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Dreams of Refugium

Part One

Geren's throat was tight, but he forced what he hoped was an amiable little smile. "No, it's alright. Look, I understand. I...really thought we could work through it, though. I mean, I know that we've had our moments, but I--"

"Gerr," Alain's voice was soft as he broke in. "Gerr, I told you. It's nothing we could work through, you know that. I told you I never was a top, but I tried for you. I tried, but I just couldn't anymore. You were always too demanding, too needy, but in all the wrong ways. I just have my own needs, I guess. I need...more than that. And you have to be honest...we just never had that spark between us."

"Not like you and him, I guess," Geren growled bitterly. He turned away from the little eight-inch console that served the little shared dormitory and shifted out of the viewing angle, as much to avoid showing the hurt he felt as to avoid the coldness he knew would be falling across the face of the skunk on the other side of the link...a face that had been so much warmer in happier times. A face that he still loved, that could melt him with a glance.

"I never meant to hurt you, Geren." Alain's voice, rendered through the terminal's little aural membrane, was sadder than Geren could ever remember hearing, and he bit his lip.

It was past time to let go.

He took a deep breath and let it out with a gusty sigh.

"No, it's fine. And we've been through this. Look, I'm sorry, but I need to go. On shift in a few minutes."

"Gerr, listen...it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. Meren and I ... I'm sorry, but I just have more empathy with my own kind. They say romance doesn't work too far afield, you know. I'm afraid it must be true"

Geren felt a flash of anger rise from his gorge and he turned back to the display, vision blurring slightly with emotion. "That saying was meant for breeding, not for romance!"

"Well, it seems to matter to me, Gerr. We never felt right, but Meren and me...we just fit, you know? We were talking about it at length, Gerr. He cares about you, too. We both think you'd be better off finding a...dominant canid."

"I've gotta go," Geren's voice quavered, to his embarrassment; embarrassment fanned the fire of anger within him. "Thanks for two wasted years," he growled, sick to his stomach. "I hope you two have fun. I--"

The terminal emitted a soft bleep as the connection was closed from the other end.

Geren slumped in his chair, resting his head on his paws. "Dammit."

He hadn't been entirely truthful--his shift wasn't for another hour. After a few minutes of moping, he dragged himself away from the console and wandered to the shower, his emotional state a strange melange of anger and depression.

Two years.

After running the water for a few minutes and watching it spatter against the back wall, he concluded that showering really wasn't worth it. It would take more energy than he wanted to expend, and really, what was the point?

He scratched slightly unkempt claws through his soft, tawny fur, tracing his own contours down to his waist. His clawtips drifted near his sheath, and he bit his lip, almost immediately swelling slightly in response. It had been too long, but he didn't have time for that.

"Blah," he grumbled, then sighed. He deactivated the shower without ever stepping in, giving himself only the most cursory brush-down before exiting out into the common area and heading to his bunk. On the little shelf above his locker stood a picture of a happy skunk wrapping his arms around a grinning, fey coyote. It had been captured less than a year ago on vacation to Hope's capital city.

Geren grinned weakly in fond recollection of the night that had followed. The dinner had been digested, the libations were barely memorable, and the scenery, while pretty, was captured in pictures...but the half-week-long journey to new extremes of lust and pleasure in the arms of Alain he would never forget.

His memories turned acid, and he swallowed, sick to his stomach. He would never have that again--Alain's attentions now belonged to another.

Growling a light growl that was half anger, half pain, he swept the picture off the shelf and into the reclamation chute. With increasing anguish, he began to do the same with all of the little trinkets that had marked their affection, starting with the little gifts and moving up to the big ones. Even the stylish, expensive jumpsuit that Alain had presented him with a mere half-year ago, a gift to mark the anniversary of his employment, went in after only a moment's hesitation.

He slammed the chute shut, then leaned against his bedframe, eyes closed, fighting off remembrance of the happier times and holding back tears. After a few minutes, he stood, dug out his work coveralls and slipped into them.

"Oh well," he chuffed to himself. Nothing to be done, but at least he had work to distract him.

Geren's dormitory was located atop the massive factory in which he, Alain and indeed everyone he knew worked; the only way in or out was by transport pod to the main factory gate. Everything else he needed--food, social time, any shopping--was available 'downstairs' within the confines of the plant. 'Outside' existed, but workers were advised to remain within and mostly did.

It was considered a perk of the job.

Geren caught a pod and headed down to the work floor fifteen minutes before he normally would. Today he would be driving a lifter; being early would give him a head-start on checking it out from the depot...and give him something to do other than obsessing over his supple Alain.

To his surprise, not a soul was on the floor. Even the dispatcher's station was empty. He worked his way past the growing stack of crates, angling towards the lifter hold. Oddly, when he tried to check out the twelve ton machine from its bay, the terminal merely made an irritating noise and the gate remained shut.

He rubbed his head and frowned, walking over to the next bay. It, too, rejected his credentials, flashing 'security violation' on the screen.

Heavy bootfalls across the depot caught his attention, and he looked up to see his shift supervisor jogging towards him.

"Geren!" The equine seemed nervous as he approached. "What are you doing?"

Geren arched an eyebrow, perking his ears. "It's my day on lifters. Just came down a bit early. Is everything alright?"

"More or less," Erhse shifted his weight. "No lifters today. Got a new mag lift system they're working out. We're having a supervisor's meeting ... just finishing it up now. Come have some verti?"

Geren nodded, grinning. "Sure! So no lifters? Never saw anything about this mag-lift thing."

"It's good... very precise. High cost."

Erhse ushered him back across the work floor and into the break room.

A table of six people in formal attire had replaced the normal counter, and there was no verti in sight. Six burly security guards were watching him. One, a wolf, was glaring at him as if expecting trouble.

"Ah, our first customer?" An otter at the table, nearest end of the line, slid a datapad out of a little box and held it out to Geren with a sympathetic little smile. "Are you contingent?"

"Ah, what?" Geren was perplexed.

"Geren," Erhse knelt down, eye to eye with him. "The mag lift system means we need fewer workers."

Geren felt himself go cold--he almost couldn't breathe. He contented himself with a little headtilt in response, muzzle slightly open.

"With such a big expense, the company needs to save money where it can. I'm sorry, son. These people here will help you with the forms and paperwork."

"But..."

"Whatever it is, ask them. They're here to help."

"So you're not contingent. Geren...are you chipped?"

"I am," Geren said. Woodenly, he held out his paw.

The otter scanned it and then presented him the datapad. "Your severence documents. Please authenticate your key to sign them."

Numb, he tapped out his passcode, and the otter began working at his terminal. There wasn't even a chair to sink into. From behind, he heard soft noises, and looked to see more bewildered-looking workers--his shiftmates--filtering in behind.

"Ah, here we go. All set. Your bunk will be packed for you, and you may take delivery in the mall outside the main entrance. There will be a series of lines by name. The 'G's will be divided into the first two letters. Your pro-rated pay, pro-rated rent and final bills have been settled to your account. Please note that your non-defamation and non-disclosure contract is still in effect, and any violation will incur a stiff response. If you need a relocation loan to go off-planet, talk to Melody at the table across from us. She's prepared to offer very competitive rates."

"Wait..." Geren couldn't believe his ears. "You're telling me that I can't even pack my own bunk?"

"That's right," the otter nodded. "Terminated employees have a habit of engaging in criminal activity, so it's really for your own protection."

"Are...what?" Geren was incredulous.

"On this datapad is an affirmation of your termination contract." The otter spoke cheerfully, as if he'd said nothing. "As it's such short notice, the company has generously extended an offer to stay for up to a week at a reduced rate in Hotel Niyoz, to which you will be provided complimentary transportation. if you don't require a relocation loan, then please step into the back room."

"This is surreal," Geren found himself muttering aloud. From the looks on the faces of those around him, his was not an uncommon sentiment. Still, the otter was clearly done with him; the burly, semi-armored wolf moved towards him and took him by the shoulder, pointing him towards the back of the room.

Geren yanked his shoulder away and glared up at the guard, but turned and walked through the curtain as directed. He could feel the presence of the massive wolf behind him as he stepped into the little room. There was a large plastic bin and a rack of plain brown coveralls in three sizes.

"Change." The wolf's deep voice sounded almost annoyed. Geren bit back a retort, shucking his form-fitting factory coveralls and throwing them angrily into the bin. He grabbed the bottom-most from the 'small' pile and yanked it out, scattering coveralls across the floor. A sudden hard blow to his shoulder startled him; he bounced him off the wall and slid to the floor, then looked up at the guard, eyes wide.

"Don't fuck around or I'll beat the living shit out of you," the wolf snarled, moving to stand over him. "We get bonuses for busting heads. Try me."

Geren dropped his gaze to the floor, angry but impotent. Without another word, he slid into the slightly-too-large brown coverall, zipping its single zipper up to his chest. He was reaching for his boots, but the guard took him by the shoulder and lifted him back up.

"No boots. Those are company property. Out, now."

He was shoved unceremoniously back through the curtain, the wolf hot on his heels. A vice-like grip closed on his shoulder once more, and he was marched out of the break room onto the factory floor, then seated in the back of a shuttle. The wolf sat beside him, to his surprise.

"What, are you my personal guard?"

The wolf grinned a menacing little grin, leaning into his space. "If you want me to be. I'd break you inside of five minutes, but you'd probably like that, wouldn't you slut?"

Geren's ears flattened, and he shrank into his seat.

"I'll take that as a maybe," the guard laughed softly. He reached over and very gently took hold of Geren's coveralls, opening the zipper a little further. Pulling a little note card from his pocket, he slid it in, pushing it down past the coyote's chestfur and leaning close. "I can be a lot nicer," he whispered, whiskers tickling Geren's ear. "And if you stay with me, I won't gouge you like they will in the Niyoz. Not the same way, anyway."

Geren wrinkled his nose; the wolf's breath smelled slightly of grain alcohol, but otherwise he just smelled very much like wolf. It wasn't at all unpleasant, and in his fragile emotional state, it almost made him feel safe.

He pulled away and shook his head.

The wolf shrugged and eased back out of his seat, limber despite his size. "You have my contact. Use it before you get in trouble, not after."

"Trouble?" Geren lifted his head, spurred to ask. "What sort of trouble? I'll probably go off-planet again, anyway."

The wolf nodded. "Do, if you can. Don't see so much in here, but we're in a bad way, out there...and this city most of all." He looked over his shoulder as other workers were escorted onto the shuttle, then turned back, leaning close. "Run out of funds, call me. I'll take care of you."

Geren shuddered.

"I'm not into that sort of thing," he muttered quietly, compressing even further down. "I can take care of myself."

The wolf simply shrugged. "Name's Lapis. Change your mind, call me."

Geren looked away, curling around his knees. He heard Lapis move off, but didn't look up or open his eyes until the shuttle's door shut and it began to move. More than a dozen workers sat in utter silence, and a sense of shock prevailed.

At least Alain was safe from this.

The shuttle slowed, then descended through a staged airlock into the open atrium, where another squad of security waited to escort them off. Aside from the shuttle, there was no way back in.

A murmur of concern rippled through the little transit, and Geren stood with the rest, catching his first glimpse of the city outside the factory. It was not encouraging.

Tenements stood in huge blocks in all directions, and sleet pelted from the greasy, flat false dawn onto a flat, dirty, orange-lit promenade packed with all manners of traffic, from throngs of pedestrians to transits and cargo barges. A cold, wet blast met them head-on as they filed out, and dingy faces on the street turned to watch the exodus, peering out from under hooded cloaks.

Geren's nose sampled the scents of the street and he felt ill; sewage and decay, the corruption and the filth of unwashed masses, the smell of burning and the pong of wet civilization all impinged upon his thoughts. He tried to tune them out and dampen his awareness, but succeeded only enough to dumbly follow the line of workers to the table where their belongings were kept.

Standing with the rest to await the promised transit to the Hotel Niyoz, Geren felt more alone than he ever had. His father, the only family he had, was a mercenary whose ship had been missing for over five years. Alain ... he shook his head. None of the factory workers would speak with each other, as if a cloud of shame had fallen across them.

His mind turned to Lapis, but he shook his head.

"No way," he breathed. What was wrong with him? His savings should be enough to live for a standard month or so on Ramesan, and Ramesan had guaranteed state jobs should he prove unable to find one in the private sector.

Ramesan it was.

"Ramesan?" The old opossum at the ticket desk of the Hotel Niyoz pulled down his glasses, looking down at Geren. "You sure about that?"

Geren rubbed his neck, nodding. "Well, yes. Is that a problem?"

"Well, no. No, it's not a problem. Not if you've got the funds for it."

Geren nodded. "Yeah. We were all just laid off from Cerion... we're not local."

The opossum fixed him with a long, unfathomable stare, then turned back to his terminal.

"For one?"

"Yes," Geren sighed, thinking of his last trip, and how much more promise life had held then. "Yes, just me from now on."

"Ah, me. Well, next available transport will be a little over one hundred twenty-three thousand."

Geren's heart skipped a beat. "Wha...? No, I mean just ... the lowest class of transport, not premiere or anything. And it doesn't have to be the next available, just... by next week would be good."

"Kid, that's basic class. The next transport to Ramesan after that..."

"No," Geren was beginning to feel slightly panicked. "I mean, just ... the cheapest within a week. Two weeks, even."

"Well, now, that does bring it down a bit. We're looking at... hm... one hundred five thousand istaks."

Geren was aghast.

"But I only have twenty thousand."

"Well, kiddie," the opossum seemed almost gleeful. "Looks as though you ain't goin' to Ramesan any time soon, now, doesn't it? What, you think twenty thousand is a lot? Enough for a pumped up factory worker at Cerion, I suppose. You're not some dirt-bag local, after all."

"I just went to Hope last year and for two of us it was only nine thousand."

"Oh dear, really? You may not have noticed, up in your little home at Cerion, but here on Fonaci we're going through what's called an economic collapse. You've got local currency, but you ain't got your isolated little job. Guess what? You're a local now." The ticket agent sneered, pushing his glasses back up and resting his plump paws on the counter. "Let me help you out. There is one world that you can get to with your money, and that's Brynton. Want me to book you a ticket?"

"Good god no," Geren shuddered. "This is unreal."

"Well, if you ain't buyin' a ticket, stop wastin' my time," the agent smacked his paw on the table and turned away pointedly.

Geren picked up his bag and wandered up to the guest services counter in a bit of a daze.

"You're one of the Cerion lot?" The stoat behind the counter shifted. "Chipped? Paw here and authenticate. Thank you. Let's see. We do have a room for you, so that's good. The rate is... well, they've got you in here at a great rate! Lucky fellas," he laughed. "You're looking at about six thousand a week, plus taxes and fees."

Geren just nodded, done with being surprised. He signed the form with a tap of his paw.

The rooms at the Hotel Niyoz were bigger than his dormitory bunk, but not by a lot. They were also significantly dirtier, and all sorts of sounds penetrated the walls. On the verge of tears, Geren pulled up his terminal to call the only person he could think to call.

"Alain?" he started, before the connection had even finished its handshake. "Alain, I need--"

"Incorrect address." A large X filled his terminal, and a pleasant, synthesized voice accompanied it. "Cerion is off limits to local callers. Further attempts from this ID will be prosecuted for harassment. Goodbye."

"Alain?" Geren whispered, then stared down at the terminal. He had been billed five hundred istaks for the connection fee. Looking at the terminal's legend, he was aghast to find that all access was billed at the punitive rate of sixty istaks a minute.

With a soft little whine, he unzipped his coverall and slid his paw in, pulling out Lapis' card. He stared at it for a few minutes, then slid it into his pocket. Surely not.

He curled up on his bed.

Alain had been pulling away for a long time. It hurt tremendously, but it wasn't in any way a surprise. But his job, his life... his savings. Unless something changed, he would very soon be on the street with no home, no money and no income on a world second only to Brynton for its uncharitable handling of its poor. He didn't have any friends, and hadn't tried to make any. He'd had Alain! But he doubted now that he would be able to contact anyone inside Cerion, no matter who they were.

A little convulsive shudder gripped him. He had heard of layoffs at Cerion before, of course, but they were infrequent. And like everyone else, he'd always assumed that those laid off had been relocated or given severance packages. When he'd reviewed the contract on the ride to Hotel Niyoz, however, he had come to realize that any and all relocation assistance was at the discretion of the company.

Geren gasped, ears perked. The relocation loan! Perhaps...

He pulled out his severance materials and looked them over, but he only made it a few screens in before his stomach sank. It was no good. Once he'd left the premises, it was all over.

He stared at the wall, eyes unseeing.

He had nothing left. He lifted a paw to touch the card in his pocket.

He woke up nine hours later, as the milky opacity of day at last began to succumb to the cold grasp of the night. The weather had continued to turn cold, and ice distorted what little light crept through the little window of his room.

He still had no idea what to do.

Slipping back into his coveralls, he pawed through the rest of his belongings, bereft of guidance. The practical side of him wished that he hadn't thrown away Alain's gift; all he had left aside from the pity coveralls that the company had given him was a single pair of pajamas.

With nothing left to look at, he meandered downstairs.

"Gerr!"

Geren looked up in surprise to find one of his coworkers sitting at the hotel bar, sipping a drink. He padded over beside the short panther, happy to have a companion in misery.

"Mally... what are we going to do?"

"I'm surprised you're still here. From the way you were talkin' past week or so, I thought you'd be long gone to Ramesan by now."

"I don't have the money. Is it true that our money isn't worth anything?"

"Oh Gerr, don't tell me you didn't take the loan..."

"I didn't know! I thought my savings would be plenty to get me somewhere better."

"How much do you have?"

"After this week, probably about thirteen thou."

"Thirteen? You thought that would be enough?"

"I went to Hope last year with Alain, and it only cost nine for the both of us."

"Everyone wants to get off Fonaci now. There just aren't that many ships, and rates are through the roof. An' istaks are almost worthless. Want a drink? It's on me."

"No. Thanks, but no. So everyone else has left?"

Mally shook his head and sighed, knocking back his drink. "I was hoping. I'm staying, Gerr. From the sounds of it, you are, too. Hotra is trying to leave, but he ain't gonna make it."

"Oh no. Hotra? But his family--"

"He's trying to scrape up money. They loaned him two hundred, but he needs twenty thousand more for the kid. I offered to loan him what I've got, but he's still ten short. Would be a good loan, too, if he ever decided to pay it back."

"Ten? That's it? Listen, I'll give him everything I have. Get him down here right now and we'll get him his ticket."

"You sure?" Mally eyed him. "I got friends here. I'll be ok. But you..."

"I've got nothing, Mal." The world felt strange to Geren, but at least this one thing felt right. "I honestly...it's the end for me. I have some options, but if I just stay here my money will go to this stupid hotel."

"He may not take it."

"Listen, I'll tell him I've got plenty. He'll believe. He'll want to believe. His kid wouldn't last here."

"Yeah," Mally shook his head sadly. "I'm really worried for if they stay. Well, if you're sure, then I'll get him down."

A few minutes later, a disheveled skunk was wiping the sleep from his eyes and squinting up at Geren.

"You're sure?"

"Oh yeah. I've got plenty. What's ten thou?" Geren grinned winningly. "I didn't know you were in trouble, or I'd have offered sooner."

"Oh. Oh, well...I truly don't know what to say." Hotra had tears in his eyes.

"Say 'ok' and let's get your tickets bought before anything changes," Mally said. "I'm worried the price'll go up if we don't."

"Yes! Yes," Hotra took a hasty step towards the ticket counter. "Thank you."

The ticket agent on duty was an friendly old deer who seemed almost as moved as Hotra by their gratitude. He seemed enthusiastic about booking the departure, as if equally happy to do his part to help the skunk family escape Fonaci. As he was filling out the itinerary, Hotra turned back to his former coworkers, dabbing the fur beneath his eyes with his frayed coat.

"I'll never forget the two of you. Stay in touch? I won't forget your loan, either, Mal. With interest. I promise."

"Just take care of your family, my friend, and worry about my interest only when they're safe." Mally tossed his datapad onto the counter.

Geren tapped the release on his own pad, careful to hide his total balance from Hotra's sight, then slid it alongside Mally's and the cheque pad from Cerion. The ticket agent tapped them all to accept the funds, and there was a long, tense moment before he looked up from his terminal.

"You're all set, Mr. Hotra. Three outbound for the transfer station at 29:00 tomorrow. The tickets are under your ID."

"Thank you. And...thank the two of you." Hotra extended his paws and gathered his friends into a tight embrace. "Take care of yourselves. I'll be looking for you when I'm back on my feet."

The next night, Geren followed Mally to the hotel's bar once more after seeing Hotra's family off; this time, he didn't refuse the proffered drink.

"It's the end of the world," he muttered, then drank the entire glass of whiskey in a swig. It tasted terrible to him, somewhere between burnt dirt and salty brine, and it lit his throat on fire. He shuddered, esophagus working to keep it down.

"Hey now, that's cheap, terrible whiskey. You shouldn't drink it like that!"

"The shower in my room doesn't even work. It leaks this... foul smelling orange liquid when I turn it on. I haven't showered since I left my dorm. All I've eaten since then is two small meat plates, and that alone has drained nearly a quarter of my remaining cash. I have three more days paid up here, and then ... I've got nothin'." Geren's voice sounded flat and empty even to his own ears. "And that's the proper way to treat bad whiskey, from what I've heard. I'm barely an adult, Mal. I spent two and a half years in the workforce, and I'm going to be dead within a month. I kinda just want to drink until I don't feel the cargo barge grinding me into the street."

"Well, here's to that, my friend." Mally raised his glass and finished its contents in a similar fashion. "Hey, it's your life after all. Let me propose a trip to a fine establishment nearby, so you can at least enjoy your last few days before you give up and call Lapis."

"Wait, what?" Geren blinked and straightened. "How do you know..."

"He's called me up a few times to check on you. He's a good fella, in his own way. From Brynton, so he's a little odd. I'd suggest you consider his offer."

"In some ways," Geren muttered, "I think I'd rather die."

"Suit yourself. That place I like ain't far away. I'm goin'. You comin'?"

"Well... Yes, I suppose. Why not?"

Outside was icy and wet, and Geren's feet immediately began to sting from the cold. He shuddered, folding his arms across his chest and soldiering on behind the indefatigable Mally, who led him through increasingly seedy avenues and byways filled with shadows full of eyes, arriving at last before a big steel door.

"Now listen," Mally put his paw against the frame and grinned back at Geren. "I've been known to acquire a nubulent female or two here. There are some who really aren't too bad, under a light patina of grime. If I vanish, I'll probably be gone for the night, so..."

"I don't care, Mal. For once in my life I just want to drink until I black out and end up face-down in a gutter."

"Well, as I said, suit yourself. A little melodramatic if you ask me, but I'll get you on my tab, so drink whatever you like. They make 'em cheap and strong here," the panther laughed. He rapped on the door with his claws; after a moment, it opened, and a pair of beefy guards looked them over.

"Mal. Who's your friend?"

"Buddy from up the plant. We both got canned, and he's skint. Gonna put him on my tab and let him have a night of it before the reality sets in."

"Well, come on in, and have fun. That's what we're here for."

Geren found himself ushered by Mally down a long corridor, through a curtain into a dark, noisy room with a driving beat. The walls, floor and ceiling were flowing with graphics, and people undulated somewhat in time with the music. A small, blue-lit bar graced a corner of the room, and Mally grabbed Geren's paw, leading him towards it. Three steps in, Geren found himself face to face with a cheetah, who stumbled into his way, gave him an earnest stare, nose-to-nose, then pointed up at the ceiling, laughed, and stumbled off again.

"What was that about?" He yelled to Mally.

"What?" Mally yelled back.

"WHAT was that about?" He moved closer to Mally's ear.

"He's just whacked out."

"Why are people moving like that? Ritual?" Geren pointed to the masses of rhythmically writhing people.

"Dancing! It's dancing," Mally yelled.

"I thought dance was a type of stage show," Geren stared, resisting Mally's tug momentarily. Dozens of people moved together with the beat of the music; it appeared ad-hoc, but the common rhythm brought a strange consistency to their motion.

"It's a custom as old as the ancients, but it's still a nice diversion, especially on a night like this. You just move with the music. Come on up, let's get you lubricated!"

He had trouble looking away as Mally dragged him up to the bar.

"Silver coyote for my friend here, and a Rellin drive for me. He's on my tab."

The doberman behind the bar nodded and set to work with smooth, practiced motions...and a little shake of his head.

Two hours later, not quite gloriously drunk but certainly freed from his mortal fears, Geren, too, was flailing in time with the music, paw in paw with a cloaked red fox of similar height and build. Mally was nowhere to be seen.

There was something intoxicating about the fox, but Geren couldn't place it. They'd interacted briefly, at first, then moved off to other partners...but they were back together shortly thereafter. As the night wore on, they'd each seemed to lose the desire to mingle, making increasingly smaller circles and brushing by one another regularly. Geren dizzily wanted nothing more than the fox's proximity; he wasn't clean and groomed and deodorized, and perfumed, but then neither was Geren. Pressed against one another at last, dancing and grinding, they shared scent and shared sweat as the night rolled on. At long last, as if detecting his waning energy, the fox took him aside, bought him a drink with his own funds, and sat with him, holding his paw. Before much longer he was edging Geren ever so slowly towards the exit.

His name, one of the few words he'd said in his soft, breathy voice, was Lysi.

Many hours before the light of dawn would threaten to contaminate the long Fonaci night, two forms nearly equal in height left the large storage building to meander down a filthy corridor beneath the wing of an abandoned factory. They made their way in silence through gaggles of bedraggled folk huddled around meager trash fires, around fences long neglected and across a frozen field before arriving at an old, run-down tenement building. Entering in a hush, they tip-toed down reeking corridors until at last they came upon a simple red door. It opened to Lysi's pawprint, and he ushered Geren into the darkened room, stepping in behind him.

Wordlessly, the fox guided him through the darkness to the little metal-framed bed in the center of the tiny room, sliding the cloak from his shoulders to reveal simple, dingy undergarments and soft white chest- and bellyfur. Geren opened his mouth to speak, but Lysi pressed forward in that instant, whiskers brushing softly against his lips to commingle with his own, and he forgot entirely what he was going to say. The fox's lips parted to brush lightly against his, and an almost electric tingle ran through him; his paws trembled as they reached for the zipper on his coveralls, but Lysi's were steadier and quicker, and had the zipper down to his crotch nearly instantly. Warm, nimble foxpaws traced up to his shoulders, sliding the coveralls off and tugging them down even as the fox pressed forward into a little kiss, little yellow teeth bumping with his.

Awash in desire but locked helplessly within an almost desperate lust, Geren allowed himself to be pushed gently onto the bed. Nothing existed outside of Lysi; despair, desperation and confusion all melted into a effervescent desire that washed away any articulate thought or notions of restraint, and he stretched out on the lumpy, stained mattress. Warm lips rejoined his own a moment later, and the lithe fox ground his firm length against Geren's, both captive beneath strained underwear. Little trembling noises seemed to break the air almost at random; Geren wasn't sure if he or his partner was making them. His paws found the fox's thin waist, clawtips dragging along the inside of his underwear's waistband.

With a little groan, Lysi pressed his kiss deeply into Geren's muzzle, tilting his head at an angle to gain more access. Geren felt complete enervation pass through him, and he closed his eyes, lips closing softly around the fox's; his broad tongue brushed against Lysi's narrower, nimbler one and he pressed his hips almost urgently upward to meet soft, vulpine grinding. Warm gasps of breath were exchanged in silent moans, washing through soft muzzlefur; after what felt like an eternity, the fox at last drew back, licking his moist lips and gazing down at Geren, eyes full of desire. He took Geren's paws and raised them above the coyote's head, leaning forward to rub noses with him. Geren heard a little click, and felt cool metal bands compress the fur around his wrists.

Lysi giggled and leaned forward to nibble along his muzzle, nosing down to his ear.

"Mind a little bondage, cutie?"

Geren, barely able to retrieve words to string together from his lust-soaked mind, simply shook his head and whuffled the fox's ear ever-so-softly, lapping its rim. He felt the other's form quiver, and his grin broadened. Fox ears were legendarily sensitive, and he nibbletugged for maximum effect. A soft, nearly imperceptible groan sounded in his ear as the fox melted against him. After a moment, he released to nuzzle through the vulpine's soft cheekfur.

For a long few seconds the fox laid atop him, trembling blissfully, but after a few deep breaths he sat up and blinked slowly, gazing down at Geren with unfocused eyes. Geren arched as the fox ran a delicate black paw up through his chestfur to his neck, and huffed very softly as blunt clawtips stroked through his cheekfur and up to his thin muzzle. Lysi wrapped his paw around, pressing a digit gently against his lips.

Geren's nose wrinkled; the fox's paw smelled musky, and a little dirty, of food and alcohol and sweat and metal, but the intimacy of the moment was such that without a moment's pause his jaws parted, taking the digit into his maw. He closed his eyes, lapping along the soft pawpad as the fox pressed his digit deeper into his mouth, following with another. He suckled gently, and the fox slid them back out, just brushing against his canine teeth before slowly plunging back in. A shift in weight atop him told him that the fox was removing his undergarments; a moment later, the other musky paw pressed them against his muzzle.

Geren whimpered despite himself, head spinning; Lysi only had one set of undergarments, and there was no washer to be seen in the little one-room domicile. The scent was almost too much, for normal attraction. This was no normal attraction, and he moaned muffledly into the fox's paws, panting and hypersensate as foxscent filled his senses. His knotless length stood out from its little vestigal sheath, so hard that each throb was physically painful as he leaked into his bellyfur.

"Good boy," the fox whispered. He pressed his digits deep, then pressed his muzzle in amidst his paws, lapping softly into Geren's mouth and pressing his hips back down, his thick, short length bobbing against Geren's own in silent reply.

"Hrrf," Geren affirmed, hips swaying against the fox's.

Slowly, Lysi sat back on Geren's thighs, withdrawing his digits. Geren lifted his head momentarily to chase them, but reluctantly settled back down as they receded from view. A soft brush between his legs had him arching again, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back. The fox wasted little time, collecting a bit of his pre and stroking it under Geren's tail with his moistened digit. Slowly he pressed forward, working gently past the coyote's tight ring but giving him no time to acclimate before following with the second digit and pushing them deep.

Geren whimpered, spreading his legs and splaying his toes as he felt the fox's claws brush sensitive flesh. Despite the roughness and the lack of lubricant gel that Alain had used so liberally, being filled by the fox's digits drove him almost to the edge without anything even touching his sex; he humped softly at the air, his hardness drooling endlessly into his bellyfur. When the fox slowly began to draw back, however, his disappointment was short-lived; no sooner had the fox pulled his paw free than it was replaced by the broad slickness of the fox's member, spreading him slightly. Lust washed through him, but just enough willpower remained for him to raise his head slightly.

"Are... are you clean?" he whispered.

The fox's tail swished behind him, and he brought his paw up to lick dry, throbbing against Geren's undertail. Geren could feel the fox's heat as he pressed with restrained urgency, leaking within him. Slowly, Lysi leaned forward, resting his paws on either side of Geren's head and locking gazes with him, wide, dilated eyes framed by his light, curly hair.

"Mm, does it matter?" the fox murmured softly, brushing lips again and flexing his hips, dimpling Geren's flesh inward and beginning to slide forward. "In this city, my love, love and death are all we have left." He pressed forward slightly, spreading Geren's entrance wide, right on the verge of sliding deep within. "So?" Lysi swept another kiss across his lips, tracing his nose across Geren's. "Does it?" he whispered.

Geren trembled beneath his foxy lover and closed his eyes, feeling tears running backwards from his eyes. The first tears he'd actually shed in years. The first he'd been unable to hold back.

"No," he breathed. "No it doesn't, beautiful fox."

He opened his eyes to find the fox still regarding him, a strange little smile on his face. Slowly, delicately, inexorably the fox began to press forward and Geren couldn't restrain a little whimper as he was spread wide and deep. The fox was warmer than he was, and Geren was filled by his heat, driven to whimper again as, once hilted, Lysi bucked his hips in a firm little buck.

No further words were exchanged; slowly but firmly Lysi began to mate him, pace restrained but passionate, and ever firmer. As desire grew between them, the fox's thrusts hardened and quickened, unrestrained by care, until Geren's breathless moans gave way to little yips of pain/passion/lust. Moments later, he felt the fox's muzzle close on his once more, and press forward in a firm, almost painful kiss, muffling his whimpers.

Over and over the fox drove within him, until both of them were sweating and panting through their noses, lips parting now and again to catch up on breath. Suddenly the fox lifted his paw and placed his musky pawpad over Geren's nose, forcing him to share breath; intimacy replaced panic in a hearbeat, and Geren matched rhythm with the fox's breathing, feeling him harden within, thrusts almost painful.

After a minute, Lysi broke the kiss with a little gasp, panting breathlessly against Geren's lips as his thrusts grew erratic and hard. The fox slid a paw down to wrap around his throbbing length, and the coyote lost control almost immediately, feeling himself building to an inevitable orgasm. As the intensity grew within him, and he dribbled across Lysi's soft black paw, the fox rammed deep within and held, catching his breath and trembling, shuddering atop. The feeling of warmth spreading within him, of the throbbing heat deep inside, provoked an instant response from Geren and he stifled a moan; Lysi was far less restrained, his loud, high-pitched grunts and groans echoing from the walls as he began to thrust once more, driving forward as if desperate to slide deeper within even as he filled Geren with his seed, even as Geren sprayed indiscriminately, hips bucking and writhing in the deepest orgasm of his life.

The climax of the encounter seemed to never want to end; even twenty minutes later, as he drifted off to sleep under the equally sleepy snuggling and gentle thrusting of the fox atop, still inside him, Geren wasn't sure it had.

Several hours later, Geren opened his eyes again. The room was still dark, and the air was frigid but humid, but the fox was curled with him, entwined, and he felt warm to the core. He also felt dizzy, and he badly needed to use the restroom, but his paws were still bound and he didn't want to disturb the sleeping Lysi. The scent of the room, the events, and even those of his partner were not wholly 'pleasant', in a classic sense, but he didn't care. Thoughts of everything from his former life met a resounding disinterest. He had no idea what the future would bring, but, reflecting on it, he was surprised to conclude that he didn't much care. In retrospect, nothing in his life had ever gone right--he'd been stymied at every turn, failed at every attempt to elevate his social strata, and had been rejected by the one person he'd fallen for. He blinked, looking down at the curving form of the fox nestled against him.

The one person he'd fallen for...before tonight.

In all the years he'd been with Alain, he'd never felt such unrestrained lust, such passion. It might not be love--it was almost certainly a one time fling for the fox. He knew that. That was how these things always ended in stories.

He didn't care. At the moment, at what should be the lowest point of his life, everything just somehow felt less wrong. Nuzzling gently into the joint between the fox's neck and shoulder, he closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ignore the pressure in his bladder and regain the oblivion of sleep.