We filmed our seventh scene together today. This one was a lot easier than the last one, just a mutual blowjob scene. It feels weird knowing in a few weeks there will be a video out for the world to see of me taking it up the ass. It’s not as bad as I expected it to be. But, weird nonetheless. I don’t read comments on our videos anyway, but that’s one I’ll be sure to avoid in case any trolls decide they don’t like to see me bottoming.

Brewer reaches over and puts his hand on mine, surprising me. I flip my hand over and thread our fingers together, enjoying the warmth of our connection for a moment. We only have three videos to go to complete our contract, and Rebel told me today they want to knock them out by the end of next week if Brewer and I were okay with it. They hired a few new guys at the convention, and Rebel and Bear are eager to get them scheduled in, but our joint scenes are cramping those plans a little.

Just like the last time Rebel mentioned our time ticking down, a pain jolts the pit of my stomach. I glance over at Brewer, whose gaze is fixed on the traffic ahead, and I’m surprised at the fluttering feeling in my chest.

When we make it home, I miss the feeling of his hand in mine almost immediately. We head upstairs, my mind still wrestling with the unexpected feelings caused by the fact that our contractual relationship will be up in two short weeks.

Brewer opens the door, and I’m surprised when Shaggy doesn’t immediately greet us. He’s always waiting at the door with a wiggly butt when I walk in the door.

“Shaggy,” I call out and then give a little whistle. When he doesn’t come, I go in search of him, starting with my bedroom. I find my room empty so I head to Brewer’s, with him right on my heels obviously as worried about Shaggy as I am now.

Brewer’s door is slightly ajar, which is already suspicious, and when I push it the rest of the way I hear a rustling and chomping sound that allows me to breathe again. Shaggy’s in here.

“What are you up to, buddy?”

Brewer goes around his bed to see what Shaggy is getting into, and he lets out a gasp that turns my gut to ice.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, shit, fucking shit,” Brewer drops down and stands up with Shaggy in his arms.

I search Shaggy with my eyes trying to figure out what the problem is. He’s wagging his tail and giving me one of his dumb little doggy smiles. He doesn’t seem injured.

“What’s the matter?”

“I had a bottle of ibuprofen on my nightstand and he chewed it open. Fuck, I don’t know how much he ate or how bad it is that he ate plastic.”

“Oh, fuck,” I agree, reaching for Shaggy, needing to hold him before I panic. “What do we do? Dogs can’t have ibuprofen, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Brewer agrees, pulling out his phone and clicking through it. “Shit, yeah, it says it’s really toxic. We need to get him to the vet right away. There’s one only two blocks away, let’s go.”

“Call and tell them we’re on their way?”

I don’t bother to grab Shaggy’s leash, determined to carry him in case letting him walk could somehow speed up the absorption of the medication or anything.

“They’ll be waiting for us,” Brewer says when he hangs up. By then we’re already in the lobby of our building, and I hear Brewer’s key’s jangling in his hand.

“Driving will take too long this time of day. Even a few blocks will take a half hour. Let’s run,” I suggest.

Brewer doesn’t argue, just jogs beside me, ignoring the crazy looks people give us as we pass with a wiggly dog in my arms and a look of fear on my face. How fast do dogs absorb NSAIDs? How many did he eat? How toxic is it?

When we reach the emergency vet hospital, there’s a young woman waiting for us with a kind smile. “This must be Shaggy?”

“Yeah, we don’t know how much he ate,” Brewer tells her. “But he was eating it when we got home ten minutes ago, so it hasn’t been in his system long. He probably ate a little bit of plastic, too.”

“Okay, good to know. The plastic is a little bit of a worry, but we need to get those pills out of his system fast, so I’m going to take him in back to induce vomiting and then afterward we’ll take a radiograph to see if any plastic is still in his stomach.”

“Yeah, do whatever you need to do,” I agree, handing him over.

“I do have to let you know, that with the plastic, there’s a small chance of damage to the esophagus when he vomits. Are you okay with the risk?”

“We don’t have a choice, right?”

“No. Ibuprofen is very toxic to dogs.”

“Okay, then just do everything you can for him.”

As soon as the doctor takes him away, I collapse in a chair in the waiting room, my heart hammering not only from the run, but from worry about Shaggy.

Brewer slides into the chair beside me, seeming just as shaken as I am.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells me after a few minutes of strained silence.

“For what?”

“That I had the bottle of ibuprofen out. If I’d put them inside my drawer, he never would’ve gotten into them. This is my fault.”

“Micah,” I say his name as a soft admonishment. “Come over here,” I pat my lap and he looks at me skeptically. “I’ll come over there and get you if you don’t do it yourself.”

Brewer gives me a look filled with shy skepticism before getting up and sitting back down on my lap.

“I feel like I’m about to get a spanking or something,” he jokes with a forced laugh.

“No jokes right now.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. I never would’ve thought to put a pill bottle away. Shaggy has never done anything like that before, and neither of us could’ve predicted it. I should have taken him to set today. We can play the blame game all night. The important thing is he’s in good hands. If you hadn’t been so quick on your feet, I’m not sure I would’ve gotten him here in time. I was kind of frozen when we found him.”

“Being cool under pressure is kind of a must for a future doctor.”

“You’re going to be an incredible doctor.”

“Thank you.” He nuzzles closer to me, and I let the weight of him against me calm me while we wait to hear from the vet.

Forty minutes later, the vet comes back out, and Brewer scrambles off my lap so we can find out how Shaggy is doing.

“Good news, we got eight pills out of him and some plastic. There was no blood in the vomit, so I have no reason to believe there was any damage from the plastic. And the radiographs look clear. I gave Shaggy some activated charcoal to bind any lingering toxins, but you got him here fast enough that I don’t expect there to be any problems. Give him a bland diet for the next twenty-four hours, and if you notice any lethargy or blood in his stool, let me know right away.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and pull Brewer against me again to kiss the side of his head and revel in my relief.

“Thank you so much,” I tell the doctor.

“It’s what I’m here for. I’ll get Shaggy up for you in just a few minutes.”

When a vet assistant brings Shaggy up, he’s wiggling and excited to see us, like nothing even happened. I scoop him into my arms and kiss his fuzzy face.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again, you little fur face.”

“That goes double for me,” Brewer agrees, giving Shaggy a kiss on the nose as well.

Our walk home is much more leisurely and Shaggy seems to decide he kind of likes being carried rather than walking himself, because he’s holding his head high like he’s the Prince of England and giving a doggy smile to everyone we pass.

Back at home, Shaggy carries one of his toys around happily while Brewer helps me boil some chicken and rice for Shaggy’s dinner and breakfast tomorrow. Not that it takes two sets of hands to cook the food, but it’s nice to have Brewer with me in the kitchen while we’re both still shaken up over everything that happened.

It hits me that Brewer loves Shaggy, too, and that puts a smile on my face.

I’m not sure I’m going to be able to let Brewer go.