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1. Shark About Town

Jet stumbled out of the apartment building and onto the sidewalk, donning a pair of sunglasses and hoisting the bag of clothes over his shoulder. He slipped his free hand into his pocket and started walking. No buses stopped on this street, not anymore, so unless you had a car or called a taxi, you’d be getting your daily steps in when running errands. That was fine with him anyway; today was a nice, mild day as summer had begun to depart and autumn was quickly taking over, with a good amount of fluffy, white clouds dotting the sky.

From behind his shades he simply watched other people as they, too, walked to wherever their errands took them, occasionally recognizing a familiar face from those… well, private shows he put on at work. It felt surreal to him, like as a kid, seeing his school teacher at the grocery store - awkward and embarrassing for some reason - and he was glad that they either didn’t recognize him, or chose not to say anything if they did.

Probably for the best they don’t, he thought.

He smirked and fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up, taking a long drag, exhaling it upwards. Approaching the intersection, he turned left and kept onwards, and after just a few minutes he finally reached the cleaners. He stepped inside, ears twitching as the sharp, harsh jingle of the bell attached to the top of the door announced his entrance. He cut his eyes upwards at the bell, yanking his sunglasses off and hanging them from the collar of his shirt.

The dull droning of the washers and dryers seemed to wriggle its way into his skull, burying itself behind his eyes, vibrating his teeth. He quickly found some free machines and set out to wash all of his clothing, shoveling handfuls of shorts, boxers, shirts, everything inside until the bag was empty. All in all, it took three washers to contain this particular affirmation of his indifference.

So now what the fuck do I do? he thought, scratching the back of his head and looking around the room.

A small, ancient television hung in the corner near the back, set to the shopping channel of all things, and he stood there for a while, leaning forward on his elbows against a washer, legs crossed, tail swishing back and forth slowly. Wow! Only three easy payments of $29.99 for a fuckin’ air fryer, holy shit! His eyelids drooped out of tiredness borne of boredom, the monotonous droning having gone from irritating to seemingly comforting, and his head tipped forward as he dozed off for a second. He jerked awake and looked around, flushed and embarrassed. No one was paying him any mind, and so he let out a relieved sigh and rubbed his eyes for a moment before turning his torso to the right in a stretch, and then to the left.

God damn it, he thought sucking in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

Twenty minutes had passed since he started his washing, at least another twenty to go. Jet groaned and left the laundromat, going next door to the pharmacy. It was much quieter here as patrons went about their business quickly (not to mention there weren’t twenty industrial sized washers and dryers going all at once), buying toiletries or medicine, or whatever else. He wandered aimlessly through the aisles, a shopping basket hanging in the crook of his elbow, picking up things that either caught his eye or that he and Rakkarth needed at the apartment: painkillers, disposable moistened washcloths, a bottle of water, instant coffee, and he even managed to find a pack of towels!

Good, he thought. Now maybe he’ll ease the hell up.

The cashier, a jittery, slim otter rung him up and Jet paid, tying the handles of his grocery bag together and looping it around his wrist.

“Thanks, honey,” he said, winking and smiling as the cashier fumbled a few words trying to respond and, failing that, turned away from him.

He left and returned to the laundromat, slipping the bag off his wrist and dropping it on top of the washer. He pulled out the bottle of water and painkillers and swallowed a few before tossing both back inside the bag. He then swapped his wet clothes over to the dryers and, after stuffing them inside, returned to staring lazily at the television until, finally sweet heaven finally, they were done. He shoveled them into the garbage bag and headed back home.

* * *

Jet sat down on his bed, placing a plate with a sandwich down next to him. Regardless of the fact he hadn’t eaten all day, he just didn’t have much of an appetite, so he ate slowly. The bag of his clean clothes sat on top of his dresser and he kept glancing over at it, dreading the prospect of putting everything away. The clock radio on his nightstand filled the room with Time and Tide by Basia and he hummed along with it.

The Fairy Tail - either because of some old tradition, or a way to garner more clients, or because the owner thought it was the funniest shit - offered themed days, and today was Tuxedo Tuesday. All of the escorts and dancers would be wearing various kinds of formal wear… at least at the beginning of the night. Jet’s own outfit hung over his door: a plain black suit with a white button-up dress shirt.

I mean, why go crazy with fancy shit? I spend more time not wearing it, anyway, Jet thought, closing his eyes and tapping his foot along to the music.

“I see you’re back.”

The shark sat forward, seeing Rakkarth, once again, leaning against his door frame.

“Oh, hey, yeah, I’m ho-” Cough. “Back. I put the towels in the hallway closet. They’re nothing fancy.”

“Hm.”

“Half a dozen, like, I don’t know the exact color,” he waved his hand dismissively, “Eggshell or some shit.”

The wolf stepped over to him and patted him on the shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Jet.” He turned around and left.

“Welcome, daddy,” Jet called out after him, cackling as Rakkarth stumbled and stomped off. He polished off his sandwich and placed the plate on his nightstand, tossing back another pair of painkillers and then lit up a smoke, listening to the radio and staring out of the window at the clouds drifting by to pass the time.

As the hours ticked down, he washed his face, brushed his teeth and dressed himself, doing a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure everything was perfect. He looked sharp, cutting a tall, dark line in his black suit jacket and pants, wearing his usual collar in lieu of a traditional tie, his dress shirt partly unbuttoned near the neck to expose a bit of skin for his client. He leaned forward across the bathroom counter, doing one final inspection of himself in the mirror.

“I’m off,” Rakkarth called out as he opened the apartment door.

“Oh, wait up! I’ll walk with you,” Jet replied, snatching up a small duffel bag he’d put some of those disposable washcloths in along with various other items he usually needed at work: more painkillers, an extra set of clothes, his wallet and cell phone.

“Tuxedo night?” the wolf asked raising an eyebrow as he looked the shark over. He, himself, was dressed far more casually in a dark green tee shirt tucked into a pair of roughed up jeans.

“Tuxedo night,” Jet echoed in response.

* * *

As the pair left the apartment building, the cool air of an early autumn night washed over them. Once the sun went down, the District had quickly come alive and the sidewalks were decently crowded, lit by the glow of neon store signs and streetlights. Cars dribbled by at a snail’s pace, more taxis than personal vehicles - for those who wanted to keep a low profile and avoid using any identifiable property, and for those who preemptively making the wise choice to not drive after a few hours. Even the alleys between the buildings showed signs of a different, but still bustling, kind of nightlife - groups huddled together, backs towards the open sidewalk, doing who-knows-what kinds of things or substances, or holding glass bottles in brown bags.

Jet smirked, looking sideways at Rakkarth, folding his arm around the wolf’s bicep, leaning into him. “Isn’t it just so… nice?”

Rakkarth grumbled but didn’t shove Jet away, not after whatever happened earlier. “Can you not?”

“What’s wrong, embarrassed to be seen with me?” the shark said, puffing out his lower lip in another of his faux pouts. He swept his other arm out into a wide arc.

“Come on, look at it all! The freedom, the degeneracy, people smoking weed over there, that guy who thinks no one can see him jerkin’ it; there’s a dildo shop down the street and I’m a fuckin’ sex worker, and yet despite all of that, what some people would refer to as undesirable, it’s still crowded! Do you really think anyone here cares if two queers are walking around cuddling on one another?”

Rakkarth gently tugged his arm away from Jet’s and huffed, “Let’s just go, Jet.”

“You’re no fun,” he whined.

As they passed by Swampwater, Rakkarth turned and went inside, tossing one final look and a small nod of farewell at Jet, who responded with a smile and a wave before he set off again. The Fairy Tail was right next door, and he headed inside, the coolness of the night fluttering behind him as it departed, replaced by an almost gross, humid heat that slithered across Jet’s body. The entranceway was a small, plain square room with a singular window in the far wall, and a solid, black metal door a few feet to the right of it. Behind the glass stood Alexi, a lynx, who checked IDs and buzzed people in. They looked up from their phone and waved at Jet.

“Hope you’re doin’ well tonight, Lexi dear,” Jet said as he stepped up to the window.

“Oh I’m sure ready for another shift pressing this button, I’m definitely not already bored out of my mind,” they responded, rolling their eyes but laughing.

Jet leaned forward, one hand going to his hip, the other propping his chin up as he set his elbow on the counter. He grinned at Lexi, winking, “Well why don’t you and I go back there and make our own little show together?”

Lexi covered their face with their palm and groaned, pressing the button to unlock the door. There was a loud buzz and then an audible click. “You’re fuckin’ impossible, Jet,” they chuckled.

“All right, have a good night then if I don’t see you later,” Jet said, heading inside.

The main theatre was a large room with slowly rotating mirror balls dotting the ceiling, reflecting a rainbow of colors into the growing cloud of cigarette and pot smoke that wafted upwards towards the rafters. The grand stage sat at the back center of the hall, a large, raised rectangle with poles and cages, lit by laser lights of every color. A slowly expanding pool of fog poured out from the back of the stage, underneath the shut, heavy curtains.

Many tables and booths were already filling up. Some folks were nervous and shy, others were ready for the show to begin, as was evident by the numerous empty bottles of beer on their tables, and from the racket they were making. Large men dressed in black slacks and shirts stood nearly motionless, scattered all over the place, keeping watchful eyes on who might become too much of a nuisance.

But none of that’s any of my concern, Jet thought as he headed to the door to the left of the stage that was flanked by two more of the black-clad bouncers. They parted to let him inside, and in he went.

The staff backstage hurried around, all dressed at wildly differing levels of formality ranging from buttoned up shirts and pants, to full blown, over-the-top ball gowns, all held together by magnets or snap buttons, of course, for those flashy maneuvers where the person appears to simply rip the garment off in one quick motion.

Over in the corner was a row of lockers, each with a name printed on the door for each of the escorts. Jet’s was at the end, being the newest of the troupe. Attached to the door was a file holder and in it was one folder bearing various information about his client for that evening. He dropped his duffel bag into his locker and shut it, slipping the folder out of its holster.

So he goes by Garn, huh? Jet thumbed through the various paperwork, Twenty-two, male, white tiger, and he’s clean. Jet snapped the folder shut and slid it back into the file organizer, tucking his hands into his pockets as he turned to leave.

He walked slowly past the rest of the dancers and headed out a doorway into an adjoining hallway that would eventually lead back to the theater to allow client access. Rows of doors lined both sides of the corridor, each named after a gemstone or some other kind of precious material. Jet’s designation was the Amethyst Suite and he let himself inside to await his client’s arrival.

As one might guess by the name, everything in the room was varying shades of purple. Up-light sconces ran along the bottom of the walls, bathing the room in a gentle glow. Against the far wall, in the center, was a large four-poster bed, with each post having a small hoop to attach cuffs to, if the client so chose. Lavender sheets spread across the mattress beneath three large pillows. Two small dressers sat on either side of the bed, within which were gags, handcuffs, blindfolds, and leashes and upon which were a box of condoms, and lubricant. In the corner was a squat table, hosting a bottle of bourbon with two shot glasses, a pack of smokes and an ashtray. He thought for a moment and decided to drag the table and two chairs to the center of the room.

Jet rubbed his neck, absentmindedly playing with his collar. He always grew giddy, perhaps even a bit nervous as the moment grew closer and closer. Warmth radiated from deep within him. Arousal. Desire. He could feel himself starting to strain against the fabric of his boxers.

When he heard the soft rapping against the door, he shivered and stepped over to the doorway. With one hand behind his back, and the other grasping the doorknob, he opened the door.

Standing before him was the awaited young tiger, jumping in surprise as though he hadn’t expected anyone to actually answer. He was dressed in a pullover hoodie, the hood of which was drawn up over his head, and baggy shorts. His alabaster fur shimmered in the hallway’s mood lighting, streaked by bits of grey and black. Two dark, crescent-shaped stripes rimmed the undersides of his eyes, almost giving him an intense, intimidating look… if those same eyes hadn’t betrayed his very apparent nervousness. Two gently glowing orange orbs, wide and terrified, gazed upwards at the shark. He stood a little under half a foot shorter than Jet and fidgeted with his hands.

Well, isn’t he just precious? Jet thought, an impish smile spreading across his snout.

“Are… you Jet?” Garn asked, averting his gaze to look down at what was apparently a very interesting stretch of carpet. His voice rose barely above a whisper, the words stilted and trembling as they spilled out of his mouth.

With a flourish, Jet give an over-the-top, low bow - oh how he loved to push things - and as he straightened up, his hand slipped to clasp Garn’s. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it gently.

“Yes, I am. And tonight, baby, I’m all yours.”

With a gentle, yet firm tug, Jet ushered the tiger inside, locking the door behind them.