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The Fix is In by Limewah Story for Pyrite Featuring Durk and Niveon's characters 18+

In a little warehouse with broken security cameras on the outskirts of the outskirts of the city, a pair of thieves were nestled in a 5 square metre shipping crate. This was their lodgings for the time being. They were waiting for their fence to show up, and with it, the next steps to get their big payout.

Said fence was more than a little tardy.

After two days in that warehouse (aside from a few brief chances to get fresh air and stretch their legs when the coast was clear) the two of them were getting antsy.

An easy way to tackle the boredom was to pound it out.

It also wasn’t a half-bad way to celebrate their score.

The two Pokémon gentleman thieves didn’t have too much of a reputation - that was by design. They wanted to fly under the radar as much as possible.

Their eye-catching appearances made that a little difficult.

Pyrite was an Umbreon, with especially dark fur, and markings that were closer to a shade of gold than yellow. Rather than the usual oval shape an Umbreon would have in the middle of their forehead, his was an angular four-sided diamond shape. His left hand was a similar shade of gold, and long kintsugi-cracks of the selfsame colour slid up his arm. and he wore round, red tinted glasses that partially hid his heterochromia - red in the right, gold in the left, with some more angular 'cracks' of gold sliding down his left cheekbone.

He was the mastermind of the pair, the face as it were.

Shaw, meanwhile, was a Mienshao with pearlescent blue fur, half-moon glasses perched on his nose just in front of his pink eyes. His feline whiskers and tail were curled into little spirals, matching his well-coiffed lavender hair. The long fur of his forearms had those same spiral curls, creating the look of the elegent hem of a high-class kimono. His movements were almost fluid, too, with a near supernatural grace. This suave butler-like aesthetic contrasted with his wiry, muscly frame, the frame of a martial artist.

He was no career criminal. But having been seduced into it by Pyrite, he took to it well enough.

Like how Pyrite was taking his cock like a pro.

“Nothing in the papers?” Pyrite asked, scrolling through a worker’s ‘borrowed’ phone while his hips hilted the Mienshao’s cock and ground from side to side.

“Nope,” Shaw said, setting aside his 'borrowed' newspaper and grasping Pyrite’s throbbing cock. “Nothing in the mainstream, anyway. They must’ve buried it.”

“How do you f-figure that- nnfuck…” Pyrite gasped.

“You wouldn’t want - mmmnh -anyone to know the most prized painting in your collection got stolen, would you?” Shaw said, his voice thick and husky.

“Well, no, I’d think they’d spread that far n’ wide. They’d be begging the public, the police, anyone for help.”

Shaw grunted thoughtfully.

“You don’t think… They haven’t even copped that the painting in there is a counterfeit?”

Pyrite couldn’t keep the grin from his snout. But he couldn’t keep it on his face when a sudden throb and thrust pushed against his prostate and made his toes curl and his eyes roll, his fuck-stifled giggle choking him.

"Fffffuck, we're so good~!" Pyrite groaned, his voice almost coquettishly submissive.

Shaw’s smile was far less pronounced, with no teeth showing. But the smug satisfaction was mutual.

"Yes… yes we are. This's been fun, honestly…"

“Ah-Arceus…” Pyrite croaked. “Slow down, I’m gonna cum, we don’t want this place stinking of sex…”

“Sure thing.” Shaw pulled back until just his tip was inside the Umbreon’s pert butt. Pyrite quivered around the Mienshao’s tool. The Umbreon groped at his erect cock, pressing his palm against the tip to catch the precum that was dribbling away.

The pleasure glued Pyrite's paw to his dick. He couldn’t stop stroking himself now. He pushed past the edge before he even realised he was there.

“No, fuck…” he gasped. “Oh, fuck, get a tissue, q-quick…!”

It wasn’t quite fast enough.

At least he didn’t get any on the floor.

-

Pyrite and Shaw were not the cuddling type. Once they’d finished their business and disposed of the mess, they went back to finding other ways to entertain themselves. Shaw was practicing some of his forms - he couldn’t let his body atrophy, especially since he didn't have any access to the usual gear. Though there wasn’t a lot of space to stretch out in that crate, and he couldn’t step outside.

Pyrite, meanwhile, was staring at their score, still resting daintily against a wall and wrapped in paper and bubble wrap.

“Still can’t get over how tiny this painting is,” Pyrite mused. “Think we have time to give it one last look before the fence arrives?”

“Did you bring gloves?” Shaw asked.

“Did I bring - of course!” Pyrite scoffed, going straight for his pockets. “Why would I forget something like…”

His face dropped. “Hang on, did they drop out of my pocket…?”

Shaw held up two black, shining latex gloves by their thumbs, the barest crescent of a smirk on his face.

“You prick!” Pyrite laughed in an attempt to mask how low-key pissed-off he was. “Stop pickpocketing me!”

“Stop being easy to pickpocket,” Shaw snarked. “You're supposed to be a career criminal. How're you this unobservant?”

"I am very observant." Pyrite shot back, chasing it with a little angry flirtation, "Has it not crossed your mind that you're just a really good pickpocket?"

"Smooth." Shaw put his claws up in a placating gesture, and threw the gloves back to Pyrite.

“Thank you,” Pyrite snipped, before slipping them on.

Pyrite took care not to damage the wrapper; he unwound and untied the twine, and gently unfolded the paper until he could grab hold of the delicate wooden frame and lift it up.

There she was. Sitting in repose, hands over her lap, her platinum blonde hair framing her alabaster, furless face with its inscrutable half-smile, her eyes gleaming is if they held some incredible secret.

The Mona Lusamine.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Pyrite sighed.

“I think she’s a little over-rated,” Shaw said. “Especially up close.”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Eh, maybe so. Either way… once the fence is here, we’ll have enough money to last a lifetime.”

–

It certainly did last a lifetime - a fly’s lifetime.

Between being on the wrong side of a rug-pull and spending a bit too much money on fancy clothes and tech, Pyrite and Shaw found themselves back where they started - flat broke, paycheck to paycheck - rather quickly.

Shaw would have been very happy to stay at square one. One taste of criminality was more than enough for him, an embarrassing diversion that he could easily leave in the past. Pyrite had a whole other crew to work with anyway; what use would he have for the Mienshao? Especially since he wasn’t likely to try the same style of heist twice. That wouldn’t be smart.

If that Umbreon showed up at his door with a handsome glint in his eye and some new score, he wouldn't even let that black-and-gold shyster past the threshold.

It was easy to tell himself that, at least.

-

“Hey, Shaw.” The Umbreon was clutching a large gift box in his paws, wrapped in black tissue paper with gold ribbon trim. He always went over the top with presentation, as if trying to impress a first date. And it often worked.

"Hello, Pyrite," Shaw said, defensively polite and blocking his front doorway.

“How’s it going?” Pyrite said, attempting to invite himself in but failing to push past.

“Good, thank you.”

“Great, great."

A moment of almost-awkward silence spread. Pyrite's eyes practically sparkled behind the round red glasses.

“So…” Pyrite began.

“No.” Shaw intercepted.

“C’mon, Shaw, this is gonna be an easy one, way easier than last time!”

Shaw didn’t want to give Pyrite the impression he was interested. But he understood that Pyrite was not going to leave until he humoured him and opened it.

The package was light, and when he tilted it he couldn't hear anything inside.

When he opened it, a shining black satin shirt greeted him, with an embroidered purple pattern on it - a triskelion of curling tails - three in each spiral - as well as tiny text beneath it.

The Veiled Azalea Casino and Lounge.

Shaw looked over the package and down at Pyrite’s grinning face.

“A casino?" Shaw asked, his nose up-turned. "Really? Wouldn’t that be more difficult than an art gallery?”

“You’d think that. But it’s really easy to get a job there. That’s my uniform you’re holding, actually, so I’m gonna need it back…”

“You gift-wrapped your own uniform for me to open?”

“Yeah! Where’s your sense of panache, Shaw!"

Shaw had half a mind to keep the package out of reach, but he gave it back.

“You’re thinking of an inside job?”

“Best kind of job when it comes to a heist like this,” Pyrite said, tucking the box under his arm. "Why bother with finding a man on the inside when we can be that man? …Men.”

“My answer’s still no,” Shaw said. “I’d rather not take my chances a second time.”

“C’mon… you gotta join me!”

“And why’s that?”

“Well…" Pyrite's ears flattened, the smile turning a touch sheepish. "I kind of, sort of, might have leveraged some money and taken out a few loans with a few, uh… friends, and I needed a co-signer, so we’re… sort of both on the hook for them?”

Pyrite ducked before the punch came for him, and slithered out of the way of the next strike, beneath Shaw's wide swing. Shaw turned to face Pyrite, seeing that he'd managed to slip in past him and into his apartment.

Damnit.

“Waitwaitwait, okay, I know, it’s bad, I fucked up, mea culpa, I know! But this’ll fix everything. I promise. I’m gonna use my share of the score to pay off both of our debts, but you’ll still get fifty percent!”

“...Of what?” Shaw remained stoic. If he’d lost his temper, he’d regained it quite fast. “The leftovers?”

“No, the full amount. And… I’ll be your slave for half a year. At a reduced rate.”

Shaw sniffed again.

It was hard to get a read on Pyrite behind those red glasses. Shaw wasn’t sure he was being on the level. Like something was being left out.

But he was pretty sure he could make sure the Umbreon kept his word. Having easy access to that cute ass would sweeten the pot a little bit.

Pyrite offered his hand, his eyebrows wiggling.

“Aaaand I’ll give you the afternoon up front, how ‘bout it?”

Shaw felt a throb between his legs.

The Umbreon was an unparalleled charmer, and truth be told, the stuff they’d gotten up to in that shipping crate was still in the back of his mind. The best fuck he'd had in a long while. Getting another helping was rather tempting.

Somehow, even though Pyrite was offering his submission to Shaw, the Mienshao still felt a bit like the Umbreon was the one really in control, the master manipulator.

Fuck it. He was already roped into this plan, why not take an advance on his ‘payment’?

He grabbed Pyrite by the wrist and pulled him in, grabbing the back of his head with his free hand and pushing him down between his legs.

The package with the uniform fell to the ground as the Umbreon’s yelps and giggles turned into moans, and the moans turned into low, lusty gulps.

Shaw pushed into the Umbreon’s face, closed his eyes, and pictured a full month of this ahead of him. That would be his best motivator, even more so than the money.

-

“And the player wins again,” Pyrite said, sweeping the cards back into a neat pile with one fluid arc of his paw, while his other paw, rake in hand, pulled the stack of wagered chips to his side of the felt table. He resisted the urge to shrug or rub it in in any way, even as his red glasses hid the impish gleam in his eyes.

Everyone at the table had bet on the bank this round, all showing varying levels of disappointment. Especially the Blastoise who had just completely crashed out.

“Hard luck my friend,” Pyrite said, “We can keep your space if you’d like to pick up some more chips? Would you like to play again?”

The turtle snorted, fixed the collar of his blazer, and walked away. Pyrite’s smile didn’t fade from his face. He was used to that pissed-off expression… Baccarat was one of those devious games that was basically a game of chance, but one easily mistaken for a game of skill by gamblers with more money than sense.

Baccarat is a very quick game. Pyrite was a master conducter at this point; he was playing one hand a minute. So one could easily lose the shirt off their back in under five minutes, if they were unlucky or foolish with their bets.

The security cameras kept an eye out for people trying to count cards, but that didn’t prevent the Umbreon from doing a little trickery of his own. A few hidden cards up his sleeve, a little misdirection as he fluidly slipped cards from the shoe, twirled them onto the table, flipped them over with crisp little snaps…

It was very easy to massage things in the right direction, keeping the players from winning without making it seem obvious, while sneaking in the odd ‘lucky’ win for someone who he thought deserved a win or seemed like they were about to give up.

Surely the cameras had picked it up by now.

But hadn’t been pulled up on it by the boss yet.

In fact, he hadn’t even seen the boss.

Evidently he was a very busy fox.

Pyrite only even knew the owner, Alastor, was a Ninetales, because it was mentioned off-hand; there certainly weren’t any photos of him.

And yet… Pyrite could feel… something looming over him. A presence. An influence, seeping into every nook and cranny of the Veiled Azalea.

He could feel it in the dark lacquered, glass-smooth floors clicking against his dress shoes. He could feel it in the brazier-like lights against the walls, fashioned from translucent bluish glass in the shapes of a spiralling tongue of flame. He felt the glow of the neon pink and blue lights nestled into every corner and cranny.

He could even feel it in the snap and texture of the casino’s in-house cards. The face cards were all abstract fox-shaped silhouettes, with a bouquet of fluffy tails spiralling around them, - the Kings, of course, had a full set of nine. The backs of the cards were jet black and so glossy as to show one’s reflection in them. If one looked close enough there was a holographic swirl of neon pink, seemingly perfectly focused on the centre-point between the viewer’s reflection’s eyes.

Pyrite found it easy to just fidget with a card, tilt it and catch those little spirals. He'd even take a card with him on his break just so he could fidget with it and enjoy the miniature light show. Plus it was a nice thing to point out to a new player - while they were distracted, ooh-ing and aah-ing, Pyrite had a precious second or two to get a few cards up his sleeve.

There were no overhead lights, givng the place a dark ambience which one would think would make it easier to cheat. And yet, Pyrite never spotted any attempts from the regular clientele in his weeks working there. They seemed too well mannered for that.

It was a gig, all together. It was a shame there were no bonuses for good performance, but Pyrite was in this for the love of the game, as well as the anticipation of the score.

He hadn’t seen Shaw at all, though.

The Mienshao was meant to meet him with some intel on the more secured areas of the casino, which likely meant he had no leads on where their jackpot was stored. That was a ‘need to know’ sort of thing, certainly not something he’d have quick access to.

Pyrite and Shaw were playing the long game with this one.

The Blastoise’s chair remained empty, the others at the table still laser focused on winning a hand. Pyrite allowed that cute baby-faced Meowth to win a modest amount in the next hand.

“Well look at you, your Orthworm’s turning by the looks of it… up for another hand?”

“Hell yeah, sure!”

The grin that spread along the cat's face… Pyrite would keep it parked in the back of his mind for later. Flirting with the clientele wasn't frowned upon, within reason. Maybe he could get the cat coming back just for him…

“If there’s room, I’d like to join,” A smooth voice said as a new figure slipped into the seat that Blastoise occupied. Pyrite glanced towards them, practiced smile in place.

“Welcome, w….welcome!”

Pyrite locked eyes with the newcomer, and tried not to blanche.

He couldn’t presume, but… he was 99 percent sure the Ninetales sitting across from him was the Veiled Azalea’s owner. No fanfare, no warning, he just arrived as if he'd materialised from the shadows_._

Ninetales couldn't learn Teleport, could they…?

The fox could not have stood out more if he tried. He wore a dark summer-coat and a tight mauve turtleneck. The jacket’s breast pocket had a chain poking out from it, perfectly tucked and looped to dangle like a hammock. Pyrite reckoned there was a priceless pocketwatch in there, and made a mental note of it.

Pyrite swallowed his nerves and kept his winning grin deployed.

“Pull up a chair, sir, please! My name is Pyrite, and I’ll be your baccarat dealer for as long as you decide to stick around!"

“A pleasure to meet you, Pyrite,” the fox said.

As the bulky tails settled behind the seated fox, Pyrite saw two attendants standing to attention just behind him, besuited and stone-faced.

To the Ninetales’ left was a muscular Machoke.

To his right was Shaw.

Pyrite’s heart secretly swelled with pride. He didn’t think Shaw would get that close to the boss so quickly… he would almost certainly have some juicy tidbits to share.

For now, though, he didn’t stare. He had a job to do.

“Alright, place your bets,” Pyrite said, pushing down his nerves. He had a job to do, a routine to perform.

Each player slid their chips forward, along with one of three betting cards - each labeled with P, B, or T.

Three of the other players - the Meowth, the Azurill and the Drowzee - went for B, the Banker. The safer bet, usually. Two others - the pair of Arcanines who looked like twins - were sticking to the P, the Player.

Alastor stuck down one glittering chip and placed out the T card, for a tie.

Pyrite could hear the sucking in-breaths from every single other person at the table.

Risky opening bet. The house had the slightest advantage, but a tie was exceedingly unlikely.

High risk, but very high reward…

“All right, bets placed, good luck to you all.”

Pyrite slid out four cards onto the two squared-off spaces on the felt table, two for each. Their backs glittered, and Pyrite blinked. He turned them over; the player side had two kings, and the bank had a seven and a jack.

“That’s seven for the bank, and zero for the player,” Pyrite said. "Oof."

Pyrite had a seven card up his sleeve… he could tie things up… But would the boss notice…?

It wasn’t like Alastor would lose anything, he owned the place, he was the house, so he’d win regardless.

He slipped out one more card from the shoe and slid it out to the player’s slot, bringing it sideways.

He felt his heart skip a beat as he slid his claw beneath to flip it.

He had zero reason to be nervous, so why…?

Snap.

The seven of spades.

“And that’s a tie,” Pyrite exclaimed, sliding everyone’s chips to his side - save, of course, for the newcomer’s. “Lucky guess, my friend, sorry to the rest of you all. "What’s the value of that chip, sir? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before…”

“Don’t worry about it,” the fox said, with a curiously amused glint in his eye. “It’s a little something for the high rollers.”

“Fair enough, sir, well, I don’t have eight of those to hand so you might have to keep track of your total another way!”

The ninetales smiled. Pyrite swore he could see those irises gleam for a moment, like gemstones catching the beam of a flashlight.

He did have nice eyes…

Not that it mattered.

The Ninetales reached into his pocket and placed eight more of those chips onto the table. All the players’ eyes, and the dealer’s, were on them.

“New bets, gentlemen?” Pyrite asked, shooting a glance up to Shaw.

The Mienshao was not looking at the table. He was keeping his head on a swivel. still hadn’t even acknowledged Pyrite. It was for the best, but…

Something felt amiss. Pyrite’s intuition was buzzing, and his leg was bouncing. Until he caught it and resolutely stamped his foot down on the floor.

The Meowth stepped away from the table, looking more than a little crestfallen.

He’d given up… pity, he was cute.

Maybe Pyrite could bump into him on his break, as long as the boss wasn't about to call him away.

Shit. He hoped he hadn’t been double-crossed…

Or that he was about to get fired, or worse…

No no.

He couldn’t think like that. Shaw was on his side, and wasn't the betraying type. Not to mention he had a month of having Pyrite at his beck and call to look forward to. Pyrite knew there was no way Shaw would fuck up that opportunity.

“Gentlemen.” The Ninetales scooped his glittering chips into his claws and stacked them up into a neat little pile. One by one, he lifted one between two fingers and slid it over to each of the players at the table. “There are plenty of other games to play, ones that require actual skill. Why don’t you go explore, try the other tables?”

No one took their chip, they simply stared at it as if it was a priceless artifact with a booby trap beneath it.

“Hey,” one of the two Arcanines said, “We come here all the time and we’ve never seen chips like these. How do we know you’re not just trying to scam us?”

The Ninetales’ patient smile didn’t falter. The Arcanine bristled and looked at Pyrite.

“I mean, what about you? You work here?”

The Umbreon nodded, while shuffling and cutting the deck.

“You’ve never seen those before, have you?” the Arcanine continued.

Pyrite bit on his tongue, his red eyes briefly flitting towards the Ninetales.

He hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to say so, just in case this was in fact the boss, but what if it wasn’t, what if he was letting a scammer throw around fake chips…

“There is a high-rollers lounge upstairs,” Pyrite said, half-parrying the question. “You might see more of this fox gent's chips up there.”

“Oh, well we’ve been to the high rollers-”

“Bro,” the other arcanine hissed, “Don’t make a big deal-”

“And I’m telling you I’ve never seen those! If I’m taking these, I’m taking ‘em straight to security.”

“So you will take them?” the Ninetales’ smile never wavered.

The Arcanine, on the other hand, was caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean-”

Pyrite saw that glint in the Ninetales’ eyes again. It was this time. Sharper. Like a lighter had just sparked to life behind them. There was a pulse, a flutter of colour within them, and when he spoke, Pyrite swore he could see a little sparkling vapour slide from the corners of his mouth.

“Please, I insist.”

Those three words washed over the table like a sudden wave. Every single player leaned back, as if pushed, their eyes going wide for a moment, their pupils briefly flickering blue. If Pyrite had blinked, he’d have missed it - the colour was there and gone with the speed of a camera shutter.

Almost in perfect unison, the three remaining players took their gifted chips, stood up from the table, and left. They walked sluggishly, methodically, their heads slowly turning and inclining to look around as if they were seeing this casino for the very first time. Soon, they were out of sight.

“I’m ready to keep playing.”

It occurred to Pyrite that he’d been staring, and holding his breath.

“Y-yes!” the Umbreon gasped, almost spilling his neatly arranged deck of cards as he flinched. “Yes, sir, of course.”

“Please, call me Alastor,” the Ninetales said. “If it’s just the two of us at the table, we can have a proper conversation, can’t we?”

“Yes, Alastor, we can!”

Knowing the fox’s name helped slow Pyrite’s heart down a bit. Alastor.

It had a good mouthfeel.

Pyrite knew from experience that people loved hearing their name coming from his muzzle. It was one of the easiest, most surefire ways to seduce someone into letting their guard down, just by slipping it into conversation and putting a little bit of emphasis on it, like it was a beautiful one-word poem.

“So, have you been having a good evening so far, Alastor?” Pyrite laid out the deck.

“Yes,” Alastor said, flicking another chip across the table before folding his fingers. “I quite like the decor of the place. It has sort of a transportative atmosphere, isn’t it? Like you’ve stepped out of the real world, and into someplace else?”

“Exactly,” Pyrite said, noting that the chip had slid onto the ‘Bank’ space. “Is this where you’d like to bet, Alastor?”

Alastor nodded.

“I suppose since you work here all the time, you must be a little bit bored of it?”

“Bets placed, good luck,” Pyrite murmured to himself as he slipped and snapped out the first four cards. “Excuse me? Oh, no, I love it here.”

Truth be told, the fatigue was setting in now and again, but he wasn’t going to risk badmouthing this place to his boss.

“Well answered,” Alastor said. “You’ve been taking to your role very well.”

“Thank you, Sir- I mean, Alastor!” Pyrite brightened his tone as he flipped over the cards. A three and a four for the player, and a king and a two for the bank.

“Oof,” Pyrite hissed sympathetically. “Let’s hope your luck changes.”

He slid his paw to the deck and slipped out the top card. A five would fix it up, but… no, he wasn’t about to kiss the boss’ ass by way of cheating.

The card from the top of the deck was a three.

“Oh well,” Alastor shrugged. “Even the banker loses to the house now and again…”

“But aren’t you the house, Alastor?” Pyrite asked. “Or at least the owner?”

“Oh really?” Alastor’s smile tightened. “What gave you that impression?”

“Oh, call it a hunch…” Pyrite could have said ‘could it be any more obvious’, but that would have not been the good play. He knew he had to keep flirting. Keep buttering him up. Just until he could get Shaw alone.

…Shaw was still staring into the distance, seemingly completely uninterested. Moreso than usual.

Pyrite tried not to let it get to him as he set the played cards aside.

“Will we keep playing?” Pyrite asked.

“Please,” Alastor said. “I enjoy watching you work. It’s worth the price of admission.”

“What can I say, Alastor? I like making sure people get their money’s worth.”

“So I’ve heard.”

…What did that mean?

“I just mean you’re a charismatic flirt, and word gets around.”

…Did he just read my mind? Dark types aren’t meant to be able to-

“You’re easy to read when you get flustered,” Alastor said, resting his right elbow on the table, his claws playing with another proffered chip. “It’s quite attractive.”

“Hah!” Pyrite grinned, a little too wide to play it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, to be clear, you’re easy for me to read.” Alastor inclined his head over the knuckles of his right hand, and his index finger slowly scratched along the curvature of his jaw.

Pyrite tried to keep his cool.

But the boss’ own charismatic aura was making his heart pulse and his throat bubble.

“Anyway,” Alastor continued, “usually I do my ‘quality assurance’ of new employees as soon as possible, but I’ve had a lot of other obligations to deal with.”

The kitsune’s eyes flicked upwards, and Pyrite followed the flick upwards to… Shaw’s face. The Umbreon immediately brought his eyes back down, and he swallowed.

“But I’ve had time to chat to some of the other employees, as well as survey some of our guests. You’re rather popular, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” Pyrite grinned, though inside he was a little irked.

It was frustrating to know he’d built up a reputation. But then, he knew it was nigh-on impossible for an eye-catchingly handsome golden boy like him to blend in. All he could do was accept that fact and toe the line.

“Would you like to keep playing ?” Pyrite asked.

“I’d love that,” Alastor said with a grin.

Pyrite nodded. Okay. That was good.

If Pyrite was running the game, he could keep some semblance of control on the conversation, or at least keep it from being monopolised by the casino’s owner. Maybe he could get a read on him, pick up a character flaw or two that he could exploit.

“Is that a card up your sleeve?”

Pyrite wasn’t expecting that exact wording, but it certainly caught him off balance. Still, he kept his cool. There was no way the kitsune could have glimpsed that. And there's no way he couldn't have known of Pyrite's game by this point.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare cheat!” Pyrite said, sprinkling his tone of voice with a hint of faux-offence. “This casino’s got a reputation to uphold!”

“Indeed.” Alastor leaned forward. “Unless it’s used to massage things in the player’s favour now and again. It’s easier for it to pass notice if they think they’re winning big.”

“What_ever_ are you implying, sir?”

“I’m implying,” Alastor continued, “That I’m aware of your work. I must say I’m impressed… and I’d love to see how you do it, see if I can catch the trick.”

“Well, again, I don’t know what you mean…”

Pyrite’s smile softened into a tiny smirk. There was no doubt what was going on; Alastor was flirting with him.

Pyrite could feel a little bit of danger in this dance. He wasn’t sure if the Ninetales was trying to get him to slip up, or slip into his office… or slip into a trance, the way those others at the table did.

He was a Dark type, though. Moves that attacked the psyche weren’t going to do much of anything to him.

“You’re welcome to keep your eyes on me,” Pyrite said, “See if you can catch a glimpse. You’ve seen it all, I’m sure, so you know what to watch out for. If you blink, you’ll miss it, and everyone’s gotta blink now and again, right?”

As Pyrite spoke, he saw a hint of teeth in Alastor’s widening smile. Oh, he had his attention now. Maybe he was turning the Ninetales on. If so, then… stealing his heart would be a -

Snap.

The overturned card slipped up Pyrite’s sleeve and the other one slapped into place, turning a 5 into a 3 and tying the Player with the Bank.

“And there you go, fifth time lucky!” Pyrite smiled, pushing some of the glittering chips he’d collected back towards the boss.

“Indeed. Five’s a good number, too.” Ninetales said. “Numerologically speaking, anyway.”

“Oh?” Pyrite titled his head. “I figured you had a li’l bit of interest in the occult, what with the decor of the place… so I shouldn’t be that surprised!”

“Indeed,” Alastor purred, scooping his chips into a single neat stack. “Five usually represents change… and flexibility. An ability to go with the flow, seek out opportunity and strike like a patient spear-fisher.”

Alastor lifted the stack of chips a half inch off the felt then relaxed his paw, letting them drop back down with a click-click-click-click, like the crunch of gravel beneath one’s feet.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

The chips rattled with each little drop as he regarded Pyrite.

“Appropriate for you, I’d say,” Alastor said. “You strike me as that sort of free spirit. So it’s little wonder you’d happen to help me win on the fifth go around. You’re subconsciously attuned to it.”

“Oh really?” Pyrite chuckled. “Do you think you saw me palm a card?”

“Hmhm.” Alastor chuckled, but didn’t answer. He simply kept playing with his chips.

“You’re an individualist,” he continued, “Some might call you a hustler, but that’d be underselling your skills, wouldn’t it?"

The chips clicked. Pyrite’s ears flicked. He felt a little pebble in the pit of his stomach.

“Your friend Shaw here has told me plenty about them.”

The pebble grew to a boulder. He looked up at Shaw.

The Mienshao still stared into space.

“Isn’t that right, Shaw?”

“Yes, sir,” Shaw said, his voice emotionless and clipped. “Pyrite is a very clever Umbreon.”

“Exactly. And thank you for sharing that with me."

Shaw made a curious little grunt. It was a sound Pyrite recognized… he'd heard Shaw make a noise like that before, but when…?

"I’m very fond of clever people like you,” Alastor continued, drawing Pyrite back to the present “I find them attractive. I find myself desiring them. And when I desire something…”

He clapped his hand down on the chips, gripping them tightly.

Pyrite studied Alastor’s eyes, waited for him to finish the thought, even though he already knew the ending.

But Alastor said nothing.

Alastor’s irises glinted again, a little ring of hot violet light swirling in a ring around his pupil. The glint continued longer than was natural, revolving around the pools of darkness like light being sucked into a black hole.

Pyrite didn’t even consider that he might already have been ensnared. He just stared back, still waiting for the next words from Alastor’s mouth.

Still nothing.

The irises were seeming to grow in size, the arc of that glint widening. Wisps and shades of pastel teal were joining the violet, twisting and ebbing, like…

Like the pink flames dancing along the fingers of Alastor’s free hand.

Pyrite’s hackles raised. His body tensed. Fire spin? Flamethrower? What was he about to use? Shit. He needed to…

Stare at Alastor’s eyes and wait for him to finish his thought.

Still nothing, though…

Pyrite’s gaze glided slowly and easy back to the strange twisting shimmers in his eyes. He could see colour flickering in the deep, dark pupils too, that licking flame he’d seen briefly when Alastor sent the others packing.

Another flash of flame made Pyrite sit up, his gaze shooting to the flames as they licked dangerously, chaotically… but before he could think to duck out of the way or prepare a counter, he was reminded of something by the blues and purples in those flames.

Oh yes, the eyes.

Pyrite looked into Alastor’s eyes again. More colours. Even more than before. Flickering and fluttering in circles around his pupils like venomoths around a lamp.

How was he doing that?

Pyrite wanted to know. That’s why he was still staring.

Clickclickclickclick.

Alastor was playing with the chips again, and Pyrite’s instincts drew his eyes down to look. The clicks made his skull tingle. They glittered through the gaps the Ninetales’ fingers made.

Glittered like…

Oh yes, the eyes.

Pyrite looked into Alastor’s eyes again, and he could no longer tell where Alastor’s pupils ended and his irises began.

The colours seemed to spread out even further, glazing the world around them with purple and blue.

“Neat… light show…” Pyrite mumbled. He felt like he had more of a quip to add to that. But the colours were too distracting.

Like the flames flashing in Alastor’s one hand…

And the chips clicking and rattling in the other one.

Alastor was meant to do something, wasn't he?

Pyrite was watching and listening, waiting for…

What was it, again?

He wasn’t sure where to look anymore. There were so many different things to focus on, to make sense of, and he was starting to feel a little tired… more than a little, in fact. His brain had been working so hard… must’ve been all the baccarat. Keeping the pace up to a game a minute, keeping track of the cards up his sleeves, being his charming self… it took a toll.

And he was noticing that now, staring into those eyes, flinching from the flames, listening to the click of the chips…

Exhausted was coming to collect on its debt.

But had he been tired a moment ago?

It was hard to tell.

The eyes were sparkling.

The flames were flickering.

The chips were tinkling.

They were getting closer to him, taking up more of his vision, or maybe he was just staring.

“I take it for myself.” Alastor said, finishing a sentence he’d left hanging for minutes on end.

“You wh…?”

“Sleep.”

Pyrite didn’t see any reason not to sleep.

His tongue tasted the table-felt, his nose rubbed against a smooth embossed card.

Then…

He floated in darkness.

It was the sort of darkness he saw behind his closed eyelids, and yet, his eyes felt open.

There were little strobes, flickers, wisps. Long horizons of blue and pink stretching outwards and receding into thin lines before vanishing entirely. Stars and pinpricks winked in and out of existence.

There was a soft texture to it too, reminding him of luxurious long fur, freshly washed and blow-dried.

The darkness rocked him like a hammock, caressed him like a cradle, enfolded him like a thick comforter.

It stroked his face. It settled on his own fur.

He breathed softly.

His throat rattled with a whispered snore.

He floated in that morass for who knew how long.

The longer, the better.

-

Pyrite’s chin was resting against his chest. It felt a little damp and warm.

Even before he opened his eyes, the dominant feeling was…

He felt…

Refreshed.

Like he’d slept for a month straight. He felt groggy, yes, but there was an energy beneath it. A feeling of clarity that made him realise just how sleep deprived he had been.

As he raised his head, he noticed the silk wrapped around his wrists, tying them to the back of the plush chair.

“Ungh, hn…?”

The darkness that greeted him when he opened his eyes didn’t last long - a sudden burst of light stabbed his eyes as a massive screen flashed to life in front of him.

“Agh! Fuck,” Pyrite hissed as he screwed his eyes shut and turned away.

The screen hissed with a sharp, familiar whine. And when he opened his more-acclimated eyes, Pyrite noticed the glassy sheen of the massive screen, the flickering of the Veiled Azalea’s logo on the screen.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a CRT TV, let alone one this fuck-off huge. How much would it have set Alastor back…?

Alastor. Shit. Right. That’s the last thing he remembered, having a conversation with the Ninetales and then… darkness.

And colour.

Those pretty wisps of colour…

That darkness was quite nice.

If he closed his eyes, maybe he could go back there.

He could tune out the cathode ray whine eventually, couldn’t he?

Just a few more minutes…

“Just a few more minutes?”

The familiar voice from behind him made him jump upright so violently that the chair’s wooden legs ground against the floor.

Pyrite tried to look over his shoulder, but could only make a vague, besuited silhouette in the lavender glow cast by the TV. It was only now that Pyrite noticed he had been stripped down to his underwear - a jockstrap with a gold satin pouch. One of his many ludicrously expensive purchases, one that served as hidden armour for a little extra confidence boost; a little secret he had over everyone around him.

The secret was out, and he didn’t feel so confident anymore.

“Wh-what the fuck… let me go!”

“Believe it or not,” Alastor’s voice said from behind, “Being tied up was your suggestion.”

Silken tails slid along the back of Pyrite’s head and neck. He shivered, with a higher ratio of pleasure to revulsion than he’d have wanted to admit.

“I teased a lot of little fantasies out of that head of yours,” Alastor continued as he moved in front of the bound Umbreon. “The more of your desires I know, the easier it will be to fulfill them.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Pyrite shot back, though his voice was a breathy stammer. “You thought… you thought you hypnotised me back there, right? Pfheh. Psychic types. You know Dark types are immune to that. You’re not g-gonna start gaslighting me…”

The more he spoke, the less confident he felt. That deep, wonderful darkness in his memory seemed to yawn wider and wider with each passing moment. And with it came nervous doubt.

“Pyrite, darling.” Alastor was next to Pyrite now, one arm draped over his shoulders while his tails flowed around him as if to cover his modesty. “You can rail and deny all you like. But you’ve already told me everything. Your ambitions, your secret desires… and of course, your plan to rob me.”

…Fuck.

“Did Shaw rat me out?” Pyrite asked, though he already knew the answer.

Alastor didn’t answer the question.

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to punish you too severely for it. You didn’t manage to commit the crime, after all…”

“Sure you aren't. Do your w-worst,” Pyrite said, unable to mask the crack in his voice.

“I'm no mob boss, Pyrite,” Alastor continued, “Those brutes who rule through fear and threats of violence. A tight grip like that is bound to let some of that power slip through one’s fingers.”

A gloved finger slid down Pyrite’s arm. He could feel Alastor’s claw beneath the soft fabric.

“I prefer a much lighter touch. More silk glove than iron fist. If I give my employees most of what they want, it’s far easier to have them do everything I want. Why don’t I show you?”

Alastor snapped his fingers. The sound made Pyrite’s spine stiffen, and his bulge throb. But more importantly, it made the giant screen flicker to a new image - the purple glow turning (mostly) monochrome.

On the screen was a small square room - was it the same room he was in right now? The angle of the camera suggested it was squirreled away in some dark corner.

Shaw sat in a chair in the centre of the room. His hands were resting on his lap. He was staring straight ahead. In the slightly blurry, washed-out colours of the closed-circuit image, his expression was unreadable - even more so than usual.

Pyrite squinted and watched closely.

“Is this live?” Pyrite asked.

“Shhh," Alastor hushed. “Just watch.”

On the screen, a door opened and Alastor stepped through it. Shaw stood and turned towards him in a polite, fluid motion.

“Shaw, is it?” the recorded Alastor said. “Welcome. It’s a pleasure. Please, sit.”

“There’s no chair for you, though,” Shaw said, confused, even as he re-took his seat.

“I much prefer to stand," Alastor continued. "It’s better for my restless legs, to say nothing of my tails. And yes, you’re in the right place, this is where we conduct the second-round interviews. I’m here because I want to get to know you a little more personally.”

“This will go on for a little while,” Alastor whispered to Pyrite. “We could fast-forward, unless you’d like to watch the buildup. I think the anticipation adds a bit of zest to it, personally…”

“Well, I’m not doing anything else,” Pyrite said.

“I’m glad you haven’t lost that tongue of yours,” Alastor said with a dark-chocolate chuckle. “I do hope it’ll survive your conditioning… speaking of - watch this next part.”

“So tell me, Shaw. What drew you to this place? What… enticed you about the idea of being in my service?”

Pyrite saw something flicker along the screen. At first glance, it seemed like a little glitch with the feed, a downward cascade of snowy static. But when it happened again a few moments later, he realised the flickering was coming from the walls within the space. Brief ripples of violet were trickling down the screen, like a spurt from a faucet.

“A friend already in your employ recommended I work here.”

“Is that so? An employee referral? How delightful. And who might this person be?”

“His name is Pyrite.”

Pyrite was fuming. Why was Shaw giving him away so easily?

Sure, there were those subtle pulses of mind-controlling colour on the walls, but he’d have expected at least a little more and resistance…

“I see. Thank you.”

There was a quickening - the speed and intensity of the distorted shapes pulsed faster for a moment, as if fast-forwarding. Shaw grunted and stiffened.

“I’m glad to see the conditioning from your first-round interview has stuck around,” Alastor continued, settling behind the Mienshao, one paw on each shoulder. His tails fluttered and draped around the feline’s body, covering everything below the shoulders. It was a lot like the way the Alastor in the present was currently draping himself over Pyrite.

“That’s good.” the past-Alastor continued. “That’s one of the reasons you’ve gotten this far.”

Pyrite’s thoughts doubled back. Wait. First-round interview?

Pyrite racked his brain. He didn’t recall getting interviewed. He just applied, had a quick informal in-person chat on the floor with a manager, got the job, done and done.

…That was what he remembered. If he could even trust his memory.

“If you’re to be one of my security detail, you require total focus. You do not bring any distractions or cares from the outside world into this casino. You must remain, at all times, focused on the most important person in the room. Which is…?”

“You,” Shaw responded, with no hesitation.

“Thank you.”

Another burst, one that overwhelmed the cameras and turned it into a smear of colour for a couple of seconds.

It hurt Pyrite’s eyes, so much so that the pain made his ears ring.

“I think I’ve seen enough, I get it,” Pyrite hissed.

“No no, keep watching…” Alastor took hold of Pyrite’s head and tilted him back towards the screen. “Plenty more to see. Look…”

As Pyrite looked back towards the monitor, he saw some of Alastor’s tails unfurling from Shaw’s body.

…Where had Shaw's clothes?

The Mienshao’s legs had spread outwards, his hips rolling forward, to let his tumescent cock rest against his stomach. There was a soft whirr as the camera’s image telescoped, zooming in until Shaw’s slack face was perfectly framed alongside Alastor’s snout.

“This pleasure you feel right now? There’s more to come. This is the pleasure that comes with a job well done. With serving and protecting me and my assets. You’ll crave my thanks. You’ll always be ready and eager and oh-so-willing to please me. Correct?”

“Yes…” Shaw sighed, his eyelids fluttering, his pupils like purple stained glass. “Correct…”

Alastor’s lips grinned, then parted, his tongue resting at the tip of his teeth.

“Th…”

Shaw stiffened in anticipation for a moment. Alastor’s tongue slipped back into his mouth and he chuckled.

“Ah, so sorry,” Alastor cooed. “I can’t give you thanks for every little thing, now can I? My gratitude has to be meaningful, valuable… something worth pursuing. Like the thrill of a jackpot.”

“Weirdest jackpot I’ve ever heard of,” Pyrite scoffed.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” Alastor said, as the video suddenly paused. The image of the dazed Mienshao and Alastor’s sultry snout at his ear quivered in static suspension. “But rude. If you’re talking, you’re not listening, are you?”

“Hrmph.” Pyrite resisted the urge to snark back, his ears flatting as he relented.

“That’s better. Thank you.”

Pyrite started, in anticipation of a blast of pleasure that never came.

There was that chuckle again - it had more of a brain tickling quality when it was coming straight from the source, right into his ear.

“You thought I had you for a moment, didn’t you?” Alastor chuckled. “Tell me, Pyrite, are you trying to race back through your memory, see if you can recall anything similar happening to you in your interview? Sounds? Sights? Textures? Was your experience at all like Shaw’s, and if so, why might you have forgotten? But if you’re thinking about those things, you're not listening. You’ll be better off if you focus on the present.”

Pyrite bit on his lip. He hadn’t been thinking about it, not until Alastor pointed it out, and from there it was impossible to keep his mind from travelling into the past - held in place, anchored by Alastor’s questions and prompting until focus came like a hook on a line, yanking him right back to the present moment that surrounded and enfolded him ; the room, the chair, and the fox.

And then, his attention was brought back to the screen again, back to a different past.

“You’re going to work as hard as you can to get that approval, that thanks from me, aren’t you?”

“...Yes.”

“That’s right. Good boy. Thank you.”

"Hnnngh…" Shaw moaned, eyelids fluttering, eyes sparkling.

The camera slowly zoomed back out until Shaw’s thighs were at the edge of the screen - not to mention the tent in his trousers, peeking out from between two of the flowing foxtails.

“Take out your cock for me,” Alastor said, his soft tone suddenly sharpening into a command.

“Ngh!” as if hit by an electric shock, Shaw obeyed, fishing out his dick. As he did so, it disappeared behind the fluffy tails as they glided tighter against his flesh.

Pyrite could imagine their silken texture against his own shaft. It made his bulge quiver.

As the tails on the screen slid back and forth against Shaw’s body, Pyrite’s crotch tingled in sympathetic arousal. The shudder went from his hips, up his spine, and out his mouth in a choked-out groan.

Why could he feel it…? How…?

“My tails are another luxury you’ll have to earn,” Alastor continued. The tails seemed to blur together, twisting and revolving around each other like wool being knit on a loom. “After this first taste, of course.”

“Yes…” Shaw groaned. “I u-understand…”

“Good.”

“Good,” Alastor said a moment later, his tongue clicking just centimetres away from Pyrite’s flicking ears.

Pyrite tilted his head away from that warm gust of breath. His eyes were still glued to the screen. The longer he stared, the more his body shuddered and tingled in concert with every little sensation the Mienshao must have felt. Like he was up there on the screen, molested by the tails, falling deeper into the conditioning he didn’t even realise he-

“Nnhhg….!”

Pyrite’s cock throbbed and spurted pre onto Alastor’s tail. It was out. His underwear had been unrolled just enough to free it from its bonds; it was shackled in a new sense, surrounded and caressed by Alastor’s tails, smooth, gentle, and relentless. He hadn’t even noticed, h-how long had they been stroking him like this.

“You’ll probably cum soon if I keep this up, won’t you?” Alastor asked Shaw.

“You’ll probably cum soon if I keep this up, won’t you?” Alastor asked Pyrite.

“Yes…!” Shaw choked.

“Y…yyes…!” Pyrite groaned.

“Good.”

"Good."

“Wh…when did… you…?” Pyrite groaned through a spasming throat.

“Shhh shh shh.” Alastor cooed, three of his tails caressing Pyrite’s cheeks and chin at the same time the others worked on his cock, his balls, his stomach. “If you’re talking, you’re not listening. You’re not paying attention. Focus-"

“Focus-”

“On my tails-”

“On my tails-”

“And how good-”

“And how good-”

“It feels-”

“It feels-”

“Knowing that-”

“Knowing that-”

“You’ll crave this pleasure-”

“You’ll crave this pleasure-”

"The pleasure of my tails' caress-"

"The pleasure of my tails' caress-"

"And the joy that comes with being thanked-"

"And the joy that comes with being thanked-"

“And you'll chase those pleasures-”

“And you'll chase those pleasures-”

“And do anything for the chance-”

“And do anything for the chance-”

“To feel them again.”

“To feel them again.”

Shaw moaned, eyes swirling, mouth agape, head lolling to the right.

Pyrite moaned, eyes fluttering, mouth drooling, head inclining forward to stare.

“That’s it.”

“That’s it.”

“Feel that?”

“Feel that?”

Pyrite felt it. Shaw must have felt it too.

It?

What was it?

…What wasn’t it?

It was a finger slowly sliding up and down his spine, tracing a helix of pleasure down.

It was a tight grip around the throat, a possessive one that made him freeze in place.

It was a tickle at his tailhole, a twitchy need to have it filled.

It was a curling of the fingers and toes.

It was the soft endless stroking along his sensitive cock.

It was the warmth drooling from the tip as it jumped.

It was a starburst of colourful bliss in his mind.

It was the soothing heat of a flame licking at his paws.

It was the thrill of a score, the soaring heart and the upward pull of his lips.

It was all those things, magnified ten times.

Then twenty.

Then a hundred.

Then-

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

The screen burst into strobing colour again.

The colours exploded from the screen, the walls and ceiling painted with its sparkling supernovas. Pyrite felt himself surging forward and falling into them like he was flying faster than light.

And yet he was completely still; Eyes wide, eyelids flickering, pupils shrunk to pinpricks, the whites of his eyes now reflecting the multitudes of colour, mouth open in a silent orgasm-cry. It surged through his mind.

The pleasure, the oblivion, the Jackpot of pleasure pulsed through his mind, a hundredfold, two hundredfold, searing his thoughts and sealing his fate as he fell forward, tumbled into the colour and the static, the spinning shapes that held his attention and electric-chaired what was left of his mind’s rebellion-

And then

Darkness.

The sudden lurch from seeing everything to seeing nothing pulled the floor out from beneath Pyrite’s already fragile mind. Trying to keep up with so much, having to focus, listen, comprehend, obey and stare all at once…

It was like he had exhaled for the first time in days. His whole body sagged into his chair, his eyes not even closing all the way as he passed out entirely, slipping into entranced catatonia.

The violent force of his unconscious flail might have made the chair topple over, if the Ninetales weren’t keeping him in place with his hands, and his many tails.

Those tails kept playing with the Umbreon’s shaft, still erect, still throbbing, painfully close to the edge. Pyrite groaned like a zombie, too sleepy to articulate how torturously aroused he was.

The Ninetales chuckled darkly.

“The next time I give you my thanks, I think you might… That’s the jackpot you’re looking for, isn’t it. But that’s going to require you being an absolute model employee.”

“Uh.” Pyrite grunted through his wide open mouth - the best agreement a zombie like him could make.

“That’s right.” Alastor chuckled. “Good boy.”

His lips brushed against Pyrite’s ear, giving the tip a teasing little nibble, before he practically pushed his snout into the Umbreon’s head.

He whispered directly into Pyrite’s eardrum, and every little consonant click of his tongue made the Umbreon twitch.

“Very good boy. Such an excellent model employee. Now, let's get down to our proper performance review. It'll be quite efficient, I promise you that."

Pyrite was blank-faced, slack jawed, but there was a little tremble and twitch now and again as he hung for dear life onto every one of the Ninetales' words.

Hoping those two words would come, the ones that would give him explosive release, paint the darkness inside his mind with white hot pleasure…

It never came. At least not on this occasion.

–

“And the player wins again,” Pyrite said, sweeping the cards off to the side. “Bad luck, gentlemen.”

His movements seemed as graceful as ever, his smile charming and charismatic. The only obvious difference, really, was his lack of his signature glasses. The red lenses were gone, leaving an unobstructed view of his purple-irised eyes.

He'd been working at the casino for a few months now, and his routine wasn't so much rote as it was instinct, the perfectly efficient routine of a seasoned performer in permanent residence.

The push and pull of the game, the random points he tipped the scale, the small talk he made with the customers… it was all muscle memory now.

It allowed his mind to drift.

He did his best thinking while he was dealing.

The players were incidental, his small talk with them perfunctory and rehearsed. He was on autopilot, always in service of being an efficient performer.

The Arcanine twins were passing whispers between each other, still trying to crack the code for the table, figure out Pyrite's brain process somehow. A Noibat whose head barely poked above the rim of the table was watching Pyrite's hands, more admiring than investigating. A broad-shouldered Stufful sat nearby them, their paws still shaking with nerves and frustration. And a weedy Kadabra was staring holes through Pyrite's head, trying to read his mind, perhaps.

Dark types weren't susceptible to things like that. Sucker.

Besides, Pyrite's head was too empty to glean anything from.

Pyrite's mind wandered through a forest of cream coloured fur. The wavy tails brushed and enfolded him, only sometimes giving a glimpse of purple light through tiny slitted gaps. Flickers that made him shiver. He saw words traced within those flickers of light. One phrase in particular. One that gave him intense pleasure, or the ghostly memory of it. A memory that paled in comparison to hearing the phrase from its source. He ached to hear that voice.

"Evening, gents!"

The Boss' figure loomed over him, snapping him out of his daydream and making his cock jump to attention.

"How's everything going here?" Alastor asked as he slipped between two of the players at the table. He remained standing, his two guards flanking him as always. Pyrite and Shaw did not acknowledge each other. They'd practically forgotten about one another at this point.

Alastor rested a paw on the shoulders of the Arcanine twins, while the other tails found their way to friendly positions behind the backs of the other players. "Are we all having a wonderful time?"

There were some grumbles and nods of agreement, some more genuine than others.

"Great. Pyrite's one of our more entertaining performers, aren't you Pyrite?"

"If you say so, Boss," Pyrite said. He'd been trained not to be too deferential, to keep that flirtatious quality of his. It would be easy to jettison if the Boss demanded it.

"And yes, I do mean performers," the ninetales continued. "Look at how quickly and easily his hands move across the cards. Like he's playing an instrument. It's very easy to watch."

Pyrite took his cue from that. A little showy shuffle was in order, one that let him show off his hand skills, slip a few cards up his sleeves, and of course, dazzle them with the pretty shapes on the cards themselves. They were slow, silky movements at first. He cut the deck a few times, laying it out into five neat, orderly, perfectly spaced piles.

"Hard to take your eyes off the show, gentlemen, isn't it?"

The unified chorus of hums and grunts was only barely audible in the buzz of the casino floor.

Pyrite continued. He took up one of the cut piles and idly shuffled it in his paw. He held it out so the holographic shapes on the card backs could catch the light, before suddenly squeezing his paw and letting the cards spring and shoot downwards straight into his other waiting hand. As soon as all the cards had transferred, he spread the cards out into a fan and waved it at himself, before doing so to the guests.

They laughed, amused, but their eyes were bouncing up and down with the butterfly motion of the waving cards - they probably didn't realise it. They'd already been ensnared.

Another of the cut card piles went into Pyrite's hand, joining in with the fan, interweaving. He raised the cards up past their eye level, then let them waterfall into his lower paw, the cards glittering like water from a stream.

Pyrite could glimpse wisps of purple flowing through the guests' eyes now. They were already hypnotised. They didn't realise the fix was in, their fate was sealed.

He took another set of cards. The same routine again. Letting them snap into his hand, fluttering them like a fan in a seemingly random flutter, introducing the previous decks, and letting them tumble down into a neatly ordered pile.

"It gets better each time you see it." Alastor said. "You notice more little flourishes each time. It never gets old watching them. Two more sets to add, and we'll be ready to play again, won't we?"

"Yes," one of the customers sighed.

"That's right," Alastor said. "Will we not dawdle any longer?"

"But I'm having so much fun!" Pyrite responded with his winning smile. "Ah, well, if you say so, Boss."

The last two piles slid together with one hand, and he brought them up over the larger pile in his lower hand. Letting the anticipation build as the cards trickled down, down, down, the violet spirals spinning along the shapes on the backs of the cards, falling like sand in an hourglass.

Most of the players had given up trying to focus. Their eyes were glassy, relaxed, and their minds were wide open. The Arcanines had slumped against each other. The Noibat's admiring smile was wider, tighter, his eyes wide and unblinking. The Stufful was ramrod straight, blank, their lips only parted the barest amount. The Kadabra, the one hold-out who had last the longest, was practically about to faceplant on the table.

So all that was left to do, as the last cards slid in amongst the deck, was to slam the whole thing down on the table, making all of them jump, leaving them wide open for that delicious sharp snap of Alastor's claws, and his next command that melted their bodies into their seats as the words poured from the Ninetales' mouth.

"Sleep, my friends," sleep just for a moment, see how nice it feels to slip into that slumber-state for just a moment, not remembering you even nodded off but knowing you're having such a great time here, knowing you're getting an experience like no other, and just applauding and showing your appreciation as you wake up!"

All five players sat straight up and began polite, automatic applause. The Stufful and the Kadabra looked a little confused. But that faded as the afterglow of that micro-trance settled over them, and they joined the other three in their contented clapping.

Pyrite didn't bow. He just slipepd the deck off to the side, ready to play again.

"For a performance like that, you'd better bet high," Alastor said, breezily. "Maybe even try your luck with a tie."

The customers nodded in agreement, their heads dipping down as they slid everything they had across the table.

"Have fun, gentlemen. Thank you, Pyrite."

There was a bang beneath the table on the dealer's side as Pyrite's leg bashed into it. His eyes went crossed, his teeth dug into his bottom lip, and he whimpered huskily through choked vocal chords. Cum bubbled and leaked through the linen fabric of his pants.

He hadn't cum in weeks. His horniness had become background noise, something that was a given, something he was aware of but was able to deal with, like a chronic ache.

So, a surprise climax like that, reminding him of his need, and how good satisfaction felt…

It took all of his power not to pass out entirely, but his mind did go blank for a second, time jumping forward an imperceptible amount.

He caught the Boss' eye.

Alastor's smile was irresistibly wicked. Pyrite fell a little more for the fox each time they did this song and dance. It was wonderful even without the reward of climax…

Alastor gave Pyrite a knowing nod, before turning to leave the table with his guards close behind. His tails slid along the cheeks of each player as he left, and Arceus, Pyrite was envious of them. He wanted to bury his face in those fluffy tendrils. Lose himself in them again.

But he'd have to wait until the next performance review.

As Pyrite re-focused on the table, the players obediently slid their chips across the table; all five of them had bet on a tie. The least likely option to win.

But of course, the outcome had already been decided. Alastor had decided it, and Pyrite was merely carrying out that destiny.

Pyrite was going to do the right thing, give them a win. A jackpot like that, after Alastor had slipped some hooks into their minds, would be a coup de grace to any other loyalties they might have had to other casinos. With the win they were about to all get, they'd be life-long friends of the Veiled Azalea.

That'd be down to Pyrite elegantly rigging the game one last time.

Difficult to do with a post-orgasm cumbrain, especially as his cock was still leaking, and and the afterglow was making him tighten his jaw to stifle a contented yawn.

"Ghhh… all right, b-betss placed, good luck t'you…"