Looking forward, looking back
Brice was tired, he was thirsty, and he was hungry. He moved down the silent residential street at a brisk walk. With trained reserve he ignored the aching in his chest and the soreness in his legs that tore at him with every step. The coach had been hard on him that day, even more so than usual, and the result was one grumpy, overworked rabbit trudging through the urban jungle toward the rented bungalow which he shared with his mate. 
The thought of Justin, or Kitty, as Brice liked to call him, was enough to brighten his mood a sliver, and inspired him to lift his complaining feet more than an inch off the ground with each step. The house that the two of them shared was about as inconveniently placed as one could imagine. It was as far away from the train station as it was from the College to which it offered daily connections, and was only accessible in one of three ways: car, bus, or on foot. In the fewest possible words, Brice avoided cars when he could, hated public transit, and so was left only one reasonable choice, not that he had any problem with that. For him on an average day it represented a brisk fifteen minute sprint, something completely within his physical capabilities, but today, exhausted, hungry, and sitting like an ant under clouds so dark that they felt like they would crush him, Brice rubbed his temples and quickened his pace in spite of himself. 
Eventually he reached the end of the residential avenue and made a right turn onto a larger, commercial street littered generously with bus stops, each one taunting him to take the easy road. Brice didn’t, however, it was beneath him to give in, regardless of circumstances – usually. Barely had he taken twenty steps along the sidewalk of the town’s central plaza that the malicious clouds that hung above his head decided to let loose their fury upon his already overburdened frame. What started as a few eager raindrops which intentionally targeted his head, hastily turned into a titanic summer downpour that fell in spiteful sheets upon all that lay below. Grunting, he forced his knotted legs into an uncomfortable jog and turned into the first protection available: the inlaid entrance to a music store that sat immediately across the sidewalk from a bus shelter. 
“Figures,” he grumbled to himself, and examined the dry haven in which he stood. No less than ten others sat or stood within the sheltered area, some had books, others texted, all were waiting for a bus. Brice sighed, admitted defeat, and sat down upon a ledge near the open end of the entrance. Ten minutes passed in which the rabbit did little more than count out the three dollar fare, and sit dejectedly in a corner. Waiting gave him time to think, something that was oh so hard to come by these days, and his thoughts drifted aimlessly from one topic to the next. 
Why did coach have to keep me so late? Why do I bother with the whole foot race thing anyway? That’s obvious, it pays for my tuition. Stupid government, if the Germans get free education why can’t Canada? Maybe I’ll ask Justin later, he’ll probably know. Probably not home yet. If he is he’s probably already neck deep in whatever he does on that computer. ‘Jogging? Maybe later, Bunny, I’ve got a website to program.’
Brice sighed, and checked the time again, another five minutes had passed and the rain was still falling. A quick word with another transit-goer confirmed that it could be as long as another ten minutes. “See, this is why I hate busses,” he said to himself, “I could have been half way home by now.” Brice started thinking, again, this time his thoughts were nostalgic in nature. He harkened back to high school, when the only reason he had joined the track team was because he enjoyed it, and, to a lesser extent, because he was good at it. He had a picture at home of himself after he had won his first race, he was keeled over at the waist and leaning on a steel goalpost, the physical embodiment of triumph immortalized on his panting face. The memories warmed him, and a faint smile brushed across his short muzzle, slightly exposing his incisors. He perused the thoughts further back in time, back when he used to wrestle with his older brother in the backyard of their parents house. Brice always lost, of course, but it was fun, often resulting in their normally white coats being stained in earth-tones, and a harsh scolding from their mother. It struck his curiosity as he realises that this scene, too, had been caught on film once. It had been taken in a low angle shot by their father, and easily framed their juvenile faces, simultaneously full of fake shame and innocence.
“He buddy, you coming or not?” said a bright-eyed, eighteen year old otter wearing a leather overcoat.
“Wha- what?” Brice said, snapping out of the deep state of thought, only to realize that the bus had arrived and more than half of the passengers had already embarked. 
He shot up, ignoring the protests of his cramped legs, and hobbled forward toward the front entrance of the bus. Something caught his eye, though, moving fast in the raging river that had once been the street. It was small, red and made of plastic, someone had lost their cub’s pacifier. The downhill current was carrying it quickly towards a large sewage drain a few feet behind the idle bus. 
Another memory forced itself forefront into Brice’s mind, so clear and vivid that, to him, it was indistinguishable from reality: a yearling rabbit, lying on his back in park grass, all four paws upheld to the sky in spite of the overly thick and printed diaper that crinkled in protest, a beaming grin, barely visible from behind the shield of a pacifier. The child noticed Brice, who could only stand and watch, and beckoned for attention. When his giggling and flailing arms did not immediately incite Brice to cuddle the toddler, it righted itself onto all fours, and began to crawl towards him. It stumbled, the bright red pacifier falling out of its mouth and onto the ground to be caught by the current, a pitiful attempt by the baby to catch the dear possession before it was lost forever failed, and tears immediately began to flow down his cheeks. Brice started, and bent forward to catch the infant’s lost pacifier an inch before it vanished into the depths of Toronto’s sewers. 
But there was no baby rabbit. The field of grass which he so vividly remembered dissolved into the dreary reality of a raging storm in a crowded city, the daydream being brutally overcome by the real world, and the smell of diesel exhaust as the idle bus drove away without him. After shouting a scholarly vocabulary of insults at nobody in particular, Brice pushed water saturated hair out of his eyes, tightened his backpack straps, sighed heavily, and continued his dredge home. 
Another hour’s mindless hike through the storm later Brice finally reached his neighbourhood, street, and the empty driveway of the bungalow where he lived; Justin wasn’t home yet. The rain had drenched the unkempt lawn flat and the four foot irrigation ditch at the end of the yard was full to capacity with runoff. Brice, physically and emotionally exhausted, walked up the driveway, unlocked the door, entered, and nearly collapsed. He dredged into the den and cast off his thoroughly drenched backpack, the soaked hoodless sweater, undershirt, and jeans; Justin hated it when Brice tracked dirt or water into the house, but Brice honestly didn’t care at this point. 
Leaving his pile of clothing by the heater to dry, Brice went about doing the same for himself. He retrieved a towel from the bathroom and dried his fur as best he could, donning a light blue t-shirt and going back down the hall to the kitchen, thoroughly ready to eat. This much, at least, was routine from day to day. He opened the fridge, the bottom three shelves was divided into two halves; the left side contained six pre-made veggie salads, a bowl of diced pineapple, a box of tangerines, three heads of lettuce, a box of miniature tomatoes, a gallon of protein supplement, and a hidden box of carrots. The other side boasted two racks of ribs, five steaks, eight pounds of bacon, six pounds of ground beef and a Chinese takeout box. This is, of course, often the case when a rabbit and a cougar live together. 
“Looks like Kitty has been shopping for meat – again.” Brice observed, before removing a pile of fruit, throwing it into a blender on the counter and turning the dial to the far right. 
A question occurred to Brice as he walked out of the kitchen and back into the den, what had he done with the pacifier? He had conflicting memories, one half of him thought that he had seen it flushed down into the sewer drain, but there was another part of him that was nagging with valiant effort that the nearly lost pacifier that had so entranced him earlier was, in fact, still in the pocket of his sweater-jacket. He checked, pacing with more energy than might be merited over to his sodden coat. It was, in fact, still there, wet red shield taunting him as he removed it from the pocket. He took a closer look, walking back into the kitchen.
The pacifier wasn’t a grand affair, red, rendered more a pinkish now that it had dried off a bit, with a nipple that seemed largely out of proportion. Brice put it under some hot water, pouring and drinking his fruit smoothie, his stomach glad for the nourishment at last. He lent against the nearest wall, taking as much weight as he could off of his legs, and glanced down at the mug of off-purple fruit pulp concentrate in his hand, sympathizing. After all, the blender blades had a lot in common with the drill sergeant of a coach whom he had so recently endured, and he had scarcely left the bunny in a better state than the fruit mush that he was drinking. 
“Like baby food,” he observed with a snicker, moving the goo around in the cup with a finger, then pulling it out and licking it off, “Tastes good, though,” usually he was above playing with his food – usually – but he gave himself leave of table manners for the moment, his mind suddenly linking the un-watered smoothie with the pacifier in the sink, still running under hot water. He took it out again, turning off the tap and leaving back into the main room, examined it in the body length mirror that Justin kept around. It was not the first time, Brice new, that someone had examined a pacifier in that mirror. He played around with it, watching himself, and eventually brought it right up close to his face, as though he might strip away the plastic and see its Platonic essence. The perfect pacifier.
Brice didn’t know how it happened. It wasn’t exactly a hard thing to figure out. Obviously Brice had to have done it himself, with his own hand. After all, there was nobody else there. But when he examined himself in the mirror again, some bright, booming, boyishness overcame him, bubbling up from his lizard brain, making him giggle like a child who had just gotten away with something naughty. 
Giggling was slightly awkward, what with the Ferrari red pacifier held between his lips, incisors held at bay by the nipple’s durable latex, and found himself blushing deeply. Arms behind his back and legs crossed, he looked all the part of a guilty three year old trying to get away with sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. What amazed Brice, however, was just how relaxing that simple pose made him feel, as though a few seconds of impulsive bliss had erased a whole day’s struggle and stress. There was the bubbly feeling again, in his belly this time, begging him to unwind more, have some fun tonight.
  After all, I know where it all is…
Brice almost jumped out of his fur when he started to listen to himself thinking. “Of course I know where it all is,” the rabbit said to himself, dismissive despite the pacifier still clutched in his short muzzle, “that doesn’t mean I’m about to start going through all of Justin’s stuff. He doesn’t even know that I know…” 
And so he wouldn’t suspect me of some fun…
Brice was squirming in front of the mirror, torn between the sudden attraction of this unusual leisure, and the strength of his better judgment. After he glanced at the clock, finding that he still had a good three hours before his mate would likely be home, the side in favour of a bit of childish fun won out. 
It wouldn’t be quite nice to say that the bunny pranced down a short hallway to the bedroom which they shared, but saying that he hopped would be an understatement. He unconsciously adopted a sneaking pose, as though there were any chance of him being caught, and crept over to Justin’s dresser. It had been by sheer accident that he had found the plastic backed items which the cougar kept stashed under the removable bottom drawers of his dresser, along with a treasure trove of other accessories, outfits and supplies more suited to an infant’s nursery than to a college student’s bedroom. When Brice had tried to move the dresser once, when Justin was away, only to find what he did beneath, he had squeaked in embarrassment for his mate, their relationship still young and passionate at that time, dismissed the interest as none of his concern, and tried to forget about it. He didn’t care what Justin was interested in, it just wasn’t his thing – or so he thought. 
Giggling, the athletic rabbit carefully pulled out the far left bottom drawer of his mate’s dresser, taking into account the cougar’s ample supplies of diapers in many shapes, brands, prints and thicknesses, lotions, powder bottles, feeding bottles, a collection of pacifiers, a bag of marshmallows, to what purpose those went Brice was not yet ready to imagine, and an assortment of infantile garments sized up to fit a twenty year old. Truly beautiful. 
The rabbit’s broad grin framed his face beautifully, eyes darting around, mischievous, and his long ears doing exactly as they pleased. On a half burst of inspiration, Brice picked up one of the thicker diapers, all stacked in neat rows and columns, and hoped it wouldn’t be missed. Just the feel of the crinkly plastic backing nearly sent him into a stupor, tiptoeing back to the bed with his diaper clutched close to his chest. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled down his wet boxers and tossed them into the hampper
He was a neat rabbit, most of the time, but even he couldn’t blame himself as he messed up the sheets, falling upon them and rolling over, shaking off his miserable load of storm and stress. He gladly ignored them as he sat up, unfolded the diaper on the bed, and made another trip, bringing back powder and a deep blue flannel onesie, complete with an adorable print of baby bunnies. Justin, it seemed, certainly had a taste in toddler wear. 
With renewed zeal he sat upon the soft, padded inner surface of the diaper, liberally powdering himself, then pulled the front up to his waist, the side flaps back, and sealed it shut around his hindquarters with the pair of three inch tapes, one on each side, coloured soft pink. Considering he could hardly bring his legs together, Brice declared his first foray into the diaper dominated domain of the babyfurs a success. He had almost as much fun squirming into the onesie, finding that his dexterity was slowly being eaten away as he fell further and further into infantile insensibility. He did, eventually, manage it, but only after a first attempt, aborted because he couldn’t find the arm-holes, and a second one failed because he got it on backwards. Third time’s the charm, so it seems, and he promptly buttoned up the front flap of his flannel sleeper, lying back down on the bed to rest, pacifier still held in his snout. He would have been a liar if he said that he hadn’t suckled on it, just a bit. 
He lie there for a quarter of an hour, simply relaxing, mindless, and enjoyed the feeling of thick padding beneath his rear. Eventually he managed to rouse himself back to general sense, and, the initial feeling of eccentricity gone, he felt greatly improved, though just as tired – and hungry – and thristy – as before. 
His mind, having perhaps grown used to the blissful feeling which had accompanied his first few steps into the shoes of a cub, clearly wanted the sensation back, and it was willing to sacrifice his modesty to do it. Almost on auto pilot now, Brice got up from the bed, waddled over to the hidden stash, and searched a little more thoroughly. Sure enough, he found two large jugs on their sides, one labelled, Formula: unmixed, and the other, Formula, mixed. Brice had no idea what mixed and unmixed meant in this context, knowing Justin it could be mixed with anything from apple juice to anthrax. But, trusting it wasn’t anthrax, Brice took the mixed jug and a feeding bottle out to the kitchen, poured the bottle full, and microwaved it to warmth. 
Brice returned to his now quite messy bed with a pronounced waddle, happily moving his hips with each step as he held close his bottle of warm formula, light gray and homogeneous in coloration. It smelt delicious, though a peremptory taste had shown it frightfully warm in his mouth, like the pacifier had when he had first put it in, just out of hot water. While he waited for it to cool down, he indulged in a final foray into his mate’s secret compartment. 
He was glad that he did immediately. Not knowing quite how he had missed it the first few times, Brice picked the thing up and examined it. 
It couldn’t be.
It was.
But it couldn’t be.
But it was. Oh, yes indeed. It was the same one. The same fluffy bunny plushie that Brice had won for him on their first date, freshman year, “Heh kepth thith?” he murmured around the pacifier, averting his eyes and blushing deeply, only imagining how Justin must have cuddled it, dressed not unlike he did now. It was in a sad sort of shape, one glass eye missing and a few patches of fur starting to come out, revealing the stitched netting and stuffing beneath. Brice hugged it close, rubbing his head against it slightly, then remembered about his meal, getting cold on the night stand. He blinked, glancing again at the wall clock. Still two hours left. 
The well diapered bunny made quite the show of his feeding, curling up into a ball around the nipple of the bottle and suckling heartily. It didn’t taste like much, kind of like sweetened milk, but it got the rise out of him, and wasn’t all that unpleasant, though, for some reason, the bottle seemed to get heavier as the feeding went on, not lighter. He shrugged the idea off, and the bottle as well, storing it back on the night stand before plucking up his pacifier and putting it back where nobody could argue it didn’t belong. Of course he couldn’t do much beyond that, his eyelids sagged heavily, his ears mirroring them, and he barely noticed as the front of his diaper grew warm, soggy and wet. Everything in the bunnies world had shrunk. Shrunk down to himself, his bed, his clothing, and the well cuddled plushy held snugly against his breast as he drifted off to the most restful sleep he had had in decades.
* * *
Justin returned home two hours later, just as had been expected. He wasn’t wet, the rain had stopped before he had had to leave, but it had been a long walk, anyway, at least by his standards. He threw his pack off to the side with the radiator, right in line with Brice’s still wet belongings. 
“Honey, I’m home!” Justin called, sarcastic to the last, and threw his overcoat in a heap on top of his bag. When nobody answered, however, it took the cougar by surprise. Surely Brice had been here, and recently. After all, he could smell him – among other things…
“Is that…” he said, only half believing his own nose, “formula?” and headed off in the direction of the bedroom immediately, his heart jumping into his throat as he tried to fumble for the explanation he knew he would have to give. When he arrived at the bedroom door, however, he encountered a portrait of such contradiction that he took a moment to try and pick it apart. 
His stash had been found, opened, and plundered. The powder, jug of formula, and bottle were sitting idly upon the bedside stand. His brain, jumping to the logical conclusion of this scenario, expected to see an irate rabbit tapping his foot on the corner of the bed, ready to berate him. He expected this so much that his mind superimposed the image in full color onto the scene, the pouty face of his bunny directed solely at him. But things, as they so often do, didn’t seem to follow the logical premise and conclusion system; because, instead of an angry boyfriend, Justin watched the bunny soundly asleep, breathing deeply and contently. He, not fully able to believe his eyes, or any of his senses for that matter, stalked closer. As though that would dispel the illusion. But it was not dispelled. He pulled the covers back a bit, and started near right out of his flesh as he saw the suckling motion of a pacifier held between the award winning athlete’s upper and lower incisors. A few inches further revealed the thick blue fabric of his favourite sleeper, the one with the bunnies. Justin would have been mad, if it had been anyone else, instead he was overcome by a jolt of pure glee, looking at his mate all done up like this just for him, and fast asleep, to boot. 
Something occurred to him, it came with such force that he outlined the idea in words, “If he’s asleep, and he drank my formula…” he started, taken aback, and slowly turned the jug of formula to the right, bringing its label into view, “Oh, for your sake I hope you didn’t drink the mixed…” but, of course, there was no such luck, and Justin couldn’t help but snicker as he thought of what the bunny was in for. “I just hope you had the sense to put on a diaper, too,” he said flipping the sheets off and grinning. The cougar finally gave in to some of the giddy happiness that was welling up inside him, he leant down, purring slightly, and scratched under the bunny’s chin. He wouldn’t wake up, not for a few more hours anyway, and, when he checked Brice’s diaper, already wet, he had to stifle a full laugh as he imagined his face, waking up. “Serves you right, going through all my stuff,” he said, only half serious. The other half was full of joy for this change in events, he had long imagined what it would be like to snuggle up with his mate, both all decked out, so this was a dream come true, literally. 
Justin, giggling, made his way over to the drawer and dressed himself in a similar manner. His diaper might have been a bit thinner, and his onesie was a full sleeper, going right down to booties and mittens, though it was in the same pattern as the once Brice was wearing. He would have at least matched the bunny in diaper thickness, but Brice had picked out his very thickest brand, and he would need it, too. The cougar snickered again, crawling in bed after his mate, at the right start the bunny would get when he woke up, having downed nearly three quarters of a litre of formula liberally mixed with muscle relaxant, laxative and sleeping aid, amongst other pleasant things for a nice, cubby night out. 
It was only when Justin rolled the rabbit over that he saw the plushie that he clutched like dear life under one arm. It looked a lot like him, honestly, except for the wear of long use it had suffered. He pried it away, carefully, then patted its head, setting it aside. Justin leaned right down next to Brice, under the covers, and talked, a little slurred around his pacifier, “I don’t need toys anymore. I have the real thing”