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Many people are aware of the large population of feral foxes in London. Perhaps feral is not the right word to use, for although their origins are in the forests and fields, they are so comfortably adapted to their urban environment that they can hardly said to be displaced at all. Indeed, the foxes in this story come from a long line of London foxes, reaching farther back than any fox can count (though they are clever, all but the cleverest fox cannot count beyond twelve or thirteen).They are among the most civilised species in London, certainly much more civilised than humans (but not more civilised than ants, obviously). Their manners, by animal standards, are highly refined. For example, this is what happens when two foxes meet: first, the stranger announces themselves with a polite yelp. The other fox gives an answering snitter, then they approach each other quite calmly. Tradition demands they then bow to each other, before proceeding to sniff up all the information they can from each other's backsides.This is exactly how it went the night Harry met his boyfriend Louis. They were attending a sort of regular fox jamboree outside a butcher when they both reached for a beef tongue at the same time and accidentally touched snouts. They made formal introductions and learned that they lived on opposite sides of Hampstead Heath; Harry on the West and Louis on the East. This, and the fact that both were yet to bond, could be discerned from the odours on their rear ends. Scents carry much more than this prosaic information, however, and Harry was helpless to conceal his growing attraction to Louis. Happily, it was mutual, not that they needed to disucss it, as Louis was in a similar state.To Harry, Louis had all the qualities he desired in a mate. His lucid blue eyes had an impish quality, sparkling like spangles when he was up to mischief. His fur was more brown than red, like an autumn leaf. His voice too had a crackly edge, which Harry found endearing. His feline body was smaller than average, but athletic at play, and he was fond of sports, particularly hunting. That autumn they spent most of their free time together chasing hares, digging up squirrel’s stores, and frolicking in piles of leaves. Harry was enamoured, then winter came and he fell more deeply in love, spending most nights curled up against Louis under an overturned wheelbarrow. It was more or less marital bliss, except for one thing; they had never mated.Now Springtime had ushered in the biological imperative which had every other fox their age holed up in a love nest making pups, and Harry was feeling more frustrated than ever. As it was, Harry was not much more than a pup himself and still lived at home with his mother. His sister had long since struck out on her own and was said to be living in Camden in a toolshed. His mother was expecting another litter and her bondmate made frequent visits to help furnish their nest. Their home was a standard two-room den in a smart row of free standing dens on a lush embankment. On that mild evening the clover flowers carpeting the bank did little to offset the pheromones wafting from dens and secluded corners in the borough. The yearning wails of vixens in heat travelled on the breeze from as far as Canary Wharf. Harry often wished he had been born a vixen instead, so he could whimper and simper in some secret hollow and wait for his true love to find him. The life of a fox, like the life of every animal on earth, is ultimately concerned with reproduction, and therefore with romance, which comprises the conditions and the rituals which precipitate a fox mating. The drive to forge a lifelong companionship with his mate was no less strong for a gay fox like Harry. He was a traditional fox, in that respect.Harry sniffed the ground around the entrance to his home. Just the expected odours of Anne and Robin. Well, it was good to be sure, and to nibble at a clover as he went. A taste of sweet pollen was a good appetiser. He trotted down the bank and along the fence until he reached an opening where the lower half of a picket had rotted away. The passage into Hargreave's backyard was used by all and sundry in the area and smelled accordingly of hares, hedgehogs, cats, and other foxes.The gibbous moon showered its rays across the yard, illuminating the dilapidated garden. A squadron of snails was at work on the kale. Harry snaffled one up. Easy prey, though rather gritty. It was early in the night and a much tastier meal could be had at The Cat Lady's across the street. There on the backstep was the customary offering meant for her cat; a dish of fresh water and a glistening fishy terrine recently unmoulded from the tin. Harry lapped at the water then delicately collected the cat food, immediately escaping into a hedgerow to savour his treat. He didn't see the fox concealed in the darkness until he was upon him. Startled, they locked eyes and Harry immediately relaxed."You curr! I was just about to snatch that but you beat me to it." Said Louis. Harry sheepishly put the food down and bowed his head. Louis licked a stripe between his ears."Fortune favours the bold." Harry replied."Indeed" said Louis, then quick as a flash he took the meat in his jaws and scampered away."Why you—!" Said Harry, then he chased after him, his eyes trained on Louis' russet tail bounding ahead, over pots and under clotheslines.Harry’s heart was racing from exertion and the titillating joy of giving chase. He was clumsy for a fox, knocking things over and crashing through passages on the unfamiliar route Louis was leading him. They entered a park, one of those private ones only accessible to the rich occupants of the street (and to foxes, of course). Harry chased Louis down corridors of blooming roses, then round and round a marble fountain, and it occurred to him how romantic Louis was. He was always finding charming locations like this. What a catch! Eventually they came to a stop at the base of a great oak tree in the middle of a large lawn.“Are you sure you’re not a mole? You run around like you’re half blind!” Louis panted.Harry scoffed. “Could a mole do this?”He pounced on Louis and rolled around in the dust among the roots. They fought for a moment, trading bites and snarls. This is how foxes play. Then Harry abruptly pinned Louis with his greater weight, his paws pressing down onto Louis’ ribcage. “–Hang on! Where’s the cat food?”Louis licked his chops in answer.“Typical. Greedy guts. Never save anything for your loving mate, after I offered to share it and–"“Alright, shush.” Louis interrupted. “I have something to show you if you’ll pipe down for a minute.”Louis rolled away and shook himself off. He caught Harry’s eye and offered a consoling lick on the muzzle.
“It’s round here.” He said, leading Harry to the other side of the tree. He inclined his head towards the opening of a den in between two broad roots. “After you.”Harry trusted Louis, but his instincts tended towards wariness. He sniffed the opening, smelling nothing so much as fungus and a bit of mouse wee, then he entered the den. Inside the ground was powdery soft under his paws. As his eyes adjusted to the pitch darkness, he could see the high ceiling was buttressed by beams of thick root, and in no danger of caving in. It was one room, sort of egg shaped, with the narrow end serving as a pantry stacked with food. The air was permeated with only one scent: Louis, who followed him in smelling of excitement and an uncharacteristic shyness.“What do you think?” He said.Harry turned in place then laid down on his belly, looking around him at the small den, his tail wagging all the while. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Louis had dug this den himself with their matehood in mind, and the thought filled Harry with tremendous love. He didn’t need to say so out loud, his pheromones conveyed completely the depth of emotion he felt. Foxes don’t cry tears, but they do get misty eyed. Harry rolled onto his back and shimmied in excitement, raising the dust a little so it got into his sensitive nose and he sneezed.“You like it!” Louis laughed.“Of course I do. Oh Louis.” Harry said fondly. “But where are we?” He added, sitting up.“Kettils Mews, about a mile north-west of my mum’s den in the Heath. And only about twenty yards away there’s an Asda with a great big overflowing bin!” Louis replied in a quivery voice, wracked with excitement.“Kettils Mews… Mews mews mews!” And Harry began mewing like a kitten to his own great amusement.Meanwhile, Louis was rifling in the corner-pantry. “Look what I got there last night.”“So that’s where you were! I was having no luck on Jameson Rd all night.”Louis laid out a smorgasbord between them while Harry nattered on. A steak and kidney pie, a loaf of fruit bread, two bruised pears and three pink tulips.“...then an owl swooped in – what are the flowers for?” Said Harry.“For you, my love.” Replied Louis, pushing the tulips towards Harry with his paw.Harry would have blushed, if Foxes could do that. Instead he whinnied in delight and hid his head momentarily in his side. “You spoil me. Spoil me rotten.” He said.“Not nearly enough.” Louis replied. “Eat something. I stole your terrine earlier and you haven’t had anything all night.”“Let’s share the pie.” Harry said, though he wasn’t a bit hungry. Love and nerves had stolen his appetite.They nibbled daintily at the pie, the way foxes do, until they were down to the last few chunks of steak. They reached in at the same time and bumped their snouts together. It reminded them of the night they met, and they met each other’s eye smilingly. A large maroon hat on the ground behind Louis caught Harry’s attention.“What’s that for?” He asked.Louis followed Harry’s gaze to the hat, picked it up with his mouth and placed it upside down, so the hat sat like an empty vessel between them. It was real felt, and had that woolly smell of lanolin to it.“It’s some human thing. They put them on their heads on sunny days. I found it on the Heath and brought it here because… well.” Louis looked at Harry, the shyness returning to his expression.“It’s so warm, it’s made of fur.” He continued. “Wouldn’t it be good for the pups?”For our pups, he meant, and Harry caught his meaning.A feeling of joy tempered with hopelessness rose up inside Harry, but all he said was, “You’re quite right.”He tamped down the sadness and let the simple pleasure of being so loved overtake the complexity of their union.“You’re always right, where mating is concerned.” He said this demurely, and allowed his pheromones to communicate the underlying desire to that statement.Louis inhaled deeply and responded in kind, his confidence bolstered.Harry thought back to that night in Autumn and the instant attraction they had towards each other. That attraction was still present. If fact, it was stronger, for all the vixens in London were in oestrus, and Harry was strangely under a similar spell. Louis’ masterful command of romance had Harry even deeper in thrall, and he fell onto his back quite unselfconsciously.Louis regarded him cunningly, then licked a few crumbs from his mouth and laid on his front. From here, his snout was quite close to the source of Harry’s strong pheromones, and merely a few inches above that, was the source of his pleasure. Harry panted, his soft white belly rising and falling, and in the hollow of his abdomen his penis was hardening, the balls full and tight.The mucosal tip of his penis emerging from its furry sheath was so sensitive even the cool of the air gave Harry a pleasurable tingling sensation. From Louis’ point of view, Harry’s glistening tip swaying above his white belly was beautiful, like drop of blood on a bed of snow, and he felt an irresistible urge to taste it. He crept closer and licked with gentle restraint, just grazing the flesh.It was hot on his tongue and tasted of nothing in particular, except perhaps the inside of Harry’s mouth. At the touch Harry stiffened all over, then shuddered and let out a long whine. He was tense in every muscle and could not relax for anticipation of pleasure. Each lick delivered a shock of intense sensation. It was at once a violent assault and a sweet caress: so intense was the sensation, Harry did not know how to categorise it. As he got used to the feeling, the nerve endings in his sensitive glans began to register the pleasure of Louis’ gentle touch. It was like nothing he had ever felt.Louis licked him again, and again, and with each lick the pleasure mounted. Louis nosed at Harry’s testicles, silky like a catkin, and licked firmly from the balls to the tip, then again, until the licking was continuous and Harry had no reprieve from the hot tongue, slimy with saliva and his own secretions, touching him where he was most sensitive. Soon he reached the threshold where pleasure overwhelmed all other physical sensation and he melted into the ground, his hind legs opening wider and his tail lying inert. Louis rubbed Harry’s tip with the broad length of his tongue, feeling the tissues surrounding Harry’s tip swell. It was strange; instead of the tapered end of his penis there grew a bulbous ball, like a bright red flower bud on the end of a stalk. Harry convulsed as semen ejaculated from his slit, the release bringing immense pleasure. He let out a whining sigh as the pleasure ebbed. Louis’ tongue finally strayed from his sensitive knot and roamed up his belly, dragging over the three nipples on his left side, then up to his muzzle, where Louis pressed licking kisses.“How was it?” he asked.“I never want it to end.” Harry sighed.“For me it’s not yet started.” Louis said, with well-meaning humour. “Can I mount you?”Harry was in no mind to refuse. He simply rolled over, trapping his hard knot between his belly and the floor. The pressure was relieving to his still sensitive penis.Louis front legs clamped down on top of Harry’s as if to prevent his escape; a vestigial instinct. His hind legs pinned him down and Louis began to rut eagerly. Harry felt the moist tip of Louis’ penis rubbing against the soft fur behind his balls, butting up against them in a pleasant way. Louis began to grunt with the effort, pumping back and forth, rocking Harry beneath him. Harry’s still hard knot rubbed against the soft Earth. He was so deliriously happy. Finally, Louis came, shooting into Harry’s fur, but he stayed in position, trapping Harry under him, as if they really were locked in copulation. Harry only wished it were possible, but he was too satisfied to let melancholy encroach on this happy night.Eventually Louis crawled off Harry’s back. The den was suffused with their pheromones, and Harry felt safety and comfort down to the marrow.“So this is what it’s like to be bonded.” He mused.Louis fit himself tightly beside Harry and licked affectionately around his snout. “It feels like I’m complete, when I’m with you.” He said.“Thank you for making this den. It’s the home I always wanted.” Harry said.“You're the mate I always wanted.” Louis replied.