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The inn was crowded that night, packed with loud, drunken labourers who had come to drink away the pain of a working day. Chairs were set up along one white-washed wall, framing a small dance-floor where girls on the cusp of womanhood spun in time with an improvised band. They danced with lanky boys and men twice their age, their long skirts urged into the air as they twirled, exposing their dainty ankles. Behind the bar, a row of oak kegs sat patiently, and several cured hams were visible beyond the door in the kitchen, hanging on iron hooks from exposed wooden beams. The air was filled with festivity, abuzz with conversation, string music, and the occasional rumbling laugh which stood out from the din.

The room didn't notice as a lone fennec fox stalked into the room, padding down the stairs from the second floor. He was dressed in plain attire, a simple linen shirt and breeches accompanied by a well-worned leather belt. Only the cut of the garments gave them away as anything other than a peasant's Sunday best; they were tailored to accentuate his slender waist and square off his shoulders. A pair of thick, golden rings hung in his ears, and strapped to his belt was a dagger-sized sheath. His entire demeanour was one of standoffishness bordering on the surly as he trotted to an unoccupied table near the far wall, seated himself and hailed a passing waitress.

"What can I getcha, sir?" The waitress was a young mouse, who would not have been unattractive were she either slightly taller or slightly lighter. As it was, her stout form was squashed into a small bodice, pulled in at the waist and supporting her ample bosom. She nibbled on the end of her pencil in what might have been an attempt at seduction, but the action only caused the slim fox to peer at her with disdain.

"Wine. The finest vintage you have that is not from this county," he said, sneering at her. The mouse looked a little taken aback at this, her whiskers twitching before she nodded and turned to flounce back to the bar. While she fussed over how to break the fox's order to the innkeeper, he surveyed the room, taking in the groups of men engaged in fervid discussion. His large ears caught a snippet of conversation about the local sporting events, as well as a heated argument over the price of several head of cattle.

An expectant, feminine cough broke into his spiteful thoughts, and he noticed that a mug of warm, spiced wine had been slid in front of him. "Three coppers," the mouse said to him, one small paw tucked into the pocket on her apron. The fox glared as he reached for his purse, drawing out a silver piece and pressing it into her palm. "Here," he muttered, "And go and buy yourself a nice shawl or something to cover that up." He gestured in the general direction of the mouse's cleavage, then turned away from her, crossing his legs. She was left to walk away in confusion, not sure whether to be grateful or offended as he sat and sipped his wine.

The night passed quickly. There were the usual few sods who had more than a skinful of ale, but they were quickly dispersed by their less marinated companions. The young, dancing women left early on, some being forcibly removed with loud protests by their fathers. After this, the young men flowed away quickly, until it was just the old regulars who had no place else to be who sat on the long benches, nursing their final flagon.

The fox sat, watching a greying badger try to keep himself upright as his nose nodded toward the tabletop. He was lodging in the inn, a small room, and had exhausted all the possible entertainment in there. People were his main fascination, and his mood had improved slightly with the addition of the mulled wine, (though he had not received the same waitress twice since he had come down). It was with interest, then, that his ears perked at the sound of the inn's doors opening, admitting a large and well-built lion clad in polished steel, accompanied by two similarly-dressed dobermans.

Threading his way through the near-deserted tables, the lion made his way to the bar and gave it a sound rap, causing the grizzled mouse innkeeper to scuttle out from the kitchen.

"Ah! Captain! What brings you to my fine establishment?" The innkeeper simpered, his hairless paws clutched in front of him.

"Simply making the rounds, Horace, you know that. Anything to report?"

"Not a thing, sir, not a thing. A quiet night tonight, certainly," the mouse said, his beady eyes glinting.

"Excellent, excellent. You two are dismissed, then," the lion said to his two companions, who nodded, saluted and left as he settled himself on a stool. "Just the usual, Horace," he said, shifting his weight until he became more comfortable and unfastening his long-sword from his belt to lean it against the bar.

Nodding and turning to one of the kegs on the back wall, the innkeeper filled a flagon with frothy ale, placed it before the feline, and then excused himself before scurrying off upstairs. The last few fellows had trundled drunkenly off home, leaving the lion and the fennec alone in the common room.

Swiveling on his stool, the captain turned to face the room, leaning one elbow on the bar behind him. He noticed the fennec, still sitting at the table by the wall, and nodded to him politely. The fox inclined his head politely and then took it upon himself to slide out slyly from his seat, taking his mug of wine from the table and then wandering over to the bar.

"Evening," the lion offered to him.

"Good evening."

"You new in town?"

"Passing through, though I know not how long I'll be staying here."

"Ah. You picked good lodgings, at least. Horace isn't the most likable fellow, but he runs a tight ship."

"So I have seen."

The conversation stalled into awkward silence as the fox settled himself on a stool beside the lion. They both sat, drinking until both their glasses were empty, before the lion turned, placed his empty flagon on the bar, and then asked, "Have fun tonight?"

"Hmm? Oh, I suppose so. I cannot say I am much interested in all the talk of beef and poultry, though," the fox said wryly, cupping his mug in his paws. The captain laughed at this, nodding his head in agreement and sending waves of movement through his luxurious mane. "True enough, that is," he said, "But there is better company around. More refined folks. The merchants don't tend to come out midweek." He shrugged, not offering an explanation; most merchant households liked to keep to themselves.

"You don't seem to be inclined toward that kind of conversation," the fox said, a note of reluctant interest in his voice.

"Comes with the territory, I suppose. My talk is usually confined to where to stuff the latest drunk so that he can sleep it off."

"The territory..?" One of the fox's eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Oh, how rude of me. I'm the Captain of the Guard of this little piece of the king's fine country. Name's Rusvan Fletcher, though I'm mostly known as Russ or Cap'n around here." The lion pivoted on his stool and extended a large paw to the fox, who daintily shook it.

"They call me Joss," the canine replied, and a smile traced over his lips briefly. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

They sat briefly like that, the lion facing the fox who looked out over the common-room, and the feline's eyes absorbed the other's simple but obviously expensive clothing and adornments. It was his job to be curious of people's intentions in visiting his neck of the woods, but this stranger was intriguingly aloof, and disturbingly attractive. His narrow waist and prim body language made him almost androgynous; not the kind of tail the captain usually chased. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and picked up the thread of the conversation.

"So, what brings you to these parts?"

"Oh, you know. This and that. I lived in the capital for many years, then found myself curious about the provinces. I began walking, and this is as far as I have made it."

"The capital? That's quite a walk."

"You pick up rides where you can. Carriages, wagons, carts; I've been in the lot of them. I've learned that a warm bath, a soft bed and some good company are all that I need to feel content." As he spoke this final sentence, the fox shot a sideways glance at the lion beside him, one lip curling up into a sly smirk. He had cottoned on to the captain's appraisal of him.

"Good company? There's no shortage of that around here. Though maybe you're looking for something a bit more specific?" The lion cocked his head curiously, taking the bait.

"What if I am?" Joss turned on his stool, placing his palms boldly on the lion's thighs and looking up at him. "All the rest of those men were such a bore. You, on the other hand... You are quite a fine piece of male." His white teeth glinted dangerously as he grinned at the captain and his nails marked semi-circles in the rough leather of the other male's breeches.

The lion leaned forward, his mane flopping lightly over his eyes. "Are you always so forward with your dates?" he asked, chuckling softly.

"Only when they're as well-built as you, Captain," the fox replied, slipping off his stool and pulling himself up onto the other's lap. "Now, will you oblige me? Or shall I have to fend off another round of those loathsome farmhands tomorrow night?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

Russ' large paw dwarfed the fennec's waist as he squeezed the narrow flesh there, pulling him against the lion's breastplate. The canine's paws pressed themselves flat on the polished steel, and he looked up into the lion's face before his jaw dropped in a soft gasp as Russ bent his head to brush his teeth over the fox's neck. His rough pawpads caught on the fine linen of the fox's shirt as he stroked down his back, tracing the indented line of his spine. A shiver ran through Joss' shoulders and he tucked his head underneath the captain's chin, large ears flicking as they were tickled by the lion's long whiskers.

A low growl crept out of the lion's throat. "Get up on the bar and strip."

"What abou-"

"He won't be down 'til dawn." Russ half-lifted and half-pushed the fox up onto the polished, varnished surface of the bar, which was a little sticky with the residue of a night's service. Most amicably, Joss nudged aside a glass with one disdainful foot and then sat on his ankles, legs folded underneath him. He glanced at the captain and a smile passed over his lips before his paws dropped to the hem of his shirt.

With one swift movement, he drew it up over his head, shoulders twisting as he wormed his way out of the sleeves and pulled the shirt over his substantial ears. The cream-coloured fur on his underside was mussed and clung to the soft curve of his belly, highlighting his contoured abdomen as it transitioned to the darker, sandy fur of his back. Joss lowered his arms back to his sides, crossing them over his stomach as his tail flicked uncertainly across his heels, before the lion smiled in approval and he grinned.

The captain's leather trousers were strained over his groin, a bulging lump clearly visible there as he held his legs apart, unashamed. He wished for the fox to know that his show was garnering a reaction. Joss' eyes were firmly fixed on that straining seam as he sat back on his ankles, delicate paws moving hauntingly slowly over his stomach before reaching the button at the waistline of his own pants. A pair of white linen briefs were gradually exposed as the buttons were undone, and the diminutive canine wriggled out of them easily, his tail daintily covering his lap as he sat nude on the edge of the bar. His legs kicked out gently at the air as they overlapped the brass rail at the edge of the wooden bar, and one small foot brushed its round, padded toes over the bulge in the lion's breeches.

A long, shuddering breath was the result of this action, drawn from the feline's lips as his eyes traced over the slender, naked fennec's form. His demeanour wasn't shy; subtly, subversively confident, certain that he wouldn't be hurt but wanting to be treated like he could be. The captain was the right choice to fulfill this role. He was usually the favourite of the serving girls for his gentle, yet insistent, manner; they could be sure that he would not force them to fulfill their youth-driven flirtations, but would give them a story to pass on to their girlfriends in any case.

Not one of the townsfolk knew that the lion was one of the shunned; the tail-raisers, the man's men. He did not associate with them, but this was a result of his position on the town council. Controversy and even prosecution could result, were he seen to be consorting with one such as that most attractive and alluring of males who sat in front of him at that very moment.

While the fox was staring at him, his eyes smudged with lust, Russ' paws moved to his own breeches. He unclasped the waistline and then unbuttoned the fly, his paw reaching inside to cover the firm pinkness of his length from sight and to squeeze it around the base simultaneously. He was teasing, prolonging the moment, but the fox fell for it and slavered over his lips, tongue tracing a path right the way over his lower lip.

Joss found himself salivating as he stared at the lion's paw inside his pants, the thick shaft barely concealed by the feline fingers. He leisurely pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, facing the lion and hanging his toes off the service side of the bar, tail still curled modestly around his waist to hide his arousal. Then, ever-so slowly, his fingers reached out toward the lion's lap, curling around Russ' fingers and pulling them off of his cock. The gasp seemed to stop in the fox's throat, and he bit into his lower lip as he took in the sight of the slightly left-curved, thick and very hard cock that lay along the lion's tawny belly.

Brushing his fingertips over the warm flesh, feeling the difference in resistance that came when he traced over one of the blue veins that disrupted the smooth surface, Joss' mouth couldn't help but begin to water. He needed to taste it. His molars gritted and ground against each other as he leaned forward, clinging with one hand to the rumpled leather of the lion's trousers and placing the other's palm against his felinehood.

With an ounce of decorum that he struggled with, a restraint unfamiliar to him, he leaned down, taking no notice of his precarious position. His mouth opened with an audible smack of his moistened lips, and his pearly-white teeth were visible as he breathed a single hot breath over the lion's cock. The pearl of precum at its tip was like a bead of condensation. This was what he made for, the vulpine's tongue dainty, darting out to capture that first taste. The texture was thin on the tip of his tongue, slippery and with a vague hint of sweetness that made it exciting, promising.

The warmth of the fennec's muzzle soon enveloped the broad, flared head of Russ' cock. The lion hissed between his teeth, the difference in size making it all but impossible for him to keep from brushing along the ridged palate on the roof of the vulpine mouth. As the fox's little tongue worked to cover the shaft from base to tip in saliva that cooled and tingled when it came into contact with the air, the captain watched him intensely. His gaze never left that scene; the large ears held back, the eyes closed in concentration, the black nose buried in the sandy fur at the base of his length.

A wordless moan issued from the feline's mouth as Joss bent to take one of his large, soft-furred balls into his muzzle. The fox enjoyed working at it, squeezing his eyelids shut and concentrating on the task of running his tongue over every inch of the thing. His rough tongue tugged slightly at the skin, moving it over the firm, globular contents, and he gave it a final suck before moving to repeat this treatment on the other. Under these ministrations, the lion began to drip copiously onto his stomach, his thin precum quickly spreading to create a patch of messy, mussed fur near his navel. Soon, though, this problem was solved: Joss leaned up again, paw still clenched in the captain's trousers for support, and edged his short muzzled down, inch by languid inch, over the lion's meat.

"Wait," Russ managed to grunt out before the fennec became too engrossed in this again. A pair of vulpine eyes flicked open and glanced up at him with a mixture of irritation and question. "Trust me," came the lion's rumbling answer to the unasked question. He took the fox's paws, shifting him back up onto the surface of the bar, then moved his stool so that he was sat more closely to the fox's raised behind. With a hint of cheek in his voice, he murmured, "Now, you may continue," and accepted the raised eyebrow and glare from the fox, who settled himself back onto the lion's lap and recommenced his activities.

Rounded and pleasingly firm, the fox's rump was lifted high above the varnished bar as a result of his position. The knees were spread, and Joss seemed to have abandoned the pretense of modesty, his tail held casually between his legs, exposing to the lion's hungry gaze his aroused foxhood. A small puddle of precum lay underneath him on the bar, a few stray drops spread around its circumference, and his feet were locked together at the ankle, toes flexing and curling squeamishly as he lavished attention on the lion's lap.

Occupied as he was with engulfing as much of the captain's length as possible in his muzzle, Joss did not notice when the lion reached for his belt and slowly unstrapped from it the sheathed dagger that he carried there. He certainly did notice when it was pressed against his throat, the body-heated metal warm against his skin. "What are you-" he managed to choke out around his mouthful. "Quiet," growled the lion, tracing the tip of the dagger through the soft, downy fur of the fennec's neck, then back over his shoulder.

His reach was far longer than the fox's. While Joss' eyes were opened wide enough that the whites showed, he walked the warm steel down, through the channel marking the fox's spine, over the curve of his rump, and then, devilishly slowly, across one rounded buttock. "You're a tail-raiser, aren't you?" the captain hissed, and the fox couldn't tell whether his tone was threatening or teasing. Cautiously, he nodded. "Then act like it."

His movements were hesitant as he lifted his tail to the side, the coarser fur brushing over his thigh furthest away from the lion. Exposed to the inn and raised temptingly above the bar, the lion absorbed the sight of his glistening dagger, nestled between the round rumpcheeks, silver contrasting creamy white fur and the soft pink of the vulpine's tailhole. He murmured his approval to the fox, and Joss saw him sheath his dagger. A mental sigh of relief was breathed on the fox's part, and he slowly returned to his activities, his tongue again moistening the lion's flesh and taking it into his muzzle once more.

After some minutes of the fox managing to look prim even while spreading his muzzle around the lion's thick shaft, Joss felt something. A firm, rounded object was pressing against his tailhole. He wriggled a moment, and the pressure did not cease. This concern could not seem to remain in the forefront of his mind, however, and so he ignored it, choosing to continue to suck in his cheeks tightly around the lion's length, and run his tongue firmly against its underside.

Rusvan watched the fox's rear intently, through eyes that he had to continue blinking and refocussing, so skilled was the fennec's mouth. The rounded butt of his dagger was pressed against the pucker of the fox's tailhole, and he gripped the sheathed blade end in one large paw. The other grasped a mug that he had retrieved from nearby on the bar, and it raised, tipping a half-glass of room-temperature wine over the dagger and the exposed cleft between the fox's cheeks. Trickling down, the burgundy wine made fine, meandering trails through the fennec's sandy fur, and dripped onto the surface of the bar.

There was warm liquid on his backside. That was the only thought which ran through Joss' mind before he felt his tailhole spreading under the firm pressure of the rounded end of the captain's dagger-butt, the steel easily lubricated by the wine. The circular adornment stretched the fox's pucker wide, pressing into him, and gradually entering him until he felt that it could not possibly stretch him any wider.

Indeed it didn't. The metallic decoration abruptly tapered off, and then he had simply to accept the leather-wrapped haft of the blade, made slippery by its liberal dousing of wine. He groaned around his mouthful and jerked his hips downward unconsciously, accepting more of the dagger-end. Dripping clear droplets of precum onto the bar, his foxhood twitched upward against his belly as the broad grip, designed for one with much larger paws than his, slid through his entrance. It was all Joss could do to keep from biting down on the cock in his mouth, so intense was the sensation of the slowly warming bulb and haft widening him. Yet still his tongue and cheeks worked over the inches in his mouth, and his paws grasped at the rest.

The leonine captain began to thrust the dagger into the fennec's tailhole in time with the stroking of the small paws on his cock. As he watched the brown, braided leather haft disappearing between the wine-stained cheeks of the fox, and glanced down at the intensely-concentrating face of that same fox as he was pleasured, he felt his orgasm rising, and could hold it back no longer.

With a roaring moan that Joss was sure would be heard upstairs, the lion grasped the back of the fox's head and held him down tight, pressing his length as deeply into the muzzle as possible. Paws stroked deftly up and down the twitching cock as the captain continued to fuck the fox with the dagger-handle, roughly pulling it in and out as the top of the fox's throat clenched around his member. The large paw on the back of the Joss' head tugged him upwards by the hair, and held him there. With a final thrust upwards of his hips into the smaller fox-paws, Rusvan groaned and his cock began to pulse, sending spurts of warm, sticky semen over the fox's face held in his lap. The seed clung to the fennec's whiskers, moistened and matted the fur on his cheeks, and as the muzzle opened, formed a white pool on the fox's little pink tongue.

Joss whimpered and whined as he felt the large, controlling paw on his scalp, and the still-moving dagger-end in his rear. His hips bucked downwards into the empty air and then followed the motion of the knife back as, deep inside, he felt the rounded end rubbing repeatedly over the throbbing coil of his prostate. He bit back a moan each time this happened, but the final defence fell when he felt the first strings of the lion's seed hit his muzzle.

With a gulp as he swallowed a mouthful of the stuff, and then an airy moan, the fox's rump clenched around the hard and unforgiving dagger-haft. Had the lion's eyes been open, he would have appreciated the sight: Joss, bent almost double as he lent off the bar to the captain's lap; the fox's legs spread wide apart, creamy-furred balls below the dagger, buried to the hilt; and his foxhood jerking as it spilled its own seed onto the surface of the bar, untouched by any paw.

It was uncounted moments before either of the men were able to meet each other's gaze. Joss, after squeezing his eyes shut while the lion extracted his knife-handle, climbed primly down off the bar, licking at his paws and fussing in vain with the drying seed on his face. "This will take a thousand hours to clean," he grumbled as he stepped back into his breeches, buttoned them, and then pulled his shirt on over his head. There was a growl beside him, and the fox found the tip of the captain's dagger pressed, once again, against his neck.

"What are you doing?"

"If you tell anyone of this..."

"What an honourable Captain of the Guard you are."

"That, my friend, is the problem." Rusvan sighed. "If they on the council find out what I am... What we are... They will have our heads."

"Relax, Rusvan Fletcher. There won't be any beheadings while mine is on the line. I know how kindly your folk take to ours."

"Thank you," the feline replied grimly. "And now, if you will excuse me," he said, buckling his sword-belt and re-sheathing the dagger at his side. With barely a backward glance at Joss, who leant against the edge of the bar with an expression of mixed dismay and understanding, the captain stalked out of the inn, latching the door behind him as he slipped back into the unwelcoming night.

The fennec sighed and leant against the bar-top for a long while, then stood, leaving his mug on the counter and padding off upstairs to wash. Little would he have suspected the presence of one more figure in the room; a common house mouse, with flushed cheeks, peaked nipples hidden under her puffed blouse and a most conflicted expression. Such is the way when one's experiences are in opposition to one's faith in the law.