless edge inside him. He found himself replaying flashes from their messages—her teasing words, the photos, the way he’d struggled to find things to say back—until he shook his head and forced himself to focus on rinsing out his hair.

Back in his room, a towel around his waist, he leaned over the mirror on his dresser, scanning his face for any new zits. One threatening red dot had the audacity to show up right on his jawline. He dabbed it with some too-strong acne cream and hoped for the best. Outfit selection was more complicated than it should have been—something casual, but not sloppy. Jeans, sneakers, a layered hoodie, and t-shirt combo, he thought, looked decent.

Downstairs, the smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. Goofy was already up, humming something off-key as he clattered around with mugs and the toaster.

“Mornin’, Maxie,” he said cheerfully, buttering some toast.

“Morning, Dad,” Max muttered, sliding two Pop-Tarts into the toaster. His dad didn’t seem to notice the faint pink still lingering on his son’s cheeks.

Max plopped down at the kitchen table with his breakfast. He was still shaking off the fog of four hours of sleep, but under that was a restless energy—something that had been humming inside him since last night. The Pop-Tarts were just an excuse to sit and gather himself before heading out to see Buster.

Goofy was puttering between the counter and the stove in his usual unhurried way, humming a tune under his breath as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “You look tired, long night?” he asked, that easy smile spreading across his face as he sat down opposite his son.

"You could say that,” Max mumbled around a bite of strawberry filling. He chewed slowly, his mind already spinning. The thought had been gnawing at him since he woke up—this conversation he knew he needed to have. His leg bounced under the table as he stared down at the plate. Finally, he set the pastry down, took a breath, and looked at his dad.

“Dad? I’m… not sure how to really say this, but… I like someone.”

Goofy’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise before softening into that familiar fatherly warmth. “Well, gawrsh, Maxie, that’s great!” he said, taking a sip of coffee.

Max gave a faint, nervous laugh. “It’s… not that simple.” He hesitated, searching for the right words, wanting to get it right the first time. “It’s… someone who… people around here might not understand.” He swallowed, then met Goofy’s eyes. “Her name’s Buster. And she’s… she’s a transgender girl.”

Goofy blinked, tilting his head slightly. “Transgender? You mean like those robot cartoons you used to watch as a kid?”

Max almost laughed, but it came out more like a sigh. “No, Dad… that’s Transformers.” He leaned in a little, his tone careful, deliberate. “Transgender means… she was born a boy, but that’s not who she really is. She’s a girl. She’s always been a girl—just… not in the way everyone saw her at first.” He fidgeted with the edge of his plate, unsure how much was sinking in. “And she’s… she’s amazing. But I know some people wouldn’t accept her. And I guess I’m just… worried about what that means for us.”

Goofy was quiet for a moment, watching his son with a steady, thoughtful gaze. Then he set his mug down and reached across the table, placing his big, warm hand over Max’s. “Maxie,” he said softly, “it don’t matter who you’re with, as long as you’re happy, safe, and you treat each other right. Love’s love, son. And if you care about her, then that’s all I need to know.”

Max felt a tightness in his chest ease a little at those words. He hadn’t realized how much tension he’d been carrying until now.

Goofy smiled wider, his voice turning almost tender. “You’re my boy, Max. I’m proud of you for tellin’ me. And besides, your old man did some experimenting in college, wh,y there was this one fella who had a huge—”

“Whoa!” Max yelped, clapping his hands over his ears. “La-la-la, too much information, Dad! Not what I wanted to hear this morning!”

Goofy laughed that big, warm, dopey laugh, and Max couldn’t help but laugh too. The awkwardness melted into something easier, lighter. Goofy stood and pulled his son into a hug, one of those strong, steady embraces that made Max feel ten years old again.

When they finally pulled apart, Max grabbed his Pop-Tarts and glanced at the clock. He had somewhere important to be.

With a Pop-Tard in his mouth, Max grabbed his bag, his skateboard, and was out the door, "See you later, Dad!"

Max kicked along the sidewalk, the familiar hum of his skateboard wheels on concrete filling the quiet early-morning air. The streets still carried that faint bluish tint of dawn, the sun not yet fully burning away the cool. His backpack felt heavier than usual, not from books, but from the thoughts rattling around inside his head.

As he rolled past P.J.’s house, his jaw tightened. The blinds were still drawn, but Max imagined his best friend inside, probably asleep, maybe snoring softly like he always did. And yet, the image wasn’t comforting. Instead, it felt… tense. P.J. had been there through everything—middle school awkwardness, the messes Max had gotten himself into, all of it. But this? Buster? Would P.J. look at him differently? Would he see it as a betrayal?

Max’s mind churned with the “what ifs.” P.J. could be loyal to a fault, but he was also stubborn, sometimes judgmental in ways he didn’t even realize. And this wasn’t just a new friendship or a casual crush—Max knew deep down this was already something more complicated. His dad had been surprisingly chill about it, almost too chill, but P.J.? That was going to be another hill to climb. Maybe today. Maybe not. Either way, the conversation was coming, and Max wasn’t ready. Not yet.

He coasted past and turned onto the next street, the quiet neighborhood giving way to the soft rattle of trash cans being rolled to the curb, a distant lawnmower sputtering to life. That’s when his mind shifted, almost against his will, to Buster.

Her name alone was enough to make his stomach flip. Last night had been… intense. A lot more intense than he’d expected when the conversation started. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, even after finally passing out around three in the morning. Now, though, with daylight here and reality staring him in the face, a new kind of nervousness bubbled up.

How exactly do you greet someone after that?

'Good morning, I had tons of fun jerking off to your pics last night?'

Yeah, real smooth.

Max groaned under his breath, running a hand down his face as if he could physically scrape the awkwardness off. Why couldn’t things be easy for once?

He rolled up to her house. The place was quiet, a single porch light still on, casting a warm pool of light across the front steps. Max stepped off his board, tucking it under his arm, his heart thudding harder than he’d like to admit.

He took a slow breath, walked up the path, and reached for the door.

Before Max could even reach for the doorbell, the door swung open—and there she was.

Buster filled the doorway like some perfect, infuriating dream. She was dressed in a loose, cropped band tee that hung just enough to show the smooth line of her stomach when she moved, the faded logo stretched faintly over her chest. Her shorts were frayed denim cutoffs, the kind that left no doubt they’d once been a pair of jeans but had since been hacked to the bare minimum. Collar around her neck, studded bracelets on her wrists, and then there were the socks—thigh-high, snug, and striped in alternating bands of black and deep crimson that went down to her clunky, leather boots, hugging her legs in a way that made Max’s thoughts stutter and scatter. The contrast between the softness of the fabric and the warm tone of her fur was… unfair.

She smiled at him, slow and deliberate, her eyes holding his with an amused heat that made his pulse spike. “Well, good morning, handsome,” she said, her voice edged with a teasing lilt that made it sound almost like a dare.

Max’s brain fizzled. Every carefully imagined greeting, every possible scenario he’d rehearsed on the skate over, evaporated. All that was left was a tightness in his chest and the thunder of his own heartbeat. He stood there, rooted in place, as if his body was debating whether to run or step forward. His thoughts tangled in a hopeless knot—half of them replaying last night’s charged moments, the other half screaming at him not to ruin this.

And then, without any conscious decision, he moved. One step closed the space between them, and before he could think better of it, his hands came up, finding hers, and he leaned in.

The kiss landed soft at first—almost tentative—but the second his lips touched hers, the world blurred. It was like watching himself from somewhere outside his own body, as if this was some braver, reckless version of him taking the lead. Buster didn’t pull away. Instead, she met him halfway, her fingers threading between his, squeezing tight. The faint, cool tang of toothpaste lingered on her tongue, mixing with the warmth of her breath as their mouths parted and came together again. He could feel the small tilt of her head as she leaned in further, closing off every inch of space between them.

Time stretched. The distant sound of passing cars, the soft creak of the doorframe behind her, the faint rustle of her shirt when she shifted—everything faded beneath the thrum of the moment.

When they finally broke apart, she stayed close, her forehead nearly brushing his. Max swallowed, his voice low and a little unsteady, and said, “Good morning.”

It came out softer than he meant, but Buster’s smile deepened like she’d just heard exactly what she wanted.

For a few lingering seconds, they didn’t move, their foreheads resting together like neither of them wanted to let go of the moment. Max could feel the warmth of Buster’s breath on his cheek, the faint scent of her shampoo mingling with the cool, crisp air of the morning. The street around them seemed to have gone still, like the world had quietly agreed to wait until they were ready.

Buster’s smirk broke the quiet. “We should go,” she murmured, her voice soft but teasing. “Don’t want to be late.”

Max swallowed, gave a small nod, and stepped back just enough to let their fingers slide down and find each other’s hands again. Her palm fit against his like it belonged there, warm and sure.

They started walking side by side, their pace unhurried, as if stretching the short trip to school into something sacred. They didn’t talk much—didn’t need to. Every so often, Max would glance sideways and catch Buster’s eyes, and there’d be this quick, shared smile, the kind that made his chest feel too tight and light at the same time. Sometimes it was she who looked first, her cheeks tinting pink before she glanced ahead again, brushing her thumb over his knuckles like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

The neighborhood was waking up around them—garage doors rumbling open, the distant bark of a dog, the hiss of sprinklers watering neatly trimmed lawns. A car passed by, the driver waving lazily, and Buster gave a small nod in return. The school bus trundled past with a groan of brakes, a few faces pressed against the glass to see who was walking hand in hand. Somewhere, the smell of frying bacon drifted from an open kitchen window.

They just kept moving forward, slow enough that their shoulders brushed now and then, a tiny static shock of contact each time. Max found himself wishing the walk was twice as long, maybe three times, because every step felt like it might be the last before the real world swept in and broke whatever spell they were under.

But for now, there were only the two of them, the soft morning light spilling between the trees, and the quiet certainty that neither of them wanted to be anywhere else.

As they drew nearer to the school, the easy warmth of the walk began to shift. The distant hum of chatter and laughter from other students floated toward them, mingling with the sounds of slamming car doors from students who had their own cars, and the low growl of idling buses. Buster’s steps slowed, her confident swagger softening into something more hesitant. Max noticed it immediately—the subtle tension in her grip, the way her eyes kept flicking to the sidewalk instead of forward.

Then she stopped.

“Max?” she said, her voice quieter than before.

He turned to her, brows knitting in concern. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Buster hesitated, lowering her head so her short fringe fell partly across her eyes. “You don’t have to hold my hand all the way to the front door. I… get it. Really, I do.”

Max blinked, taken aback. “What? No, I don’t get it. What’s on your mind?”

She lifted her gaze, but it was uncertain, almost guarded. “Just saying… if you don’t want your friends to see us holding hands, I totally get it. I know what it’s like to be judged.”

But Max didn’t even pause to consider it—his fingers tightened around hers, a small, deliberate act of defiance. “Buster. I don’t care. Let them see. I am not ashamed of liking you. Or… is it me?”

Buster’s eyes widened, and she shook her head rapidly, almost panicked. “No, no, no. You’re perfect, Max. Really. I just don’t want… you know, for you to get the same hate I do.”

He studied her for a long second, his expression softening but his grip refusing to loosen. “Buster… people have always looked at me like a goof. My whole life, I’ve been the weird one, the one people laugh at or don’t take seriously. Yeah, it’s not the same as what you’ve gone through—what you go through every day. But I’m not going to hide. Not for them, not for anybody.”

She looked at him, something flickering in her eyes—half surprise, half something warmer.

Max leaned a little closer, voice steady but gentle. “If standing next to you means I take some of that hate too? Then so be it. That’s what people should do, Buster. They should stand with the ones they care about. Proudly. No matter what anyone thinks.”

And right there, surrounded by the growing noise of the school morning—the shouts of students, the thump of basketballs on asphalt, the hiss of brakes as another bus pulled in—Buster’s chest felt a little lighter.

Buster’s cheeks warmed as she murmured her thanks, leaning over to press a soft kiss to Max’s cheek. It wasn’t quick—she lingered there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her breath ghosting against his skin before she pulled back. Max felt it, the way she hesitated, and it only made him squeeze her hand more firmly.

They walked toward the school with their heads high—not forced pride, but a quiet, steady resolve. The morning sun caught the edges of Buster’s fur, glinting off the blue she’d spent so long grooming, while Max kept his shoulders square, refusing to glance down at the cracked sidewalk beneath their feet.

Of course, the stares came quickly. Students milling by the front steps slowed their conversations just enough to let eyes linger. Max didn’t mind the looks—he’d expected them. But when a voice off to the side muttered “Fag” under their breath, low but clear enough to be aimed like a dart, something in Max’s chest tightened.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop walking. Instead, he let the word pass through him like rain on a slick jacket, refusing to give it the satisfaction of sticking. He knew what this town was—small-minded, rigid, the kind of place where people could wrap cruelty in a laugh and call it “just kidding.” He knew, too, that for some of them, Buster wasn’t a person at all—just a headline, a label, a “guy playing dress-up.” Or worse.

But Goofy had raised him better than that. His dad had always said the same thing, whether it was about standing up to bullies or lending a hand to someone who’d been knocked down: Do the good thing, Maxie. And holding Buster’s hand, walking beside her as if she was the most natural and wonderful thing in the world—well, that was the good thing.

So he tightened his grip on her fingers as they stepped inside the school’s front doors, ignoring the last few whispers behind them. If people wanted to make him a pariah for this, then so be it. He could live with being an outcast.

What he couldn’t live with was pretending she wasn’t worth it.

Max and Buster stopped at her locker, the morning sun spilling softly across the row of metal doors. She gave him a small, shy smile, brushing back her ears. “Thanks for walking me to school,” she said, her voice warm. “See you at lunch?”

Max just nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “Absolutely.”

Then, almost on impulse, Buster leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was gentle, warm, and quick, leaving a faint trace of her toothpaste and that subtle sweetness he couldn’t place. Max felt his knees go weak for a second, heart hammering, and for a brief moment, he wondered if the world had narrowed down to just that single contact. When they finally broke apart, she gave a little playful smirk and a wink, tugging her locker open to dig out her books.

Max’s stomach fluttered as he stepped away, heading toward his own locker. Of course, waiting beside it, as if summoned by his thoughts, were P.J. and Bobby. Max braced himself. He could already hear their imaginary lines: “You’re gay, bro,” “Did you suck her off yet?” His jaw tensed in anticipation.

But as he got closer, something caught his eye—something he hadn’t expected. P.J.’s eyes weren’t rolling with mockery or glinting with mischief. There was… warmth there. A small, genuine flicker, as if P.J. had softened in some way overnight.

Max slowed for a second, letting it register, before opening his locker. He didn’t speak, didn’t look directly at his friends, just started arranging his books and shoving notebooks inside. Silence stretched for a few beats.

Finally, P.J. stepped closer, the usual bravado replaced by something more careful. “Hey, man… about yesterday,” he began, hesitating just long enough for Max to look up, “I just wanted to, you know… apologize. I was being an asshole.”

Max froze mid-motion, a combination of shock and relief washing over him. He hadn’t expected this at all. Not from P.J. Not so soon. His fingers paused on the edge of his notebook, and he blinked, trying to process the sincerity in his friend’s eyes.

“Well…” Max said slowly, still standing at his locker, “thanks. I… appreciate that.”

P.J. gave a small, almost awkward nod, his usual swagger replaced by quiet humility. Bobby, standing nearby, just popped another piece of gum and shrugged, but even he seemed to sense that this was a moment to let pass without comment.

Max slung his backpack over one shoulder, still feeling the echo of that morning kiss with Buster buzzing through him, when he turned back to P.J. “Hey… can I ask you something?”

P.J. looked wary, shoulders tensing. “Sure, what’s up?”

Max stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough so that Bobby’s chewing and occasional mutterings wouldn’t carry. “What… what made you change your mind about Buster? About yesterday?”

P.J. exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “It’s… complicated,” he admitted. Then, after a pause, he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Last night, at dinner, my dad… he was rambling. About some immigrant trying to buy a car at his dealership. And man… the things he said… the words he used were some of the worst I’ve ever heard. The hatred in his voice, the way he spat it out—it was… ugly, man.” His hands clenched, fingers gripping at the air like he could trap the memory before it burned him again.

Max waited, watching P.J.’s face, seeing the faint shimmer in his eyes. Something about this—his father’s words, the venom he had spewed before—was cutting deeper than Max had imagined. He had heard P.J.’s dad rant about “immigrants taking jobs” and various slurs before, but this… this sounded different. Personal. Brutal.

“And then it hit me,” P.J. continued, voice tighter now, almost trembling. “I was acting the exact same way yesterday. With you, with Buster… just because she’s different. Because she’s… not like us. And I… I hated that about myself.”

Max’s chest tightened at the admission, the raw honesty in P.J.’s tone striking him. “I… I get it,” he said softly, though he didn’t move closer yet.

P.J. swallowed hard, and for the first time, Max saw the tears threatening to spill. “Growing up, I always swore I wouldn’t be like him. I swore I’d be different. I’d be better. But yesterday… I failed. Failed you, Max. And… and most of all… I failed myself.”

Before P.J. could falter further, Max stepped forward, dropping his books onto the floor and wrapping his arms around his friend. P.J. stiffened for a moment, shocked by the sudden embrace, but then he sagged against Max, letting the hug take him in, letting someone else hold the weight of his guilt for a moment.

“You didn’t fail me, P.J.,” Max murmured into his shoulder. “We all screw up sometimes. The important thing is you saw it, and you’re trying not to be that person. That’s… that’s what matters. You’re better than you think.”

P.J. let out a shaky laugh, a little of the tension finally melting. “Yeah… thanks, man,” he whispered. “Really.”

And for a quiet second, with the lockers clanging softly around them and the rest of the school buzzing on, Max realized that sometimes—even in a town this small, with people this stubborn—people could change. And that maybe, just maybe, it was worth believing that they could.

Bobby smirked, leaning lazily against the lockers, chewing on his gum with all the smugness he could muster. “Man… you two should just get married already. Seriously, I’d RSVP.”

P.J. grinned and delivered a quick, playful kick to Bobby’s shin. “You can be my bridesmaid, buddy.”

Bobby yelped, hopping on one foot before catching his balance, and all three of them burst into laughter. The tension of the morning—the stares, the whispered words, the earlier guilt and confessions—melted for just a moment into something lighter, something easy.

The first bell rang then, slicing through the hallway chatter like a sharp knife. Class time. Max slung his backpack over his shoulder, giving both P.J. and Bobby a small grin. “Hey… Buster and I are having lunch together today. You guys wanna join us? Get to know her a little?”

P.J. hesitated, glanced at Max, then shrugged with a small smile. “Sure, why not. Shouldn’t be a total disaster.”

Bobby nodded eagerly, eyes lighting up. “Yeah, I’m down. Maybe she’s cool enough to tolerate us, huh?”

Max laughed softly. “We’ll see. She’s tougher than she looks, so don’t underestimate her.”

With that, the three of them parted ways, each heading to their respective classes. Max’s steps felt lighter than usual, the nervous energy of the morning tempered by connection, laughter, and a newfound sense of purpose.

Tuesday morning meant History for Max. He pushed open the classroom door and slid into his usual seat near the back, the smell of old textbooks, polished floors, and chalk dust greeted him, and he let out a quiet sigh. Maybe he was here to learn about the past, but honestly… he was more aware of teaching those around him lessons of acceptance in the present. And with Buster in his life, that lesson had never felt more personal—or more important.

Max sat in History, tapping his pencil absentmindedly against his notebook, though most of the lesson had long since drifted past him. His mind wandered—Buster’s fur catching the morning sun, the way she’d smiled at him, the feel of her hand wrapped around his. He tried to refocus as Mr. Henders lectured about the founding of the town, the dates and names scrolling across the chalkboard, but his thoughts refused to comply. Memories from last night flickered unbidden—those explicit messages, the heat of their conversation, the way her teasing made his body react.

English Literature offered no reprieve. Ms. Langley assigned reading and class discussion, and Max struggled to concentrate on Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter while replaying, unbidden, the taste of Buster, the soft brush of her lips, the little warmth that lingered on his own mouth. When the teacher called on students to recite passages aloud, Max silently exhaled a sigh of relief that she didn’t call his name. The thought of standing at the front of the room, trying to feign normalcy while remembering the private heat of last night, made him squirm in his seat, fingers brushing subtly over the waistband of his pants as he readjusted to hide his erection.

Finally, the lunch bell rang, slicing through the haze of his preoccupied thoughts. Max felt a surge of relief—and excitement—as he slung his bag over his shoulder. But instead of heading for the cafeteria’s crowded tables, he found himself weaving through the hall to meet Buster, P.J., and Bobby in the hallway before deciding to eat lunch in a stairwell.

“Here?” Buster asked, glancing up at him with a small grin.

“Yeah,” Max said, nodding. “Way less chaos here. We can actually… talk.”

They slipped into the stairwell, finding a quiet landing off the main hall. Sunlight filtered down from a small window above, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden light. It wasn’t glamorous, and it certainly wasn’t the cafeteria—but it was their space, and for Max, that was exactly where he wanted to be.

P.J. leaned back against the railing, grinning. “Perfect. Far enough away from the lunchroom drama to not get poked at for five minutes straight.”

Bobby plopped down, unpacking an absurdly large lunch, chips, and chocolate bars already spilling across his tray. “And far enough from everyone else to not make me feel guilty for eating dessert first,” he added with a wink.

He sank down next to Buster, brushing his fingers against hers. The warmth of her hand felt grounding, a tether to something real amid the whirlwind of his scattered thoughts. For a few moments, the hall, the noise, the small-minded whispers of the school outside—they all melted away. In the stairwell, it was just them, and the tentative, electric thread of connection weaving tighter with every shared glance and quiet laugh.

“Man, you’re gonna get diabetes before lunch even ends,” P.J. said as he looked upon Bobby's spread, shaking his head, careful to keep his salad upright. “I swear, one day you’re just gonna explode, buddy.”

“Explode? Nah,” Bobby said with a dramatic shrug, tossing a candy bar into his mouth. “That’s the magic of metabolism. You wouldn’t understand, P.J., you’re all… restricted nutrients and brooding.”

Max laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Yeah, P.J.’s brooding is practically a cardio workout.”

P.J. frowned, mock-offended. “Excuse me? I am a lean, mean, health-conscious machine.”

“Bro, I know five fat people and you're four of them,” Bobby chuckled, popping another candy into his mouth.

P.J. rolled his eyes. “Hey, it's a glandular problem!"

"More like a gravy boat problem," Max snorted.

Buster chuckled, picking away at a fruit cup, one booted foot tapping. “You guys are ridiculous,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement. “I like it. Definitely makes this school less… mundane.”

Max smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah, sometimes I wonder if we’re the only ones keeping this place from total boredom.”

Buster tilted her head, scanning the group. “So what else do you guys do for fun? Hobbies, nerd obsessions, secrets… embarrassing moments? You know, the important stuff.”

P.J. perked up instantly. “Well, obviously, there’s Dungeons & Dragons. That’s basically a lifestyle for me. Max doesn't play, though; he's too cool for us nerds.”

Max groaned. “It's just a lot of numbers, okay? I am not great at numbers, and you know it.”

Bobby snorted, shoving a chocolate bar into his mouth. “Or at roleplaying, or at painting minatures, or cooking mac and cheese. Go ahead, Buster, Ask buddy about the Kraft Mac & Cheese incident.”

“Hey! That was only a small fire,” Max protested, cheeks heating. “It was fine!”

Buster laughed, leaning forward with genuine interest. “Wait… you guys actually play D&D? That’s awesome. I’ve been hoping to find a campaign here. Do you have room for an extra player?”

P.J.’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely. The more the merrier. We need someone who actually knows what they’re doing instead of me just improvising all the rules.”

Max muttered, face in his hands. “Great… my girlfriend is an RPG nerd too.”

Buster raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So I’m your girlfriend now?”

Bobby immediately let out a whistle. “Whoa, slow down, Romeo!”

P.J. laughed, leaning back. “Get a load of Don Juan Goof.”

Max’s ears burned red, and he sputtered, “I-I mean—uh… shut up, you guys!”

Buster leaned closer, brushing her lips near his ear, her grin wicked. “I guess that makes you my boyfriend, huh?”

Max froze, heat flooding his chest, his mind scrambling, his heart thudding like a drum. All around him, P.J. and Bobby’s teasing became background noise, and for a perfect, suspended moment, the four of them were laughing, joking, and sharing their world—Max just happened to be caught in the gravitational pull of Buster’s mischievous charm.

The stairwell felt lighter now, the tension of first impressions melting away as the four of them munched, laughed, and shared stories. But it all ended too soon as the bell rang, signaling the end of their lunch break.

Bobby groaned dramatically, clutching his stomach. “Oh man… I don’t know how I’m gonna survive gym. I feel like I just swallowed a whole bakery.”

Max snorted, almost choking on a chip. “You do realize you could just… not eat that much, right?”

Bobby waved him off. “And miss this feast? Never.”

P.J. chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous, Bobby. But… worth it for the entertainment.”

Buster laughed, a light, musical sound that made Max’s chest warm. “I’m really glad I got to meet your friends,” she said, smiling around her lunch tray.

P.J. straightened, a small but sincere smile tugging at his lips. “We’re glad to meet you too. And hey… you’re one of us now. If anyone messes with you? We got your back.”

Max just watched, feeling a rush of relief and happiness wash over him. For a moment, he didn’t have to worry about prejudice or whispered slurs. Here they were, four of them, easy, carefree, and just… friends. His chest felt light, a smile tugging at his own lips.

Soon, P.J. and Bobby gathered their belongings, joking one last time about who could out-eat whom, and headed off to their next class. The stairwell grew quiet, leaving Max and Buster alone.

Buster leaned in, brushing her shoulder against his, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Warm, familiar, grounding. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her smile playful.

“So, hey,” she murmured, a sly gleam in her gaze, “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out after school. Like… come to my place.”

Max’s cheeks burned as his heart skipped a beat. “Yeah… sure. I’d like that.”

Buster’s grin widened, wicked and teasing as she leaned a fraction closer, her voice dropping into a playful whisper. “I’ve got the place to myself until around ten… just so you know.” Her paw brushed Max’s thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “If you know what I mean.”

Max froze for a second, heat rushing through him, a mix of nerves and excitement. His mind stuttered, his pulse quickened, and he could only manage a shaky, “Uh… yeah. I… I think I know what you mean.”

Buster just chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief, and stood, letting the promise of the afternoon—and the night—hang deliciously in the air between them.

"Then I'll see you after school," she said before turning on her heels and walking off, her denim-clad hips swaying.

Max looked at his phone and was already counting down the minutes as he headed off to Science class.

Chapter Text

FOUR - Take Me To Church

Max’s afternoon crawled by in agonizing slowness. Science class was a blur of beakers and equations he barely registered, his mind repeatedly drifting to Buster and the subtle, wicked way she had worded her invitation. Every time the teacher asked a question, his brain stuttered, and every glance at the clock made the minutes stretch longer than they should.

By the time Wood Shop rolled around, Max was a jittery, restless mess. He tried to focus on the birdhouse he was supposed to be constructing, hammering nails carefully into the pine. But his thoughts were entirely elsewhere. One distracted swing sent a piece of wood flying across the shop, narrowly missing a classmate in the back row. Max froze, heart pounding. “Uh… sorry!” he called, cheeks flaming as his teacher barely looked up from his copy of Sports Illustrated. Somehow, by some miracle, he made it through the rest of the class with all ten fingers intact, but his mind remained in chaos.

When the last bell finally rang, releasing a flood of students into the hallways, Max felt almost weightless. He barely registered moving to his locker, shoving his books inside, and slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. P.J. was already leaning against the lockers nearby, arms crossed, a teasing smirk on his face.

“So,” P.J. said, voice casual but eyes sharp, “what you up to tonight?”

Max shrugged, pretending casualness he didn’t feel. “I’m… hanging out with Buster.”

P.J.’s smirk widened. “Uh-huh. Well, text me later, bro. We’ll set up some plans for the weekend. Smuggle some beers from my dad and get CRUNK.”

Max laughed, shaking his head. “No one says crunk anymore, Peej. You sound like you’re stuck in 2005.”

P.J. just chuckled, waving him off, and headed in the opposite direction with Bobby, off to cause their own unique brand of chaos elsewhere.

Max took a deep breath, his chest tight with anticipation and nerves. Today had been a mental rollercoaster, and now the real test awaited: seeing Buster, waiting for that moment at the entrance, hoping his confidence didn’t melt the second he saw her. With his skateboard under one arm and heart hammering in his chest, he stepped toward the school’s front doors. There she was—waiting, as if she’d been standing there all along, a small, knowing smile lighting her face. Max swallowed hard. Time to face the consequences of an afternoon spent thinking entirely about her.

Buster practically leapt into Max’s arms, her small frame pressing against him, and he instinctively caught her. Heart hammering like a drum, he spun her once, feeling the thrilling weight of her in his arms before their lips collided in a kiss that made the world shrink around them. He didn’t care who saw them—students walking past, cars drifting by, even the distant honk of a bus—they didn’t exist. Only the taste of her, the heat of her body, and the pulse of his own desire mattered.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Buster whispered, her voice low and intimate, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Max swallowed hard, his chest still racing. “Me neither,” he admitted, his voice barely steady. “I can’t get you out of my head… especially since last night.” His hand, almost without thinking, slid to her hip and gave a firm, appreciative squeeze through her denim shorts.

Buster bit her lip, a small, wicked grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Ready to take me home, then?”

Max felt his heart lurch into his throat, a mixture of excitement and panic flooding through him. He was trembling—not just from the anticipation, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of the desire that had been stewing since last night: the texts, the photos, the images burned into his mind the second he’d woken up. Every glance, every touch so far had only built the tension tighter, like a spring ready to snap.

“Let’s go,” he finally said, voice rough, almost a growl of longing. He laced his fingers with hers, letting her lead, and they began walking toward her house. Every step was charged, every touch electric, their bodies practically humming in sync. Max couldn’t help but steal quick glances at her, memorizing the way the sunlight hit her fur, how her striped socks hugged her legs, and how impossibly perfect she looked in that casual, confident way only Buster could pull off.

The path back to her place felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat, each second stretching and contracting with the pull of their shared want. Max’s mind spun with desire and nervous energy, but beneath it all was a simple, undeniable truth: this was what he wanted. This was what he needed. And with Buster at his side, hand in hand, he finally let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could have it all.

Max and Buster walked briskly, almost stumbling over their own nerves as they rushed to Buster's home. The air was crisp, their hands tightly intertwined, and neither said much—words felt unnecessary, heavy with the tension that had been building since last night and the walk this morning. Max’s chest felt like it would burst, his mind swimming with anticipation, excitement, and that raw, impatient desire simmering just beneath the surface.

Finally, they reached Buster’s house. She paused in front of the door, reaching into her bag for keys with a fluid motion. Unlocking it, she pushed the door open and glanced back at him with a playful smile. “Come on in,” she said, her voice low and inviting.

Stepping inside, Max immediately noticed how simple and clean her home was. The living room was uncluttered, yet cozy: soft light spilled through tall windows, illuminating a plush rug that partially covered the hardwood floor. A well-worn couch faced a small coffee table, and faint scents of vanilla and lavender hung in the air. Shoes were kicked off near the doorway, a casual, lived-in touch that made the space feel intimate rather than staged. Buster’s hand found his again, warm and firm, pulling him gently.

“My room is upstairs,” she said, grinning, the gleam in her eyes daring him to follow. “Come on.”

Max’s heart raced as they ascended the narrow staircase together, the sound of their steps blending with the electric tension in the air. When they reached the top, Buster pushed open the door to her room and then crossed the threshold.

Her space was a perfect reflection of her: walls painted a muted lavender, dotted with posters of alternative bands, cult classic movies, and surreal art. A neatly made bed with a deep purple and black comforter anchored one corner, while a desk beneath the window held a small laptop, stacks of notebooks, and a carefully arranged set of vinyl records. A bookshelf overflowed with graphic novels, fantasy novels, and an assortment of Dungeons & Dragons manuals, signaling her nerdy, creative side. Plush rugs layered the hardwood floor, some shaggy, some patterned, adding warmth and personality.

Max stepped further in, taking it all in, his chest still pounding, feeling the pull of Buster’s presence in the room. The door clicked softly behind them, and suddenly the quiet intimacy of the space made the world outside disappear.

Max felt his heart slam against his ribs as Buster’s lips crushed against his, driving him backward until his back met the door. Her body pressed against his, warm and firm, and the intensity of the kiss sent shivers down his spine. Their tongues tangled, breaths mingling, hands roaming over each other with a fevered, desperate need. Her soft moan vibrated against his mouth, a mixture of want and urgency that made him lose himself completely in the moment.

Finally, she pulled back, cheeks flushed beneath her fur, and her eyes met his. “Before we start,” she said, voice trembling slightly, “I have to tell you something.”

Max, still holding her hand, brushed her cheek with the other and whispered, “You can tell me anything.”

Buster took a deep breath, the rise and fall of her chest making his own pulse thrum faster. She met his gaze squarely, voice quiet but firm, “Max… despite the things I said last night, all the, you know… kinky shit, well, I’ve never actually been with anyone before… fully.”

Max’s chest fluttered, and he cupped her furry face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks gently. “It’s okay,” he said softly, voice earnest. “Me either. Hell, I’ve barely kissed anyone until you.”

Buster leaned into his hands, nuzzling him, her ears twitching slightly. She whispered, almost shyly, “We don’t have to do anything right now… if you want, we can just play video games or something…”

Max’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “Is that what you want? Anything you want, I’m fine with, as long as I’m with you.”

Her head shook, ears flopping with the motion, a faint gleam of mischief mixing with longing in her eyes. Then, in a husky, quiet voice that made Max’s heart stop, she said, “What I want… is you.”

The words hung in the room, heavy and intimate, filling every corner with a tension that made Max’s blood feel like it was boiling and freezing at the same time. He swallowed hard, the weight of her trust and desire pressing against him, and all he could do was pull her close again, letting her feel just how much he wanted her too.

Max could feel Buster's bulge through her shorts, pressing against his as they kissed again, and his own erection grew painfully obvious. The nervousness was still there, but it was overwhelmed by the desire that had been simmering since the moment he'd first seen her this morning. They stumbled toward the bed, their kisses growing more heated with each step, until Max's legs hit the mattress and he fell backward, pulling Buster with him. They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and passion, the fabric of their clothes whispering against each other like secrets shared.

Buster moved, sliding like a waterfall down Max's body until she reached the zipper of his jeans, her nimble paws making quick work of it. Max watched, his breathing ragged, as she tugged down his jeans and boxers, his already hard cock popping free, standing tall and eager. Buster looked at it for a moment, a mix of fascination and hunger in her eyes, before leaning down and rubbing her cheek against it, gripping at his base with one paw.

"Fuck," she murmured, "It's even bigger in person."

Max felt his cheeks heat up, but Buster didn’t seem to care. She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving his cock, and Max had to fight the urge to buck his hips. He was already so close to the edge, and she hadn’t even started yet.

"Can I suck it, Max?" Her eyes glanced up at him.

"Fuck yes," Max grunted, a bead of precum dribbling down his prick, and Buster took him in her mouth with a greedy moan. Her tongue swirled around his tip before she took him deeper, her paw stroking the base of his cock as she sucked, her cheeks hollowing. Max's eyes rolled back, and he had to grip the bedsheets to keep from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth.

"Holy fuck," Max gasped as he watched her bob up and down his cock, her eyes watering slightly but never breaking contact with his. She took him deep into her throat, her nose pressing into his pubic fur, and the sensation was like nothing he'd ever felt before. He could feel her tongue swirl around the base of his cock, her throat constricting around him in a way that sent jolts of pleasure through his entire body. She moaned around his length, the vibrations driving him absolutely wild as her drool dripped down his balls.

Max reached down to run his hands through her soft head fur, gently guiding her rhythm, but she didn't require any encouragement. He watched, utterly mesmerized, as her cheeks hollowed with each deep suck, her tongue teasing the slit of his cock. She took him so deep, so confidently, that Max could feel his orgasm building with every pass of her mouth. It was like watching a master at work, and he knew that he was going to cum harder than he ever had before.

But he didn't want to exhaust himself already.

"Okay, okay," he breathed, guiding her off his cock, "Give me a sec, holy shit."

Buster pulled back with a chuckle, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I guess I'm better than I thought," she said, her voice smoky with desire. "Do you want to try sucking mine for a bit?"

Suck cock.

It was something Max never imagined himself doing. Ever. But... Buster wasn't just some dude. She was a woman, his girlfriend... right?

He nodded, feeling his cock throb with excitement. He’d watched enough porn to know the basics, but he’d never had the opportunity—or the desire—to try it out. Now, though, with Buster shimmying out of her shorts and panties, her smaller cock springing free, he wanted nothing more than to get her girl cock in his mouth.

Buster spread out on her bed, and Max rolled on top of her, kissing the fur of her tummy before looking down and seeing her pink prick, already erect and begging for his attention. He took a deep breath, and then leaned down, tentatively flicking his tongue against the tip. She gasped, a shiver running through her body, and Max felt his own cock throb in response. He took her into his mouth, wrapping his lips around her gently, feeling her cock pulse and throb as he began to suck. The taste was faintly sweet and musky, a scent that was all her, and it sent his senses into overdrive. His hand found her balls, stroking them lightly, and Buster’s legs began to quiver.

"Max," Buster mewled, her toes curling in her striped thigh-highs, "That feels so good, so fucking good, oh my God..."

Her words spurred Max on, his own cock pulsing with every moan she made. He took more of her in, letting the tip of her cock hit the back of his throat. He felt a strange thrill in doing something so intimate, something that seemed so taboo but was, in this moment, so incredibly right. The way she squirmed beneath him, one of her feet thumping against the bed, told him he was doing it right.

Buster's paws found his floppy ears and gripped him for purchase as he sucked and licked, her body arching upward as her moans grew louder. Max felt a strange sense of power, a heady rush of control that made him want to push her even further. He took her cock deeper into his mouth, her fur brushing against his nose, and she began to thrust gently, setting a rhythm that matched his own. Her legs spread wider, giving him access, and Max slid a hand down to explore her ass, this thumb pressing against her asshole.

"Yes!" She hissed, pushing her hips up to meet his touch. He slipped his thumb inside her, feeling the tightness that clenched around him. Buster’s eyes rolled back into her head, a high-pitched squeal escaping her lips as Max worked his thumb in and out of her, matching the rhythm of his sucking.

Her cock grew in his mouth, and Max felt her body tense up. Buster’s breaths grew ragged, her chest heaving with every pant. Max could feel the heat of her, her musky scent filling his nose, and he knew she was close. He sucked harder, bobbing his head faster, and pushed his thumb in deeper, pressing against her prostate.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Max," Buster bucked into his mouth, practically fucking his face, "So close, so close, oh my God, Max, I'm gonna...FUCK!"

With a final, desperate thrust, Buster came, her body seizing up as she spilled into Max's mouth. Max swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of her release. He felt her body relax beneath him, the tension in her legs releasing, her paws loosening their grip on his ears. He pulled back, licking his lips, watching as Buster panted for breath, a blissful smile spreading across her face.

Her cum tasted faintly salty, with a hint of something that was purely Buster. Max sat back, watching her come down from the high, his own cock still standing tall between his legs. She looked up at him, her eyes glazed over with pleasure, and Max felt a fierce love for her that washed away any lingering doubt. He leaned down and kissed her, passing some of her own seed into her mouth that dribbled between the corners of their lips, their tongues meeting in a messy, lewd tangle.

They lay together, breathless and sticky, for a few moments before Buster chuckled and pushed herself up. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to cum so fast," she said, her voice still thick with arousal.

Max grinned down at her, feeling a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the awkwardness of his own throbbing erection. "Don't apologize," he said, stroking her fur gently. "It's just...new. For both of us."

Buster leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded with contentment. "Yeah," she murmured, "but...I want to make sure you feel good too."

She reached between them, grasping his cock, stroking it against her own half-hard girl dick, her furry paws sliding over the slickness of his precum as she kissed him again. Max groaned into the kiss, the sensation of her cock against his sending shivers down his spine.

"Buster?" Max pulled back from her slightly.

Her smile was a bit shaky, but she nodded, her eyes searching his. "Yeah?"

"Can I fuck you?" Max bit his bottom lip as he asked her, his fingers sliding against her side, lifting her shirt and exposing her small tits in her black, lace A-cup bra.

"Yeah," Buster breathed out, a soft moan escaping as she lifted the cups of her bra so she could fondle her own small breasts, teasing her nipples as Max watched, transfixed. "There's some lube in my nightstand just..." She then blushed under her fur, "Ignore the dildo. It was for... practice."

Max nodded, his cock bobbing with every beat of his racing heart as he rolled off her and sat up, opening the nightstand. Inside, there was a bottle of lube along with a small, purple dildo. He picked it up and shook it,

"Uh, you sure you're going to be able to handle me?" He chuckled, "I'm a bit bigger than this thing."

Buster took the dildo from his hand, setting it aside with a grin. "Don't worry," she said, her voice a sultry purr, "I can take it."

Max popped the cap to the lube and squirted a generous amount onto his hand, rubbing it over his cock. Buster watched him, her eyes dark with want, and Max felt his heart swell with love for this beautiful creature. He leaned over her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her cheeks, her nose, before finally capturing her mouth again. Their tongues danced together as Max began to roll her over on her stomach, releasing the kiss so he could position himself behind her, guiding his cock between her furry ass cheeks.

Her breath hitched as he rubbed the head of his cock against her tight entrance, the slickness of the lube easing the way. Max took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he pushed the tip of his cock inside her. Buster's body was tense, but she didn’t protest, instead pushing back slightly to take more of him. Max felt his cock stretch her, inch by inch, her inner muscles tightening around him like a vice. It was a strange sensation, but also incredibly hot, knowing that he was the first to take her like this. He paused, giving her time to adjust.

"Does it hurt?" He asked her, seeing Buster wince a bit.

"A little," she admitted, "but I want this, Max. I want you. Keep going... all the way."

With a nod, Max pushed in further, feeling the tightness of her giving way to his gentle but insistent pressure. Buster's moans grew louder, a mix of pain and pleasure that made Max's pulse race even as he took care not to hurt her. He was fully sheathed in her tight warmth, the feeling of her around him like nothing he had ever experienced before. He leaned down, pressing kisses along her spine, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he began to move, his hips rocking slowly at first, then building in speed.

"Buster... fuck, you feel amazing," he cooed, drawing his cock back and then stuffing it back deep in her bowels.

Buster nodded, her cheeks flushing. "Don't stop," she panted, pushing her ass back against him, her asshole gripping him like a fist.

Max took her words as encouragement, increasing his pace slightly, watching her reaction as he did. Her breath grew more ragged, her body trembling with each thrust. He reached around, finding her small breasts, and began to knead them in his paw. She let out a high-pitched squeak, her body jolting at the contact. Max felt a sense of power, a strange thrill in knowing he could make her feel so much pleasure.

But then, Buster reached and took his hand in her own and brought it to her throat, wrapping his fingers around her neck, "Ch-choke me a bit," she demanded, "Take control of me, Max. Dominate me."

Max’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his hand around her throat, not too tightly, just enough to feel the pulse of her blood beneath his fingertips as he began to thrust into her harder. Her moans grew louder, her hips pushing back against him with more urgency. The sight of his hand on her throat, the sound of her gasping for breath, the way she begged for more... it was intoxicating. Max’s cock swelled with each thrust, his grip tightening slightly as he took her roughly from behind.

"Fuck yes," Buster gasped, "Max, fuck, tell me how good it feels, tell me how much you like fucking my ass."

Max's heart raced as he tightened his grip slightly on her neck, the power thrumming through him as he thrust deeper. "You're so tight, so fucking perfect," he growled, the words spilling from his lips like a confession. "I can't believe I get to do this to you."

"You can do whatever you like to me," Buster panted, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, "I'm yours, Max, all of me! Fuck!"

Max’s strokes grew more erratic as he neared his climax, his hips slamming into her with the force of a jackhammer. Buster's eyes rolled back, her moans turning to whimpers as she took him, her body quivering with each thrust. Max could feel his orgasm building, his cock pulsing inside her, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

"Buster, I'm going to cum Buster," he growled, his grip on her throat tightening, his other hand giving her a harsh slap across her ass. "Do you want it? Do you want my cum?"

Buster’s response was a whine of pleasure, her body squirming under him, pushing back against his cock. "Yes, Max, fuck yes," she gasped, her voice strained, "I want it all. Fill me. Fuck me until I go limp, oh God..."

Max's thrusts grew more urgent, his strokes becoming faster and harder. He watched as Buster's ass cheeks jiggled with each pump, her furry tail flicking back and forth in a blur. He could feel the tightness of her ass gripping him, the pressure building, until he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a roar, Max came, his hot seed filling her up as she squealed in ecstasy.

He flooded her bowels with his cum, the heat and intensity of it making her whole body clench around him. Max felt the last of his orgasm pulse through him, leaving him trembling and weak, his cock still buried deep inside her. They stayed like that for a few moments, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath as they slumped into Buster's mattress.

Eventually, Max pulled out, his cock slick with his cum, and collapsed beside her. They lay there, the silence of the room broken only by their gasps for air and the sound of their racing hearts. Buster reached over, her furry hand finding Max's, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"That was amazing," she panted, "You're amazing. Max, just, fuck, you're the most amazing guy I ever met..."

Max lay beside her, his cock limp against his leg. He had never felt so alive, so...complete. He turned to her, looking into those big, brown eyes, and knew he was in love. "I love you, Buster," he whispered, kissing her forehead gently.

Her fur was sticky with their combined sweat, but it was the sweetest thing Max had ever felt. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into his chest, and she nuzzled against him, purring contentedly. He stroked her back, feeling the soft fur beneath his fingertips. "I love you too, Max," she murmured, tears rimming her eyes, "I don't care that it's only been a couple of days, I fucking love you so much."

They lay there for a while, their bodies slowly cooling and their breaths evening out. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting an orange light across the rumpled bed. Max's hand slid down to Buster's hip, tracing the curve of her body. Her fur was warm and smooth, and he couldn’t believe she was really here, with him. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, and finally her lips, feeling a gentle pressure from hers as she kissed him back.

"So what now?" He asked against her lips, his forehead pressed against hers.

Buster leaned back, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. She gave a lazy smile, her eyes shining. "Now," she said, "We order a pizza. I don't know about you, but I am fucking starved."

Max chuckled, his own breath still coming in short gasps. He kissed her again, tasting the salt on her fur. "Pizza it is," he agreed, rolling over to grab his phone.

Chapter Text

FIVE - Closer

Max leaned back into the couch, a half-eaten slice of pizza cooling on the plate in his lap. The movie on the TV flickered, but his mind wasn’t really on it. He kept sneaking glances at Buster curled against him, her head nestled under his chin, her ears brushing his jaw whenever she shifted. Her warmth pressed into his side, the weight of her against him, it all felt surreal—like something too good for real life, like a dream he hadn’t wanted to wake up from.

He had just lost his virginity.

He’d thought about this moment for so long—what it would be like, what it would mean—but the reality had been something else entirely. Not awkward like he feared. Not clumsy in the way he had built up in his head. It had been… perfect. Scary at first, sure—his heart had nearly leapt out of his chest—but once it started, once it was happening, all that fear melted away. It was just him and her, no walls, no masks, no pretending.

He’d given her something he’d never given anyone else, and she had trusted him enough to do the same. That thought alone made his chest ache in the best way possible. He couldn’t stop replaying the way she had looked at him, the way her breath had caught, the way she whispered his name. It was burned into him now, permanent.

Max took another bite of pizza, mostly just to ground himself, because he felt like he was floating. His body still hummed with the afterglow, that mix of exhaustion and energy that made him want to laugh at nothing and everything. But more than the physical, it was the closeness—how right it felt to be here, with her, sharing something as ordinary as greasy pizza and a dumb movie after something as big as what they’d just done.

Stretching, Max leaned over and reached for his phone, thumb lighting up the screen.

“Shit,” he mumbled, blinking at the time. “It’s almost ten. Didn’t you say your parents would be home soon?”

Buster glanced up from her slice, ears flicking. “Yeah, but it’s fine.” She chewed, swallowed, then hesitated, glancing at him sidelong. “In fact, do you maybe… you know… want to spend the night over? You could, like, call your dad and see if it’s okay?”

Max barked a laugh, dropping his phone onto the couch. “First off, I’m eighteen. I don’t need to call my dad and ask permission to sleep over.” He gave her a teasing smirk. “Second, are you sure your parents would be cool with it? A dude crashing here?”

Buster rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Okay, well first off—from me—stop being a smartass.” She nudged his arm playfully, almost knocking his pizza slice out of his hand. “And second, yeah, they’re amazingly cool. You’ll see.”

And then, as if on cue, the front door creaked open. Both of them froze like kids caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, but instead of suspicion, the sound of voices filled the entryway.

Her dad stepped in first: a tall, gray-furred rabbit, lean and long-eared, dressed in slacks and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Behind him came her mom, a soft-brown rabbit with wavy blonde hair that caught the hallway light, tote bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, hi, sweetie!” her mom chirped the second she spotted them on the couch. “How was school?” She set her bag down, giving Buster the kind of easy, maternal smile that said she was already reading the situation. Her eyes flicked to Max. “And I see you brought a friend over.”

Buster hopped up from the couch, pizza crust still in hand, and waved them over. “Mom, Dad—this is Max.”

Max stood too, brushing his palms on his jeans as if that would make him look more respectable, and forced a polite smile. His stomach tightened—like they could somehow see right through him, like they knew exactly what he and Buster had been doing upstairs not long ago.

Her dad was the first to step forward, and he gave Max a firm handshake. “Good grip,” he said with an approving nod. “That’s a good sign.”

“Thanks, sir,” Max replied, trying to sound confident even though his voice caught just a little.

Her mom, a warm smile on her face, stepped closer next, “It’s so nice to meet you, Max. I’m glad Buster’s found a friend here. This move’s been a little rough on her, you know.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Max said politely, though his pulse still thudded in his ears. Friendly or not, this was nerve-racking.

Buster, grinning ear to ear, cut in before things got too awkward. “So, uh… would it be cool if Max stayed the night?”

Her dad, halfway into the kitchen already, raised a brow. “On a school night?”

Before Max could panic, her mom waved it off with a little laugh. “It’s fine. Just keep it down, and be in bed by midnight.” Then, giving Buster a playful yet stern glance, she added, “And I don’t want to fight with you to get up in the morning, missy.”

“Got it,” Buster said quickly, flashing Max a sly grin like she’d won a small battle.

Max exhaled slowly, shoulders easing.

Back on the couch they went, movie flickering away. Buster was tucked snugly under Max’s arm, her head against his chest, while Max absentmindedly stroked her paw with his thumb. Every so often, one would lean in for a quick kiss, soft and unhurried, before turning their attention back to the screen.

By the time the credits faded, the clock read just past eleven. From the hall came the quiet creak of footsteps, and a moment later, Buster’s mom appeared. She was already dressed for bed in a long robe, her fur brushed, her expression fond.

She leaned down, kissed her daughter on the forehead, and said with a teasing firmness, “Your father and I are headed to bed. Make sure your butt is in your room in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Buster murmured, though she was smiling.

Her mom turned her gaze toward Max, warm and polite. “Do you need anything, Max? Pillows? Blankets?”

Max shook his head quickly, sitting up straighter. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

“Alright then.” She gave them both one more look, half knowing, half maternal. “If you need anything, Buster will get it for you. You two have a good night.”

And with that, she padded off down the hall, leaving them in the quiet glow of the TV.

Buster leaned against Max, her grin mischievous. “So… wanna head upstairs?”

Max’s ears flicked, but he nodded. “Sure.”

They shut off the TV, gathered the empty pizza box and soda cans, and tidied the couch before heading toward the stairs. Halfway up, Buster glanced back over her shoulder at him, her eyes shining with mischief.

“You know,” she said in a sing-song tone, “I should make you sleep on the floor. Keep this a proper sleepover.”

Max rolled his eyes, groaning. “If you were sleeping at my house, I’d give you the bed.”

That made her smirk. She turned her head just enough for him to see it, her voice dropping into something honey-sweet.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “We’ll share the bed.”

The two of them slipped into Buster’s room, shutting the door quietly behind them. The air felt different up here—more private, more charged—and Max could already feel the butterflies in his stomach waking up.

He sat on the edge of the bed while Buster dug through her dresser drawers. Max hadn’t considered the possibility of a sleepover, so he didn't pack any pajamas. Instead, he peeled down to his boxers and t-shirt, feeling a little exposed but not nearly as nervous as he would have been a few hours ago. He was still buzzing from earlier, that dizzy mix of intimacy and discovery.

And then Buster, oh God—Buster—casually pulled her denim shorts and panties down and shimmied out of them, trading them for a pair of red lace boyshorts. Max froze. The delicate fabric clung just enough, showing hints of shape and curve, and his throat went dry. She tugged her shirt off too, replacing it with a cropped top that bared her stomach, clinging to her small breasts.

She bent at the waist to pick up her discarded clothes, and Max’s eyes betrayed him, catching little glimpses he knew he shouldn’t gawk at but couldn’t not see. His cheeks burned. He wanted to look away, but his whole body was magnetized.

When she straightened, she caught him staring. Instead of scolding him, she only grinned—devilish, knowing, a little smug. “You know,” she said, tossing her clothing into the hamper, “my mom said we needed to get in bed by midnight…” Her voice took on that syrupy sweetness again as she stepped closer, “But I have a feeling neither of us are tired, hrm?”

Max’s heart pounded so hard he swore she could hear it. He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He wasn’t tired—not even close. In fact, he felt wide awake in a way he never had before, as if every nerve in his body had been lit up like fireworks.

Watching her slide under the covers, red lace disappearing beneath the sheets as she patted the space beside her, Max had no illusions about what his body wanted. His pulse quickened, heat rising everywhere at once. She looked so soft, so inviting, but her grin said she knew exactly the effect she was having on him.

Max climbed in beside her, mind racing. He wanted to take her again. Rip those panties off her and fuck her senseless. But... with her parents now in the house, was that even a possibility?

Buster rolled onto her side, tucking herself against him with an ease that felt so natural it made Max’s chest ache. His arm slid around her waist without a thought, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting for this exact moment.

She stretched out her hand toward the lamp, and suddenly the room went dark. For a beat, Max’s heart hammered in the blackness, blind but overwhelmed with every other sense—the warmth of her back against his chest, the faint citrusy scent of her hair, the soft lace brushing against his thighs.

Then—click—a softer glow came alive above them. A string of fairy lights, draped loosely over her headboard, bathed the room in the faintest golden haze. Max’s breath caught. It wasn’t enough to see everything, but just enough to make her glow in the low light. Beautiful. Way too beautiful.

And then she moved. A subtle shift of her hips back into him, pressing into the bulge that had already betrayed him. He bit his lip so hard he nearly groaned out loud, pulse thudding in his throat as he felt her deliberately grind against him, slow and teasing, like she wanted to hear him crack.

“Buster…” he whispered, but it came out hoarse, almost a plea.

Without even turning her head, she asked in that casual, sing-song way that always made him crazy, “So, how are you feeling?”

Her tone was light, but there was heat underneath—like she knew what he was feeling, like she was testing if he’d admit it out loud. Max swallowed hard, his arm tightening around her middle, his lips brushing close to her ear as he breathed, caught between embarrassed honesty and the hunger flooding through him.

"Horny," Max admitted.

Buster rolled over to face him, the sheets sliding down to reveal the red lace riding low on her hips. Max's eyes traced the curves of her body, seeing her cock straining against the fabric of her panties. He was painfully aware of every inch of her, every soft furred contour that begged to be touched.

She pushed her hips forward, rubbing her bulge against him, "Maybe we should do something about that, hmm?"

Max bit his lip, feeling her slide against him through his boxers, "What about your parents?"

Buster grinned, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric, "They won't bother us." She leaned in closer, whispering, "As long as you don't moan too loud." She kissed him, soft and sweet, and Max felt his resolve melt away like sugar in hot tea.

Max slid his hand down and gripped Buster through the boyshorts, feeling a hint of wetness from precum as he rubbed at her cock, "Mmf, I don't know how you do it, but you get me so fucking turned on."

Her smile grew, a little more wicked now. "It's all in the confidence," she murmured, leaning in to run her tongue over his neck. She then pulled his boxers down, exposing his prick to the cool air of her bedroom, and took him in hand, stroking him with a gentle yet firm grip. Max's eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation.

"Take mine out," Buster whispered.

Her voice was a caress, a command that had Max's hands shaking as he reached for the hem of her boyshorts. He slipped his thumbs under the elastic and tugged it down, his breath hitching as he revealed her cock, hard and proud. She was already slick with arousal, and his hand slid over her skin like it was made for this.

Buster's eyes closed in a silent gasp as Max took her in hand, stroking in time with her movements. They shifted closer, thighs pressing together, and their cocks met—their tips smearing precum, gliding against each other. Max felt a thrill run through him, a sense of something new and electric, as their lengths slid together.

"You like how that feels?" She asked him, her hand now gripping both their cocks together as she stared into Max's eyes.

Max nodded, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he released the grip on her cock and let Buster take charge. "Yeah, it's...different," he breathed out. "Good different."

Her grin grew wider, and she leaned in closer, her nose brushing his cheek. "Good," she murmured. "Fuck I love feeling your cock against mine."

Her words were a match to dry kindling. Max’s hand slid down her body, tracing the line of her waist, her hips, the curve of her thigh. His thumb grazed the crevice between her legs, and she quivered. His dick was so hard it hurt, and he could feel hers pulsing against him.

"I love yours too," he moaned, the pressure building.

"Mmm, you're so hard," Buster teased him, "I wonder who's going to cum first, me or you?"

Her hand moved faster, their cocks gliding together in the soft light, a dance of flesh and fur that was as mesmerizing as it was arousing. Max's hand gripped Buster's hip tighter as he smirked,

"Is that a challenge?" Max taunted her.

Buster's eyes gleamed, her hand still working both their erections. "Yes," she whispered, her voice a silky promise. "And the loser gets fucked."

Max's breath caught, "Buster... are you... serious?"

Her pace quickened on their cocks, "Aw, are you afraid of taking it up the ass?" She grinned, leaning in to flick her tongue against his lips, "Afraid of being my little bottom?"

Max's eyes went wide, his cheeks burning. He'd never done it before, but the way she said it—so confident, so sure of herself—it was like a dare that went straight to his groin. "I... I don't know," he stuttered. "I... have never, you know..."

"Think about it," she murmured, "Bent over, your ass up, me fucking you from behind."

Max's breath hitched. The thought was overwhelming, his mind racing with a mix of fear and excitement. He had never done anything like that before, but the way she spoke—so confident, so alluring—made him want to try. His cock twitched in her hand, a silent confession of leaked precum.

Buster leaned closer, her voice a seductive whisper in his ear, "I promise you, Max...it'll be amazing. You just have to trust me."

Whoever came first was going to be fucked. Max wasn't sure if he wanted to be the winner, or the loser, of this little game. The thought of Buster's cock inside him was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures. He'd never felt so vulnerable, so open. His hand trembled slightly as it gripped her hip, his hips bucking up into her touch as they both moaned.

"You going to cum?" Buster teased him, her hand a blur on their cocks, "Don't you want to? Don't you want to cover my cock in in your cum?"

Max's hips bucked upward, meeting her strokes, his hand sliding down to cup her balls, "Fuck," he breathed out. "Buster... I'm close."

Max closed his eyes and bit his lips. He was on the very verge of erupting, not just from the way she pumped their combined cocks, but her words, the way she said them with such confidence and desire, it was like she knew him better than he knew himself. He didn’t know if he was ready to take it up the ass, but the thought of losing this game and being claimed by Buster was making him even more excited.

They were both so slick with precum that he could hear Buster jerking them off, a sloppy, wet sound that filled the room, mingling with their stifled gasps. Buster's forehead pressed against his as she whispered,

"Look at me, Max."

Her voice was a gentle command that had Max's eyes flying open. He stared into hers, and what he saw there made his heart race even faster. There was a hunger in her gaze, a need that matched his own, and something more—something that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

And then she said the words that sent him over the edge:

"Cum so I can fuck you."

Max's eyes went wide at her words, the heat in his cheeks spreading to his entire body as his hips bucked and he came, spurts of cum painting their stomachs and cocks. His orgasm was so intense, so consuming, that for a moment, all he could do was pant and try to keep his eyes open, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a thirsty dog on a hot, summer day.

"Mmm, good boy," Buster cooed as she slowed her strokes, cum webbing between her furry fingers.

Max's chest heaved, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, as Buster's hand finally stilled. His orgasm had painted them both in sticky white streaks, and his cock was still twitching, over-sensitive to even the lightest touch. Buster leaned back, her own cock still erect, a smug smile playing on her lips. She took a moment to admire her handiwork, the mess of cum shining in the dim light, before she reached over to her nightstand and opened the drawer, grabbing her bottle of lube.

"Wait," Max blinked, "We're really going to do this?"

Buster's smile grew more mischievous as she nodded, "You lost the race, Max," she said, her voice a velvet purr, "Now it's time for you to pay up. Now roll onto your stomach."

Max's eyes widened a fraction, but he complied, the thrill of the unknown making him shiver slightly. He felt Buster's weight shift off the bed, and then she was back, straddling his thighs. Her hands were gentle as she spread his legs apart, her touch leaving a trail of fire along his skin. He heard the cap on the lube twist open, and then the sound of her squeezing some into her palm.

He looked back at her, watching her grease up her cock with the lube before she squirted some on his asshole, the cold making him jump a little. Max took a deep breath, his body tensing as Buster's furry hand gently pushed his cheek down into the pillow. "Just relax, Max," she whispered, "I'll go slow. If it hurts at all, just tell me to stop, okay?"

Max nodded, his eyes squeezed shut, heart racing as he felt her cockhead nudge at his entrance. He took another deep breath and forced himself to let go, his body trembling slightly as she pushed in, just the tip at first, then a little more. It burned, it was true, but it wasn't unbearable. It was...strange. A feeling that didn't quite match anything he'd felt before, but not unpleasant.

He was actually letting someone fuck him.

Max felt Buster’s cock push a little further, the pressure building. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart racing like a rabbit’s in a cage. She was so gentle, so careful—like she knew this was new for him, like she knew exactly how much he was fighting his own instincts.

"Relax," Buster repeated, "Just relax. I got you."

Max took another deep breath, trying to push away the fear and the doubt. He focused on her voice, her touch, the warmth of her body pressing against his. And when she pushed in again, a little further this time, the burn grew sharper, but he didn't tell her to stop. He gritted his teeth, feeling the head of her cock go deeper, stretching him open. He tensed, his body trying to fight it, but she just kept whispering in his ear, her voice a soothing balm.

"You doing okay?" She asked, just holding herself inside his ass.

Max nodded, his voice strained. "Yeah...just...give me a second."

Buster waited, her cock just inside him, her breath hot against his ear. "You're okay," she whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell me if it's too much."

Max nodded again, taking one more deep breath before he felt her begin to move, slow and steady. Inch by inch, she pushed deeper, giving him time to adjust, to get used to the sensation of her cock filling him. It wasn't terrible—more like a pressure that was growing more intense by the second. He felt his body start to relax, his muscles loosening around her.

"You're so tight, Max," Buster grunted, her hand moving to stroke his back soothingly. "So fucking tight..."

Max nodded, his eyes tightly shut, his face buried in the pillow. The pain eased, morphing into something else, something more... pleasurable. The feeling of being filled, of being claimed, it was something he’d never experienced before, and he wanted more of it. He felt her cock slide in further, hitting his prostate, and he whimpered into the pillow.

"You like that, don't you?" Buster whispered, her hand stroking his back.

Max nodded, "Yes, fuck yes."

He liked it more than he was willing to admit—the way she filled him, the way she claimed him so completely. It was a strange, new sensation that sent shivers down his spine. He felt her hips start to move again, a slow, steady rhythm that made his body come alive with pleasure. Each stroke was a little deeper, a little more intense, and soon, the pain was nothing but a memory, replaced by a growing heat that coiled in his belly.

Max's fingers curled into the bedsheets, his hips pushing back to meet her, urging her deeper. He could feel her breathing quicken, her strokes growing more forceful. She was taking him, claiming him, and he was letting her, eagerly giving himself over to her. Her hands gripped his hips, keeping him steady as she drove into him, her cock sliding in and out with a wet, slick sound. Max's moans grew louder, mixing with Buster's own, as she grunted,

"I love you, Max, so fucking much."

The words were a declaration, a promise, and Max felt them resonate in every part of his being. Buster's hips rocked into his, a steady, deep rhythm that seemed to match the beating of his heart. The pleasure grew, and he couldn't help but reach between his legs and stroke his cock, already coming back to life.

"I love you too," Max moaned, "You... you can go faster..."

Her eyes lit up, "You're okay?"

Max nodded, his voice a little shaky, "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. Fuck me, Buster, please."

The sound of his own voice asking for this was something he never thought he'd hear, but here he was, begging for more of her cock inside him. And she didn't disappoint. With a grin that was a mix of love and lust, Buster picked up her pace, her furry hips slapping against his ass with every thrust. Max felt her hand reach around to stroke his now-hard cock along with him, her thumb brushing over his slit as she fucked him.

Max's eyes rolled back, and his mouth fell open as she hit just the right spot inside him, setting off sparks of pleasure that shot through his body as she fucked him and helped jerk him off, her hand moving in time with her hips. He could feel himself getting close again, his breathing labored.

"Do you want me to cum in you?" Buster gripped his hips tighter, her strokes becoming more erratic, her breath hot on his neck, "Tell me."

Max's eyes rolled back into his head, his voice a desperate whine. "Yes, yes, I want it, please."

"Then beg for it, " She hissed, pummeling his ass from behind, her grip on his cock demanding. "Beg for my cum, Max."

Max did, his voice cracking, his hips bucking back into her, his body a canvas of pleasure and desire. "Please, Buster," he whimpered, "I want it, I need it."

"Want what?" She gripped his cock so tight it hurt.

Max's voice was a strangled cry, "Your cum! I want your cum! Fill me!"

Buster's response was a low, feral growl that sent a shiver down Max's spine. She thrust into him harder, her fur brushing against his fur as she reached her peak. Max felt the heat of her orgasm building, and his own climax was just a heartbeat away.

And then they exploded.

Buster's cock swelled inside him, and with one final, desperate push, she came. Max felt the heat of her semen filling him, her body tensing as she rode out her orgasm. His own climax followed, his cock spurting thick ropes of cum onto the bed, painting her sheets in sperm. They were both whimpering, shaking, lost in the intensity of the moment. It was raw and primal and beautiful.

As Buster's thrusts slowed, she leaned over him, her furry chest heaving with every breath she took. She kissed the back of his neck, her tongue tracing the line of his fur. "You're mine," she whispered, the words a gentle promise. Max nodded, his body still pulsing with pleasure. He could feel her cock pulsing inside him, the aftershocks of her orgasm echoing through his own body.

"All yours," he whispered back to her, feeling her slowly remove her girl cock from him.

Max's body was a trembling mess, his legs shaking as Buster pulled out of him with a wet pop. He felt the warm trickle of cum leak out of his ass, mixing with the sticky mess on the bed. He turned onto his back, panting heavily, his cock limp and sticky with cum. Buster collapsed beside him, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she wiped sweat from her forehead.

"Goddamn, boy," she giggled, collapsing beside him, still trying to catch her own breath. "That was...something else."

Max couldn't find the words. His entire body was still thrumming with the aftershocks of their union, his mind reeling with the intensity of it all. He'd never felt so alive, so connected to another person. The room was still, save for their ragged breaths and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street outside. The scent of their arousal filled the air, musky and intoxicating.

He reached for Buster's hand, interlocking fingers as he finally spoke, "I love you, Buster. I really do."

Their eyes met, and she gave him a warm smile, her cheeks flushed and her chest rising and falling heavily with her breaths. "I know, Max," she said, her voice gentle. "And I love you."

They lay there, entangled in the mess of sweat and cum, hearts racing and bodies trembling. The room was a cocoon of intimacy, the rest of the world a distant memory. Max felt something new inside him, something that scared him and thrilled him all at once. He'd never been with someone like Buster before, someone who could make him feel so exposed and yet so safe. Her hand found its way to his cheek, her thumb brushing away the beads of sweat that had gathered there before she pressed her lips to him.

Max turned his head and captured her lips against his own, tasting the sweetness of her breath. He felt a newfound comfort in the warm embrace of their sticky entanglement, as if the mess they’d made together was a declaration of something unspoken but profoundly felt.

He stared into her eyes as they broke the kiss, "Hey, Buster?"

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice still breathless.

"I know it's a bit early still, a few months off, but," He bit his lip, then took in a breath through his nose before asking, "Will you go to prom with me?"

The words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. Buster's smile grew even wider as she took Max's hand in hers, bringing it to her lips for a gentle kiss. "Of course," she murmured, "I would love to."

Max's heart swelled with a mix of joy and relief. He hadn't realized how much he'd been hoping she'd say yes until the words left her mouth. He pulled her closer, kissing her deeply, his tongue exploring the warm cavern of her mouth, tasting the hint of Italian seasoning from the pizza they shared.

"We should probably get some sleep," Buster whispered, her eyes dropping to Max's exhausted expression. She reached over and turned off the string of lights, plunging the room into darkness except for the moonlight filtering through the blinds. The sudden absence of light was comforting, wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

They moved positions, with Buster's back to Max. They didn't bother with getting redressed, didn't care about the mess on the sheets, or the stickiness between their bodies. They were lost in the warmth and comfort of each other's embrace, the reality of the moment sinking in. Max's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, feeling her softness press against him. She reached back, her hand finding his, and Max felt the softness of her fur under his fingertips, the gentle curve of her waist. They lay there for a while, just feeling each other's hearts slow down to a normal rhythm.

"Love you," Buster whispered, sleep ready to take her away.

Max nodded, his arm tightening around her. "Love you too," he murmured back, feeling his own eyelids grow heavy.

And soon, they both drifted off together, their breaths syncing into a steady rhythm that mirrored the quiet night outside. Max had never felt more at peace than he did with Buster's warm body pressed against his, her fur a soft caress against his.

He didn't know what the future would hold for them, but for now, that was enough.

The End.