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1. White and Purple, Black and Blue

Jet sat at the table opposite of Garn, a half-smoked cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He'd offered one to the tiger about half an hour ago. Garn had refused politely enough through a short no and a shake of his head, but other than that single interaction, the pair sat in almost complete silence - the only sound being the music bleeding through the walls from the main hall as the front of house show began.

Garn sat, head lowered, with his hands in his lap. His ears lay flat on his head and he hardly blinked, as though he was concentrating incredibly hard on something - although, what, Jet couldn't hope to guess. The shark picked at the claws on his fingers absently as he waited, shifting in his seat.

Exhaling a plume of smoke, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling, Jet began, “You know-"

The sudden sound caused Garn to jolt and blurt out: “I'm sorry."

Jet sighed and stood up, snuffing his cigarette out in the ashtray. “It's all right, honey, I'm not upset," Jet continued, shrugging and nodding towards the door, “We can go get you a refund if you've changed your mind."

Garn suddenly raised his head, “No, just - hold on…"

With a chuckle, Jet replied in a low voice, “All right, then, I guess I'll start," and slid the table out of the way.

Turning away from the tiger, Jet slid off his suit jacket and tossed it aside, and then slowly, one by one, he unhooked each button of his dress shirt, spinning around as the shirt fell down his shoulders and hung loosely from his forearms, bearing his naked chest and stomach to the tiger.

“This is what you kittens like, isn't it? When your prey shows you their tender spots?" he snickered, sliding one arm out of the sleeve, then the other, flinging the garment away. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pants and began to pull them down, then shook his head slowly, winking and pulled them back up.

He sauntered forward, one leg sliding past the other effortlessly, until he stood mere inches away from the tiger. He bent forward, curling a finger under the tiger's chin to raise his gaze upwards. The pair locked eyes for a long moment. Jet lowered himself onto Garn's lap. He could feel the intense warmth of the tiger's body against his own. Garn shuddered and trembled, eyes never moving, silently pleading.

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Jet brushed his lips against the tiger's, feeling the other's quick, labored breaths against his mouth. Meeting no resistance, he dove into Garn, kissing him fiercely, his tongue slipping past the younger male's teeth, hands cupping the sides of the tiger's face, pulling him closer, grinding on his lap.

The tiger went rigid for a moment and then seemed to melt, his shoulders drooping, eyes turned upwards; a small groan escaping him; his hands finding their way to Jet's hips; holding him there; bucking once out of pure, instinctual desire.

Pulling away, Jet smiled, licking his lips. He lowered Garn's hood, arms resting on the tiger's shoulders, fingers laced together against the back of Garn's head, buried in his short, fuzzy black hair.

“Better?" asked Jet, rubbing his nose against Garn's.

The tiger said nothing in response, and instead shoved himself against Jet in another rough kiss, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose; hands fumbling with his hoodie and shirt, managing to slide both up and - breaking the kiss for a moment - off, dropping them to the floor. Jet stood up and the tiger followed him to the bed. He placed his palm on Garn's chest and gently pushed him backwards to sit on the edge of the mattress. This time, finally, Jet slid his pants and boxers down and kicked them aside, his erection flopping out, already dripping, throbbing hungrily. He stood there, completely bare to his partner, arms slightly bent in presentation.

Garn blushed and fiddled clumsily with his own shorts, his hands seeming to work against him. Jet knelt down between the tiger's legs and placed his hands atop Garn's, moving them out of the way, waving his forefinger slowly and shaking his head. He unbuttoned Garn's shorts and lowered his head into Garn's crotch.

“I'm glad to see that both of you are equally as excited, now," the shark whispered, grabbing the zipper between his teeth and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling it down; past and over the straining bulge contained beneath it; all the while staring upwards at the smaller male, drinking in the tiger's musk, until Garn, too, was naked and throbbing, leaking precum onto his stomach.

Jet cooed softly as he cradled the tiger's orbs, hot, heavy, and full in one hand, rolling them over his fingers; his other hand reaching up to lift Garn's cock. He smiled and caressed it with his cheek, shutting his eyes as it disappeared into his maw. He bobbed slowly, turning his head each time he pulled back, tongue wrestling against the underside of the tiger's shaft; swallowing his precum; tasting his sweat, salty and bitter; loving the way the tiger throbbed in his mouth; the scent of his sex, thick and intense; lowering his head entirely until his nose was pressed firmly against the tiger's stomach; the head of Garn's cock twitching against the back of Jet's throat; the muscles of the shark's throat undulating and squeezing the tiger's erection.

“H-holy fuck."

Garn fell backwards in bed, his entire body shaking, trembling as a hot, wet, warmth engulfed him; his hands grasping at the sheets, toes curling, claws digging into the carpet; his face flushed a deep, blood red, eyes half shut, clouded with the lust that spread from his groin to the rest of his body; tail flicking back and forth wildly; hips bucking once, twice, then a third time as he came; letting loose a sharp scream of ecstasy; blowing thick loads of his cum into Jet's mouth. Jet pulled away, smirking and licking his lips, and swallowed, stroking Garn for a few more moments, slowly now, as his orgasm eased and passed.

Round two began after half an hour. Garn, hunched over, pounded the shark repeatedly into the mattress with his rhythmic thrusts; that adorable or pitiful shyness having dissolved into instinct and lust; eyes glazed over; mouth agape and drooling, tongue lolled to one side; each breath escaping as a wheeze or moan; the warmth of the room growing and growing until finally-

It ended.

Ten minutes later, Garn sat on the edge of the bed, with Jet behind him, the shark's arms draped over Garn's shoulders, hugging him around his neck, Jet's head resting next to the tiger's. Jet sat there, palms flat against the tiger's chest as Garn clumsily got dressed. The shark, himself, was still naked and, admittedly, dripping and oozing from various places, his own afterglow thrumming through his groin and thighs, and that was all right with him.

Some men have callouses on their hands as evidence of their hard work. I wonder how I show evidence of mine? Cum stains on the bed? Jet thought and chuckled, smiling as he rubbed his cheek against the tiger's neck, his body warm, his fur plush and silky, soothing Jet's skin.

As Garn wriggled a bit out of Jet's embrace to stand up and slide his shirt and hoodie back on, Jet's eyes fell, shoulders slumping as his hands dropped into his lap. He felt odd, suddenly.

“You know, baby," Jet began, his voice soft and small, “Just because you're done doesn't mean you have to leave."

Garn turned to face the shark, who, for some reason felt the need to cover himself. He drew the sheet up and around him like a robe, pinching the edges closed in front of his chest with his fist. The tiger's eyes were dark, glazed over; his face completely blank as though the man he had just had sex with wasn't there, or perhaps he saw something else, lesser.

“I gotta go." Garn replied, the words flat and metallic.

Jet nodded, his gaze falling again. “Right, of course," his voice trailed off. He thumbed towards the door. “You can leave the way you entered. Exit's that-a-way."

* * *

Near the end of the hallway of Gemstone Suites sat a bathroom, usually locked to guests, where the escorts could clean themselves up. It was small, but well-kept, with large, square, gold-flecked white tiles covering the floors and walls. For some god damn reason, it even had a small brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, with dangling teardrop-shaped glass tassels that shook and tinkled with the bass of the music that had begun to get louder and louder as the night wore on. It had one toilet for privacy (after all, you get fucked for a living, you deserve to piss in peace), and a table upon which sat various toiletries that were nice to have after a round or two with a client: breath mints, mouthwash, single use toothbrushes and toothpaste, packets of makeup removal wipes, and a first aid kit. Sitting next to all of that was even a squat, jar-shaped towel heater, full of TFT monogrammed towels with a return basket on the floor next to the table.

I even get to use one tonight, Jet thought, not even realizing that thought had slipped back into his mind. He scowled and splashed water into his face, rubbing his eyes and cheeks and planting his palms firmly on the counter, head hanging lowly between his shoulders over the sink, eyes shut, face dripping.

He stood there in front of the full length mirror clad only in his boxers and simply stared at his reflection with dull regard. His eyes drifted up to his left shoulder and he-

“Stop it."

Gritting his teeth, he dressed himself in the spare set of clothing he had brought earlier, and left with his duffel bag strapped to his back. Garn, as nice or as aloof as he was, had been fine, sure, at the start of the night anyway, but he was definitely yet another fuck 'em and leave 'em kind of guy and so Jet's shift was, effectively, over. Escorts were available only by appointment at The Fairy Tail, and usually took only one appointment per night at any rate.

On stage, a wolf and mare were putting on a good show above a growing carpet of bills and artificial fog; each curled and twisted around the other's body; muscles rippling and throbbing; glistening with sweat and glittery body lotion. Laser lights spun and swept around the room, blinking in and out of existence to the beat of the house dance music, as though it was a scene of intergalactic space war from some sci-fi movie with laser death ray guns firing wildly in every direction; catching in the fog of the room; the cigarette smoke; one beam scattering into countless others as it hit a spinning mirror ball. Jet kept heading towards the entrance, pulling out his cell phone. The glowing screen read 1:34 AM. Rakkarth would still be at work for a few more hours. Jet sighed.

“Jet!" called a voice that, even in the pounding bass and high energy synths, seemed to cut right through all of the noise as though the voice was speaking into a completely dead silent, still room.

Suddenly the duffel bag hanging on Jet's shoulder felt a thousand pounds heavier. His legs ached, felt restless. He turned slowly towards the voice, and to the person from whom it originated. His steel-blue eyes, wide, reflected more than the lasers flying around him.

Sitting at a table in a corner was a drake whose silvery scales glittered in the light show. Jet was tall, he towered over people; Rakkarth even taller than he, but this guy? A fucking giant. He leaned forward in his booth against the table that Jet wasn't sure could bear much more of the weight. Two large, ivory horns sprouted from right above his stiff, narrow ears and curled backwards and then downwards into a crescent, sharp ends pointing forward parallel with his angular snout. His eyes were a wicked, molten yellow, like two boiling miniature suns that would bore into you and fry you from the inside out. They watched him intently, unmoving, unblinking.

“Oh… heeeyyy, Asher," Jet called back.

The drake beckoned him over with a finger, smiling, his eyes still piercing into him.

Jet obeyed, stumbling across the room to the corner and stood there at the opposite side of the table.

“Sit." Asher patted the spot next to him.

Again, Jet obeyed, slumping down into the seat. Even here, especially here, sitting down, the drake towered over Jet.

“I'm so happy to see you, darling," Asher said, looking down at the smaller male. “I thought you were going to be gone for longer on your trip?"

“Oh, yeah, um, decided to end it early; you know how it goes. Homesickness…" his voice trailed off and he waved his hand after it, “…or whatever…"

“Well, I'm glad you're back. Fellas, this is Jet," Asher motioned to the other two men, another drake and a bear sitting across the table. “Jet, this is Orion and Anse."

“Nice to meet you two."

The pair nodded to Jet.

“Anyway, I'm sure you're busy, so don't let me keep you," Asher said, leaning over to kiss Jet's cheek.

Jet let out a breath that felt like he had been holding for hours and smiled at up at Asher. “Oh, all right," he said and started to stand up when Asher began to speak again.

“Hold on, hold on, lemme get a hug before you go," Asher said, standing up, throwing his arms out wide. He smiled, dozen of sharp, white teeth bared, blinking deliberately at Jet.

Hesitating for a moment, Jet walked slowly into Asher's embrace, gasping and wheezing as the drake's arms curled around his torso. Tight. Stars exploded in his vision; his knees nearly buckled out from under him.

“I'm glad I got to find out you're back," the drake whispered into Jet's ear before releasing him, “Good night, darling. Love you. We'll see each other again. Real soon."

Jet scrambled to pick up his duffel bag and turned, running off.

* * *

Jet burst out into the sidewalk and stopped suddenly, standing beneath the street lights, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, simply letting the cool air of this autumn night fill his lungs and wash over his flesh. His shoulders drooped, ears pressed flat against his head.

Overhead, beyond the bright lights, big city, neon signs, cars drifting lazily about; people walking; stumbling here and there; or in their homes, a thousand heads laying down for bed; the sky in all of its vast infinity spread out from horizon to horizon, from the ocean to the east to the snow-capped mountains of Western Portdam; a black sheet, empty, lonely, pinpricked with starlight; the moon with its angelic halo, like a giant eye; hanging there heavily in the sky, constant; watching over him with concern, or perhaps humor, or perhaps even both or neither; or worse, disdain, disgust? And there, right there within himself he felt it again; other than the chill of the night, he felt another, deeper chill, like icy fingers sliding under his skin, slicing through his muscles down down to his very nerves; curling around his bones as though to crush them.

Jet opened his eyes and brought a cigarette up to his lips, lit it, and as the flame flickered to life and the image of that small burning beacon in his hand grew foggy and clouded; not from the smoke of his cigarette or any fog from the cool air; or smog from any car; but from something else, moist and strange against his eyes; out here with no distractions, no music, no stranger's body pressing him into a mattress; his shoulder and ribs throbbed and ached; a half-formed thought entered his mind:

Then, two twin rivulets ran down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes.