FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Like a lot of bars, this one was built in at the bottom floor of one of Boston's innumerable high-rises. So many of them these days were what amounted to government handled dormitories, and a solid feature for every single one was a bar at ground level. Good place for occupants to meet, shoot the shit, grab a cold one and just... relax. And, in keeping with Boston's status (or at least, so it claimed) as the most diverse city on the east coast, every one was different.

Icon rather liked The Den, the bar and nightclub in his old building. It had atmosphere. Which, in his opinion, meant a ventilation system that worked sluggishly, and let all the pheromones and scents mix and mingle, leaving the dance floor a heavy mix of lust and exertion. Just his kind of place.

This one was similar. Heavy aromas hanging in the air, lights dimmed by smoke and artificially aged glass. They weren't oil lamps or incandescent bulbs, but they'd certainly been made to feel that way, and give off the same faintly uneven glow. The music was to his tastes as well, a song he knew from the very first beats.

Hey handsome, have you got the time?

He'd been watching for his client since the moment he'd stepped into the bar, but hadn't found him yet. It wasn't surprising, really. People who don't know they have an appointment don't tend to keep the schedule, but his habits were pretty solid. The cat would be along.

"What's up, foxy? Can I get you anything?"

The bartender had a nice voice, smoothly modulated, possibly augmented. Cybernetics weren't a new trick, but every year they got less obtrusive, easier to miss. But Icon had a singer's ear, he knew autotune when he heard it.

"Yeah, give me a cherry bomb. Bill to two one two bravo."

"High roller suite, nice. Sure, cherry bomb, coming up."

I've been watching you, since the moment you arrived.

Icon glanced in the mirror behind the bar. Another classic little feature. He knew the tricks, make each bottle on the shelf look like two, trick the unwary drinker into going big because there was plenty back there, why not indulge. Past the bottles was a vibrantly colored fox, blue eyes staring back at him. He tilted a little bit, made sure the cockatiel crest of black hair flopped just right. Well, at least he'd have a good vantage if his reason for being here in this smoky--

Finally.

A white suit from London, and shoes from Paris.

The cat was pretty bland to look at, khaki's and a red polo, with a laptop case over his shoulder.

God, he even brings his work to the bar. He really needs my help.

Now, if his file was right...

The cat sat at one of the small, raised tables against one wall, a little bit odd for someone as short as he was. He might even be shorter than the fox's five even feet. So he had to prop up a little on the seat to really loom over his laptop. It was comical. But he had his laptop open almost as soon as he got up there, and didn't even flag the bartender, just entered his order on the tabletop menu.

The cherry bomb appeared at his elbow, and he grinned at the bartender. "Hey, put the cat's drinks on my tab as well. And let me bring it over, yeah?"

There was a moment of hesitation, then a shrug. "Easy enough, since he only ordered a Shirley Temple. Here." Another drink on the bar top for him. Perfect, he had two hands, and only a dozen feet to go.

He was dressed a lot like the cat, slacks and a button down. Garish prints didn't go well with his already brightly clashing fur colors, so just black slacks and a charcoal shirt. No shoes, but that was pretty common for morphs. Tougher feet than stock-standard humans, plus shoes to fit digitigrade feet were... weird. They existed, but in the same category of white elephant gift as color-restorative sunglasses and HD goggles. Things no one actually bought on purpose.

The arrival of his drink didn't even get a response from the cat, all sucked into his work. The screen was a blur to him, hidden by some sort of filter that only the cat could see through. Privacy and security and anti-snooping technology at its finest. Bah.

Fine, you want to pretend no one else is here, let's see how you deal with this.

Icon set his own drink down on the table, then walked around, behind the cat, and leaned in to sing, right next to his ear, and in time with the music: How'd you like to spend about an hour with me?

That got a reaction. A heartbeat of frozen shock, and an angry whirl, the cat instantly going from zoned out to upset. "Who the hell do-" which cut off at the grinning fox. He tended to have that effect on people. Professional charmer, and probably a good thing, too, or he might have gotten hit.

"About time you noticed there's someone else here. What's up, cat?"

The anger had shifted to confusion, although Icon hoped it was at least interested confusion. Maybe?

"Oh god, no one told you, did they?" It happened sometimes. Surprise gifts. Which worked better with jewelry or cake than his services. This was supposed to be a surprise, so not telling him the details made sense, but completely unaware customers were rare. Most of them had at least some clue something was coming.

"Told me what?"

"Well then! You've been set up for a night on the town, all expenses paid, with an escort at your whim. Pretty much anything you want to do, it can happen."

The cat stared at him. "Is this... a scam? Like, single out a loner and say you're gonna show them a good time, but really just steal their stuff and leave them in an alley?"

Not the usual, or desired, reaction.

"No, it's not a-- really? You have no idea who-- Fine. Fine, here." Icon had business cards, but he hadn't ever had to use one to prove he wasn't a scam, before. The cat took it, looked it over, and gave him a confused, skeptical look.

"Professional Relaxation Assistant. You're a... what's the term, hooker?"

"I am not a hoo-- I am a professional! I do not lift my tail in dirty hotel rooms for twenties. I don't even lift my tail in penthouse suites for thousands." For a few drinks, well, that was probably more negotiable, but he didn't need to know that. "I am an escort, and a damned good one, and... How have you never heard of Kuroko's Finest? We're not hidden, we advertise, hell, there's a themed New Year's party with a six month waiting list, that we throw!"

He shut up with an incredulous huff. The sly grin that slid into place made him pout even harder. He'd been had! This cat had played him.

"Yeah, I know who you folks are. Still not sure why you're after me, though."

"Because your friends think you work too hard and need someone to," he reached over and closed the laptop, "help you get away for a night and unwind."

"I was working on that."

"It'll keep." He hoped it would. But part of his job was knowing when to push, and when to pull, and right now it was time to push. A lot. The cat was stuck in a rut and someone needed to lever him out of it.

"Okay, fine. So... what, what now?"

"Now, Claude, you order a drink that has some stiff to it, and we discuss what, and/or who, you want to do tonight."

A few minutes and a dirty martini later, and they were seated across from each other at the table, and Icon was grinning a little bit wider. So far, so good, he had bought in to the idea, accepted that this was a thing, not a scam.

"So... Icon. Weird name. Icon, what are you... for? Like, what are you here for? What did you get contracted or paid or assigned to do, exactly?"

"That's the beauty of my profession, at least in cases like this. I don't offer specific acts or anything, it's not like a menu where you pick a foot rub, two dances and a martini, not in that order, and we settle on a price. I am bought by the hour, and in this case, your friends bought twenty four consecutive ones."

"A day? What, you're going to hang around and shut my laptop every time I open it for a day?"

"Buster, I intend to make you forget that laptop even exists. All expenses paid, there's pretty much no door in the city closed to you. If you could do anything you wanted, for one day, what would you do?"

It was a question he asked more often than he expected to, and so often it got answers either clearly out of the realm of fantasy (slay a dragon stuck out) or so awfully mundane.

"I don't know, I never thought about it before. It seems a shame to say something like catch up on sleep or go to the moon."

"Yeah, a lunar tour is at least a three day thing. More if you want to really have fun with the low gravity."

"Right? I've wanted to go for a while but... ugh, it's so hard to get ahead enough to let myself take a week off. I'd just wind up working from the vacation and then it's worse. Lag in communication, work takes longer, I don't get to enjoy the vacation, it's a waste. So I stay here instead and rack up vacation hours that I never use."

"Well, good news is, some of those hours have been used on your behalf. You are not on the clock, and you will still be paid, until six tomorrow night. So. Question still stands. What do you want to do with twenty four hours?"

"How is it legal for you to do that?"

"Pretty much we ask your boss, and he says okay. There's probably an email in your queue asking if you'd like to approve a vacation request submitted on your behalf. I'd suggest saying yes, but I can't force you to."

He paused for a moment, then grinned.

"Well, I could, if you're into that, but I'm a poor choice for that activity. We have a few folks who can make you do things in ways you'll never forget. Me, I'm more one of the done-unto kind of guys. Is that your pleasure? A little bit of freedom to be rough, to not worry about what I'll think of you in the morning? If you want, we have a little village of private places."

Claude stared at him, but there was no tease in the fox, not right now. Every word he'd said was completely, earnestly, honestly true. There was a gated village, with a house set aside if they needed it. And Icon was no stranger to being handled roughly. Rather liked it, most of the time. But it didn't look like the cat was going to bite.

Pity.

Still, there was no harm in pushing, as long as he didn't push too hard, and it looked like the cat was wavering. And the waver fell to the desired side after a moment, ending in a resigned sigh. "I guess, if it's already paid for, I might as well. There's no refunds, right?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss the financial details of a job with anyone other than the one who did the paying, but I can say that Kuroko's Finest doesn't stay in business by issuing refunds without very good reason. And even if we did, it wouldn't be to you. If someone wants to be generous, why decline?"

Perfectly logical, even if it was a bit presumptive.

"So what's on the table then?" Claude was tapping on the top of the table, idly poking around at the menu displayed there. Icon knew it was just bar food, little fried things, nothing meal-worthy, but both of them were tiny things, it wouldn't take a whole lot, and he didn't want his charge filling up before they got to a main course.

"This is all expense paid. There's a penthouse suite up top that's ours for the duration, everything in this bar is free. If you want to go somewhere and dance, have a meal, anything, you will not need to even consider payment. If you're having trouble deciding, why don't we go upstairs, get dressed to the nines, and go have dinner somewhere where we can skip a very long reservation line?"

The last bit caught a giggle from the petite cat. "Okay, fine, let's do that. And I guess you already have something in my size?"

Icon took his hand and led him toward the elevator banks. "You're my size, more or less, which is convenient. My suit is hanging up, and I don't intend to wear it tonight."

"Wait, why aren't you planning to wear-" he was cut off by a fox-finger on his muzzle, an admonishment for no more questions while they rode the silent elevator up to the top floor.

The roof was glass panel all the way across, with a configurable interference layer that was currently dimming things to a pleasantly soft glow as the sun slid down toward the horizon. There were only two doors in the little antechamber the elevator opened up on, and Icon guided his cat to the left one, palmed the panel beside the door, and led him in.

It was a pretty standard luxury suite, with a massive king bed, closet space, and a hidden holovid projector amidst other comfortable furnishings and subtle technological toys. "Pack your laptop and anything else that needs to stay secure in the safe. Configure it for your hand, if you like, I don't have anything in there at the moment, it's all yours." The fox was busy in one of the closets, laying out a full three-piece suit, with all the accessories. "Go ahead and try all this on, we'll see if there's anything that doesn't fit quite right. The tail slot's likely to be a little loose, mine's thicker than yours."

A loaded statement in itself.

While Claude got himself dressed, Icon was getting undressed, and the question of what he was going to wear if his suit was on loan answered itself. All the way down, to bare fur, and started to layer things back up, starting with silk panties. And an equally slinky dress, classic Chinese cut and made of some sort of silk brocade. It was hard to really tell what the embroidery was, the thread was the same color as the silk, but had a different sheen to it, making half-imagined patterns as the fox moved. It was all simply blue, the same as his eyes, which Claude probably noticed. Intensely blue, too bright to be natural.

Icon knew just what he was doing, too, and spent an extra few shimmies getting into the dress and getting it settled. "Would you help me get this zipped up?" No one would say no to that, and it was one of the little ice-breakers that he liked to use, to help get a client more comfortable with him. So when Claude came behind to zip up his dress, Icon was ready. One zip, then he turned and gave his new friend a kiss. "Thank you." Little kiss, just a nose to the cheek, really, but it was contact, unexpected but sincere.

He repaid in kind, helping Claude get his tie all fixed up and neat, helping settle the waistcoat just so. "There. A sharp-dressed man. You'll certainly turn heads. Dinner? Do you have somewhere in mind, or shall I make us a reservation?"

"I've no ideas, this is all still sort of catching up to me. I keep expecting a hidden camera gag, though I know I shouldn't." Given how quickly this had been sprung on him, Icon wasn't surprised by that thought.

"No such cameras, but if you're still stuck on making decisions, there's a wonderful little hole in the wall place where we won't need reservations, and we won't leave hungry. Sound nice?"

"You had me at hole in the wall. Lead the way."

***

The Gray Hare was one of those places that didn't advertise but still had a steady clientele. Partly it was the food, and Mr. Gray was an alley cat with a five-star palate and the manners of a hungover sailor. His wife, Amy, ran the front of the house, and was much, much more pleasant to strangers. And also was no stranger to members of the Finest stopping by. The company had a steady tab, it was their favorite place to congregate after a job, or throw a party that they weren't catering.

So the Hare herself greeted them at the door, gave Icon a hug, and stood back to look over his companion. "Foxy, did you find yourself a boyfriend?"

"He's a client, but shh, don't think that's a problem. He's cute, and he blushes so- oh, look, there go the ears. It's pretty nice, don't you think?"

Claude grumbled a greeting, acutely embarrassed by the little exchange. And how accurate it seemed to be.

Dinner was nice, and they were certainly the best dressed in the room. It had the kind of diner feel, where almost everyone was on a first name basis with the staff, half the people didn't need menus, and the food was solid, hearty, and plentiful.

"Man, Icon you weren't kidding about not leaving hungry, I don't know if I have room to put all of this away." Lobster tail, pretty rich food, and big servings. An advantage of being in New England, seafood was on almost every menu, and fresh, too.

"Well don't get too stuffed," he replied. "Have you given any thought to where you want to go after this?"

"I haven't had any good ideas, no. I'm not really much of a dancer, and there's not a movie out that I have any real desire to see in theater."

"So mundane, these answers. What about low-orbit stargazing? I can get us a private shuttle with plenty of air time."

"A private shuttle?"

Icon nodded. While stargazing shuttles were relatively common, they weren't cheap, and often the cost was split among a few dozen individuals. Taking one privately was a big expense, so it was understandable that Claude was questioning.

There was also a dawning idea, and Icon was very pleased to see it come to the surface. "How private?"

Gotcha.

"The pilot has his own compartment, the rest of the shuttle, every bit of it, is ours alone. Interested?"

"Hell yes. And you can just... just do this? Just make it happen like there's no worry about notice or planning?"

Icon tapped his ear, and the neatly hidden stud piercing there. "I have a wonderful support structure in my ear, right now. And Adelaide is telling me that we're booked for a twenty-three-hundred departure, so we'd best get moving to the airport, no?"

***

It wasn't a large shuttle, by any means. The seating and services would manage no more than a dozen individuals, though it would manage them comfortably. There was even a bar at one end, and each of the dozen seats, aside from being rated for some very high accelerations, was sinfully comfortable. It made little sense to spread out, Icon and Claude were in the seats furthest back, side by side.

Take off had been predictably rough, a lot of pressure on them for the whole burn up into the thin upper atmosphere. It wasn't actually capable of leaving Earth behind, just skimming along at the very upper reach of the sky. Which was enough, as the overhead shields opened up and folded off to the side, providing another little shield againt stray sunlight.

All to provide a view that, even 300 years after man set foot on the moon, never failed to inspire awe. Uncountable billions of stars, with no atmosphere to dull their shine, nor light pollution to overshadow them. The cabin was dark, the only light was the stars and some very muted LEDs right at floor level to ensure no one tripped on a chair or something.

Not that either of them felt a need to go anywhere. It was far better to stay cuddled together on the shared seat, gazing up into the vast and endless stars. "This is... really something. Last time I was up this high was a field trip in elementary school. We were looking at constellations, trying to spot Mars or Jupiter by eye. No one really put effort into it. We were all too stunned by the view, and the teachers knew it would happen that way."

Not uncommon, really. "Are you too stunned by the view to do anything else, now?" Icon had been wondering. This little trick was always a gamble. Not whether the client would enjoy it, that was never in doubt. But some were so mesmeried by the stars that they never went farther, and spent four hours in awe. Icon was happy with that, it was an easy night's work. It wasn't as much fun as the ones who wanted the stars as the only witness to the fun they were going to have together.

The fox just wasn't sure which way Claude was going to fall. He wasn't transfixed, unblinking, lost in the sea of lights, but he wasn't immune to their lure, either. He was aware of Icon, his closeness. It showed in little things, where he looked when he responded, that his hand was still in the fox's own.

The answer took time to come, and Icon had to wait while the cat struggled with his own thoughts. What he wanted, what he was prepared to accept, whether things were going to go where he wanted them too. The fox was quite sure he'd made it clear that there wasn't anything out of the realm of possibility. As the silence dragged on, the shuttle spun slowly on its axis, keeping the belly always toward the sun as they flew. The view above a strange mix of midday Earth and stars no one down there could see.

Finally, Claude finished whatever mental struggle had kept him quiet. "I think... I think I'm not too overwhelmed by the view, no. Not by the view of the stars, anyway." He pointed his nose toward the slinky, clingy dress Icon was wearing. "You seem to have gone to great lengths to ensure that I'm distracted by something or other, all night."

"Kind of the point. You're a workaholic. You define yourself, and with well deserved pride, on your work ethic and accomplishments. That's admirable, don't get me wrong, but you need to be reminded to take care of yourself and take time for yourself. And I'm a reminder of that. So stop thinking, and over thinking. Do what feels right."

And whatever reservation had persisted clicked out of place, the cat seemed to reach a decision, and Icon was surprised by the heat of the kiss that followed. Not upset, not even a little bit, but the transition from awkward and uncertain to assertive had been unexpectedly sharp.

Is this how he deals with what he sets his mind to, the fox wondered in a small part of his mind that wasn't occupied with passionate kisses and eagerly shed clothes. Small wonder, then, that he never runs out of work. That kind of dedicated focus isn't at all common.

There was half of a suit draped across a chair, panties on the floor, his dress hiked up to his belly, and the cat let out a delighted little mew as Icon pushed him into a seat and sank to his knees. "Sit back and enjoy a professional's touch."

And he did enjoy it, that much was clear in the way his hips reacted to the touch of vulpine tongue, the hands that tangled in that cockatiel crest of black hair between foxy ears. The half-whispered moans and plenty of thin, salt-slick pre for Icon to enjoy. Which he did, and enthusiastically too. Partly because, yeah, he was an unabashedly enthusiastic bottom, but also because a professional plays his role, and part of that role, in this case, was making sure that Claude never felt awkward enough to put the brakes on. If that included hamming it up like an actor in a low-budget porn shoot, sure, who was going to complain?

Certainly not the cat who was taking a tighter grip on his hair, pulling him closer, not letting him pull back as much, all the heated panting and such, almost like he was about to-

"Uh. S-s-sorry. I should have warned you?" Icon was busy choking and swallowing.

"No, no I should have asked, maybe. Been a while? That was... a lot. You were pretty pent up."

The cat managed to look both sheepish and very satisfied. "Um. Yeah it's been a couple... it's been long enough."

"Too long, more like." Icon was relatively sure he'd gotten most of it off of his muzzle with a few good licks. Good, nimble tongue, worked like a charm. "But sit back down, we're not done yet."

"We're not?"

"Oh no, not even close. Know how I can tell?"

"Uh? How?"

"You can still put words together."

With that the fox put a hand on his shoulder, pushed him back, crawled up to straddle his lap. He planted a kiss on top of the cat's muzzle, and one hand went down, between them, to stroke the cat's cock. Still slick, and the shudder of pleasure as his fingers glided over that stiff bit of flesh was telling. Might have been pent up, definitely had gone off quick, but was still up for more. Which was good, Icon was of the mind that the best time was a shared one.

One hand to guide them, holding both cocks up against each other as he worked his hips, gliding stiff flesh against stiffer, sharing the slickness between them both. Claude hesitated, shuddered, but almost without thought his hips joined in, synchronizing with the fox's motions. Slow and steady, and supplemented with soft kisses, gentle nips to ear or throat or, once, the cat trapping Icon's tongue with his teeth, prompting a giggle from them both, interrupted by a shudder of pleasure. Professional or not, Icon was not immune to the physical pleasures involved in play.

The shuttle completed another lazy roll, dragging the earth across before showing them stars again, as they moved faster, panting and giggling, soft sounds of pleasure and passion in the quiet, dim shuttle. Animal sounds, raw and unfettered. With no one to hear or see, there was nothing to be self-conscious about, and Claude was, as far as Icon could tell, completely lost in the moment. He wasn't far from it, himself, and growing more so as their hips both moved faster, his grip tightened, and pleasure threatened to overwhelm them both.

There was no reason to fight it. None at all, and Icon let himself go in the heady rush of release, the glorious euphoria that they shared. And the mess they both made of the cat's belly fur. That got a bit of a giggle, more so when Icon dipped a finger in the puddle and licked it up. The following hour, perhaps more, was spent simply being lazy, after some rudimentary cleanup to prevent sticky fur and stains. More stargazing and cuddling, talking about their respective jobs, though neither was at all familiar with the intricacies of the other's employment. It was nice to simply talk, and Icon was not surprised when things wound down, and both realized how tired they were.

Descent took a while, and it was somewhere just short of dawn when they had left the shuttle behind.

"What now?" Claude was holding his hand as they walked through the nearly empty terminal. Even Boston had to slow down at some time of the night.

"Well, there's a hotel suite waiting for us, and I, for one, think we both need a nap. If that means we wake up late, well, who can blame us? It's not like we're wanted anywhere else in the early hours. So why not enjoy the rest of this anonymous gift while you have it?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. Come on, then, I need a nap. Maybe a lot of naps."

"Lazy cat. So typical." Icon stuck out his tongue.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up, nerd."

The car was waiting for them at the curb, and the suite was theirs some minutes later. Both were tired, and sleep came easy.