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Coffee-Shots

By Televassi

The problem with the bohemian lifestyle is that it promises a tempting idyll, but none of the security, nevermind practicalities, required to make it work. But when I swore myself to it I wasn't interested in answering questions of how I'd make a living.

Why surrender my best years to the rat race like Max? Why hollow myself out into some empty shell that could only briefly come alive on the weekends? What paycheck could fill that?

Even if I didn't have an answer to what I'd do instead, I didn't care. This was a matter of survival. Each day outside of the grind was a victory.

Where did this change in me come from? Well, after our rainy meeting in UnderGround, Logan and I became... something. He was the instigator, but damn, his light and carefree belief made each day a gift, as well as his other gifts. He woke me up to the possibility that there was another way to go the world.

Still. We didn't define it, or seek to make it official, because we valued the freedom we gave to each other. We were wild, carefree, open - but still something, even if at times our struggle to survive outside the daily grind felt listless, holding ourselves together purely from the passive action of gravity.

Our idyll met its real test when Logan followed through on his rejection of genteel suburbia. He sold UnderGround, escaping the dissonance, but we didn't realise how quickly the cash drained away when you're not looking at it.

We became coffee vagrants. Called here and there across the Twin Cities, brewing up a little cup of authenticity wherever we found an opening: the barista equivalent of weeds poking up between cracks in the pavement. City living was hard, but our ideals softened the blow and we remained in good spirits. Somehow making ends meet each month was a test of our combined skills and wit, and just when it felt like we'd have to face reality, our virtue was rewarded - and not just in the financial sense. We had plenty of fun encounters - the results filling our phone with the numbers of interesting, eligible gay folk that I couldn't have possibly have otherwise dreamed.

Life was tough but good, and the chaos turned out to be the perfect spark for me. I learned that I had quite a knack for roasting coffee. Logan was adamant that it came down to the heat tolerance and temperature sensitivity I inherently possessed as a fennec, but really I was good because of necessity and practice. We often had to choose between paying heating bills or keeping the roaster going. So naturally, we chose the thing that kept the money coming, so it was quite easy to put the time in when it was often the only way we had to keep warm.

Okay, I should confess, the roasting was only a secondary method. The primary way we kept warm? Well, I loved how good I became with my tongue, and it wasn't just all venison either. It was more than just sex though - each time we made love it was a blissful escape from the stress of it all. Every time he regretfully pulled himself from me, his kiss was filled with all the tenderness of the world.

Logan was enough to push aside all the world's other questions.

Such moments of bliss were fragile, easily disturbed by the jealous whisper of reality upon my sensitive ears.

***

I was pulled away from my sensual dreams by the pop of his flare leaving my tail. With him gone, cold reality rushed in to fill the void. I spoke before the stag got to decide whether he was done, or whether he would push back in for some sloppy fun, because for the last month he'd avoided talking to me about the bills.

"Are we doing ok?"

My handsome buck paused, teasing my tail-ring with that wonderful mottled equine member - a treat in itself, and finished off with an impressive eight ladder piercings and a thick PA. The stag waited and bit his lip. An answer tumbled out along with his trembling breath. He took a long, hard moment to look at me, and as we waited, I took him in. That sleek russet coat quivering in anticipation with each breath, that athletic form crouched over me, and those deep green eyes. I couldn't be luckier to have him.

"Business could be better."

I couldn't blame him for being a bit vague this soon into our afterglow, but his admission didn't fill me with confidence. I missed my opportunity to follow-up on his words though - he bleated out a low groan and pushed himself back inside, bucking a little deeper. I counted down the piercings to his thick medial ring, gasping as that thick band sunk back inside me. By then I couldn't help but moan as he went further, until I felt the soft bump of his hips meeting mine.

Stars...

My jaw hung limp along with my tongue. Any desire to press him further evaporated. That feeling as he stuffed me full... Stars again.

Since our first meeting on that rainy day, I had perfected the art of taking all of him - and not just depth either. I'd learnt the precise way to clench him that drove him wild, and since he'd found a way to best my foxy tongue, I wasn't going to let him win. I took a breath and clenched, my tail holding him tightly, anticipating how gladly I'd take more of him.

Instead of giving me what I wanted, Logan waited, panting, balls deep in my tail. He knew my tailhole's tricks - that I could only loosen his tongue through sheer bliss if he was busy thrusting away.

So, the ball is back in my court? I smirked at the thought, feeling his perfectly round balls pressing against my taint, against my own, knowing how easily I wanted to surrender into the wordless bliss his body could make me. But any romance was stolen away by an icy draft, once again reminding me about the due heating bill.

I relented to the unwelcome reality of our situation once again, watching the flickering candles as we lay entwined. The flames played with the wandering trails of incense that twirled through the air, their tips glowing bright at every new breath of air.

Even the most idealistic would have to accept there were limits to dreams.

"Why did you ask me that?" I became aware of Logan's words as the stag's throat rumbled, grateful he'd taken the pressure off me by speaking first..

"I mean," I squeeked, chewing my tongue as his still hard member remained inside me. "Since you sold UnderGround, we've kinda struggled."

I'm sure Logan would forgive me for sounding vague. Thinking straight when your lover is bottomed out in your tail and pumping you with more of his thick seed is a bit of a challenge, even for a fox.

"I hate to say it... but back in the suburbs, we had a little something. Regular customers, and they wanted more than the cheapest coffee fast."

"Would you rather go back?" Logan exhaled loudly, the end of his breath starting to rattle. He gave me a quick lick on the back of my neck before pulling me even closer.

I knew Logan was humouring me. We couldn't go back. We didn't have the money. And even if we did, that wasn't the answer.

"That's not what I meant." I huffed, pushing back against him, accepting this wasn't the time for such questions. I wanted to escape and just be on my own, and chide myself for being so stupid to ask such a silly question. But instead of being quiet, more words tumbled from my mouth, trying to justify why I spoke in the first place.

"I dunno... Just, you know - we had an impact. We brought a difference to the place." I paused, trying to pull together my thoughts.

"Being the one place to fly a pride flag outside of June isn't an impact," Logan replied. "The money was good, but a healthy bank balance doesn't mean we belonged."

"Can't we have both?"

Logan stroked the fur between my ears, trying to cheer me up.

"We'll get there." Logan smiled and ruffled my cheek fur. "Something will come up." He did well to hide any frustration at having such a conversation now, of all times.

I returned his affection, contemplating how close I was to surrendering to his optimism. Still, I didn't want my stag to shoulder the burden of solving these questions by himself.

"Maybe we should mix things up," I suggested. I flicked my ears, trying to think as he began to grind his hips.

"It's not just about coming up with another blend of coffee like everyone else..." Logan laughed. "You must be really determined if that's what you're thinking about, instead of a good fucking!"

"You forget that almost all my action has been in the back of a coffee shop!" I quipped, bucking my rump back into him.

"Coffee slut," he whispered, nibbling my ear.

"Hard not to be, when all the baristas I know are such studs" I replied, trying my best not to grind my teeth.

"Oh yeah?" The stag reached behind me and massaged his fingers through my fur, reviving the glow we both so deserved.

We slipped into that silence, satisfying the sounds of our bodies in unison, our tender consumption, our alliance against the world, hastening to the point pleasure triumphed over thought, wit, reason. The sweet absolution from our earthly worries beckoned. His heralds ran across my senses, bearing that familiar electricity that never lost its novelty. Perception narrowed to the sounds of our breathing, the slick movement inside, and the glorious sensation as my tail embraced each studded inch. We spent who knows how long in that trance, edging away at every shiver, neither of us willing to break that blissful moment between us in apology for all the questions that came before it.

It was only when our bodies had nothing more to give, did we speak seriously.

"You're right though. We do need to do something to turn things around." Logan rumbled, his words half-chewed with thought. "I just..." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

He got up and left me to get showered. Even though what he said was true, his words left a hole in me for making him say it.

I didn't know what to do either.

***

The rain came down the next day without a pause. It ran down the windows, bringing a faint, damp whiff as the water wormed its way through yet to be discovered cracks.

Logan had headed out early to cover a stall we'd got in a local market and left me to roast the next batch. Still, our last conversation hung in my head, making it impossible to remain idle while the roasting was underway. I scrawled away on a scrap of paper, trying to brainstorm something new, but every time I thought I'd chanced upon some alluring, livelihood-saving idea, a quick search online proved that a thousand other people had the same idea. There were only so many defeats I could take before I screwed up my ideas and threw them into the bin.

What a write-off.

I tried to muffle my sighs, but I was doing it so frequently it felt like I was the reason the windows were all gummed up.

What could I hope to do? It seemed like there were no more original ideas - even the supermarkets had them on their shelves! Coffee roasted with vanilla pods. Beans coated in dark chocolate. Dusted with a dash of cinnamon. They'd only left the silly gimmicks untouched, and frankly, it hurt even more knowing the unimaginative brands had the sense not to go there.

I gave up and turned off the oven as soon as it was done and retreated under the bed covers. I listened to the patter of the rain, and tried to convince my body to sleep. Maybe my dreams would be kind and give me an idea my waking consciousness could not.

But sleep did not come.

The raindrops began to sound insistent, irritating, probing. A drip outside measured out each second I was wasting. To my ears it sounded accusing, but I'd already tried so what else could I do? At least there was one other time-tested distraction I could count on to pass the time... and maybe pawing one out would prove tiring enough.

I grabbed the lube and went through the familiar motions. My mind was still preoccupied with my failed experiments and a simmering resentment at the world, but even my half-hearted self-pleasure managed to rub out those unwanted thoughts. Eventually, I felt myself close - one paw squeezing my swollen knot, the other clutching my head so my shots didn't make a mess of the sheets.

As I let my fingers dance gently across the underside of my shaft, enjoying how my light, slippery touch caused my knot to throb in frustration, I had an idea. Or really, a memory. Even as my tingling afterglow faded, the idea did not fade.

Fuck all the faff about fancy beans.

I gave my knot another squeeze, coaxing another spurt of seed to dribble from my tip.

What if offered a special kind of milk instead?

I mean... I knew from that very first time with Max that it could work. If I could just figure out the practicalities... Maybe. It was worth a shot at least. Necessity isn't really the mother of inspiration - more desperation that drives you to try.

Wiping my paws clean, I grabbed my phone. I knew exactly who could help, his number still buried deep down in my list of contacts. He was the only one who knew that it could work.

I assayed my guilt by telling myself that really, I just needed his understanding of management, or just general business sense - not that my last sweet memory of him involved drinking his cum from a coffee cup.

I really was out of options.

***

Our meeting was some place where the buildings were all glass. No matter the direction you went, the streets pushed you into another stream of commuters crawling along like ants.

The bar itself - a free unit hidden from the glass towers underneath the lumbering train line - abused minimalism to meet corporate taste. Windows floor to ceiling. Plastic box hedging in monochrome planters. It was barely worth taking in the details, but I was happy to fuel my contempt for it all. Better to focus on that rather than deal with jitters about seeing Max again, or the reality of my own crumbling lifestyle.

That will didn't falter when I spotted the horse sat in the centre of all the mediocrity. His scent matched up to the memory of that night, and as he waved me over something about his old self remained, but like a shadow of the person I once knew.

Max was still the same palomino stallion I knew those years ago, serving lattes at BlueBucks. Deer-like, curvy, slim and slender. Yes that had gone, but I fancied something of that spirit remained, even if it was hidden in his eyes, rather than underneath a floppy white mane. Yes, I remembered the marks of time from our last night, but here, they did not make him seem as unfamiliar to me as he did then.

When I sat down, I didn't even need to have sensitive ears to hear him sigh.

"I should admit, I didn't expect you'd call."

"It's been a couple of busy months." I shrugged, trying to make light of the gap between that night and now.

I didn't want to launch into it immediately. That'd feel like a concession. Even if I was struggling, I didn't intend to discuss surrender to his world.

"It's been more than that," Max replied. It sounded like an accusation.

"What have you been up to?" I asked quickly.

"Work." He paused, running me up and down with his eyes. "It makes me miss the uni days." The stallion sighed again. "What about you?"

I paused, trying to think what, if any, things of note I could say.

"I dunno, work. At least I don't have to miss those days though."

Max smiled and nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

I sniffed, unsure of what to say.

"You look like you're going up in the world. Management?"

"Yeah. It's a fast-track. Keeps me busy, but it seems no matter what you do, the higher you go, everyone becomes managers." A sliver of nonchalance crept into his tone - dare I say even contempt? He sounded bored by it, but he didn't allow me to guess his feelings further.

"You look like you've been having an interesting time." He changed tack, trying to make it sound like he meant to say interesting not interesting.

"Well, for what I do, you end up doing everything, not managing," I huffed. "Anyway, work is just work at the end of the day."

"I was trying to be polite," Max replied. "You didn't exactly explain why you went silent on me after our last meeting."

That takes two of us.

"Yeah, well, I have been busy."

"And you're still the one who called me," Max sighed. "And if you don't want to make small talk, or explain your silence, then at least do me the courtesy of getting to the point."

I hesitated, looking at the older stallion. In his eyes at least, he barely looked like he'd changed since our uni days. And I know that really, I was being an ass. Even if he could have called me, he was here now which meant something. Perhaps even that I should bury the imagined hatchet.

"Sorry." I swallowed. "I mean, is it that obvious that I've been working to live?"

"Hoping to switch the order around?" Max chuckled.

"Live to work?"

"Yeah," Max nodded. "Work is always going to be there, sadly. We've just got to make what we enjoy pay."

"Not everyone can do that." I winced. "Or perhaps, would want to. Nevermind can do."

"Your idealism was always one of your most endearing qualities," Max smiled. "But there comes a time when you've got to be pragmatic."

"Yeah, about that..." I huffed, jamming my paws in my pockets and flicking my tail. "I kinda need to, ugh, ask for your help."

Max raised an eyebrow.

"I had wondered," he said, perfectly neutrally.

"I'm not asking you for your money!" I started. "Just your expertise, or advice, or instinct even."

"Why would you want that? I'm nothing special."

"But you know more about this place than I do!" I countered, throwing my hands up and gesturing all around me. "We went from making it up in UnderGround to barely scraping by down here in Twin Cities proper. I just don't get it - we've tried everything to make ends meet, to get the money coming in, but it barely seems to make a dent."

"It's hard to stand out from all the other authentic, organic, locally-roasted coffee shops crammed into this city," Max sighed. "I'd suggest moving back there."

"I've tried, but that's not an option when you haven't got the money. I've been trying to come up with something new, but there's only so many ways you can roast a bean."

"I know that tone." Max frowned. "What's your plan?"

"Well, what else do you put in your coffee?"

"Well, if you're a snob about it, nothing else, unless you're really picky about dairy-"

"Think back to our uni days."

It was telling how his eyes widened, and I don't know why I tried to study his reaction - as brief as it was. Perhaps it was like signing some sort of light, to see if he was still in there. I don't know - he was quick to raise his mask - the rest of his expression only spoke to me of confusion about the practicalities.

"Oh stars, you're actually serious."

He shifted his legs. Crossed, then uncrossed. Then crossed again.

"What do you want me to say?" Max sighed. "You lead a very different life to me." He shook his head. "I want to help you, but let me rephrase - what do you want from me? You can't seriously be thinking of going into the business of selling-"

"No," I hissed. "Not in a thousand years would things be relaxed enough for that. But I'm kinda desperate, so I'm asking if you do know a place that might." I swallowed my pride, hard. "You know Twin Cities better than me."

"There's what I know, and then what you're suggesting. I can't even begin to think of where you'd have to start-"

"You must know someone?" I sniffed. Come on fox, think. "The job is just for the day. Don't tell me you've been playing it entirely clean? Last we met , the night seemed more like old times."

Max folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, drilling into me with his eyes. He let the moment hang between us for minutes. I don't even remember whether the piano started being played, or if I followed up admitting things were falling apart and I didn't really know what to do, and with limited options.

"I can't promise anything." The horse stood up, waving away my attempts to pay the bill. He sighed and turned around to me. "I know you might think this is it, but at some point, you're going to have to really compromise with the world."

His neatly trimmed hooves thudded loudly as he walked away, seeming to hammer home his point in my ears.

Why can't you just get a normal job like everyone else?

***

A week passed, and I heard nothing.

Then at the end of another grey, misty Friday, I got a message, hunched against the cupboards waiting for the next batch of roasting to be done and for Logan to come home.

Tonight. 11pm. 21 Sailmaker Street. Buzz for Vex.

I texted thanks back within seconds. Max took a while to respond. His status changed often: typing, then not, then typing, again. In the end he didn't say anything which was curious, but more so when nothing came up for that address when I searched online.

The mystery ruffled my fur. I chewed my lip trying to decide what to do. I'd given up on my own experiments as we couldn't afford dead-ends. How could I know this wouldn't be one? Did Max even understand what I'd asked him for?

I tapped away for directions. Sailmaker Street was on the outskirts of Twin Cities, more Docklands proper. Transport got a bit more tetchy as you went out there: my only route was one tube, then two buses and a short walk.

The routefinder app pinged insistently as it waited for me to start the route, telling me that if I left in the next 10 minutes I'd make it, just.

I let out a frustrated mewl. Glancing back at the roaster, its display smugly showing off that it'd take at least double that before the batch was done.

"Could you have not picked a better time?" I grunted, chewing a claw as I let my tail fret behind me. Fuck, I hated having no time to decide.

Batch is done. Heading out late, love you.

I smoothed down my fur by telling myself I'd find out more on the way. Just in case things got practical, I grabbed the remnants of a previous good batch so I had something to show off.

When I stepped off the final bus lurching away into the darkness, I still had nothing about 21 Sailmaker Street. As I made my way through the empty streets I lamented the irony that for once, a blank canvas was not perfect for a fox. My imagination chose to parade all my fears in front of me, even if I tried to throw logic at it in reply.

I stopped in the middle of the cold, damp, misty street and considered whether it was worth chasing scraps at the edge of the city. Was it worth trying to live life to an ideal, when really there was no escape from the grind unless you had a whole lot of money? Could I make peace with this thing inside me, and agree to instead live on the weekends?

Max finally pinged me back.

Are you on your way?

I shrugged and looked about the street as best the night let me. It looked like just about any one close to docklands. Older buildings made with darkened yellow bricks, their sides marked with the fading letters of long since ended businesses from past centuries.

I sighed loudly, shivering in the empty night.

"Fine," I grumbled, irritated that once again my intolerance of the cold determined my choices. "At least I'll warm up inside, wherever this place is."

I found it off to the side of the main street, down a flight of stairs. It was too dark to see what the rest of the building was, but its black door and brass horse-head knocker stood out in the night. To the side there was an intercom, but all four options were blank.

"Oh come on!" I shivered as the damp air from the canals and waterways wormed in between my delicate fur - so I pushed all the buttons until one actually rang.

"One second." The speaker buzzed for several seconds. "Who's this?"

"Vex, right?"

The line clicked. I bit my lip and kept the shrill curse inside my muzzle, wondering how I was going to get home so late. Fortunately the door swung open and revealed a tall stallion. From the warm light behind him he seemed to be clad in mostly dark brown fur, with not even a white spot on his head to break things up. He watched me with deep brown eyes, black tail swaying from behind his jeans, his arms folded across a creased white collar shirt.

"Max didn't mention you're no stallion." Vex shrugged, brushing his mane with a snort. He still held the door open, undecided on whether to let me in.

"Is that a problem?" I bristled. If it was, then I wanted my fare back from Max.

"Not if you've got the right attitude." He stepped to the side, resting against the door. "Now hurry up. It's cold out here.."

I zipped up the steps and shot past the stallion, catching a sniff of his scent as I passed him. It was too cold and damp to get much of an idea about him, other than the usual equine scents I was familiar with.

Vex closed the door and pointed down a corridor filled with peeling old paint and exposed brickwork towards the top of a spiral staircase.

"It can't hurt to see what you're about," Vex whistled as he plodded along, his hooves striking loudly against the old brickwork floor.

"What did Max tell you?" I asked, wanting to figure out how much foxy charm I'd need my tongue to muster. Or, if he'd held back on information deliberately, I wanted to know why. I needed every advantage.

"Oh, this and that. We're in the habit to not divulge too much about ourselves here, so don't take it personally."

"Is Vex not your name then?"

"Not even a nickname, but then that'd be divulging, wouldn't it, Fen?" He snorted and shook his head, albeit playfully.

"Don't make me guess why then," I paused. "At least I don't have to give you a name even then."

"Unless you don't want to." Vex smiled.

"Fen is good enough for now then, unless you start giving me reasons to get friendly."

We reached the top of the stairs and began to descend. It was one of those old metal ones, less of a fashion choice and more a well worn fixture. Judging by the numerous dents in the steps, I guessed they came from the heavy tread of plenty of horseshoes.

As we descended, more of the venue came into view. It was an old style beer cellar with low, arched ceilings, undressed stonework, and an uneven cobblestone floor. Ancient brass lanterns filled with flickering candles hung from the ceiling, spreading a warm, shadowy glow, across the brewing paraphernalia that littered the empty spaces. Large wooden casks sat between spaces in the squat arches, hessian sacks stacked high filled with barley, wheat, and hops, while plenty of people drank happily away, crowded around empty barrels covered with frothy, empty glasses.

No one was wearing any clothes. Oh, let's not get technical either and consider the odd harness, jockstrap, or other raunchy adornment to count as clothing - not when, depending on their preference, their cock or ass was on full display.

"Hey, Fen! Don't gawk," Vex chuckled. "You're not here to enjoy the sights."

I was tempted to make a smart quip back that I'd seen plenty of horsecock, but I figured it was worth it to hold my tongue if he meant to talk business.

Still, I let my eyes wander anyway as we wound our way through the crowd. I was curious about this scene of casual intimacy, because it wasn't, bluntly, like some mad fuck-fest. There was some unspoken rule between them, and as we passed from table to table, it was hard not to be taken by the relaxed, dare I say, alternative, approach.

We passed two stallions taking turns slurping on each other's swollen flares between mouthfuls of beer, a twinky stallion shoving his muzzle against his lover's ass, and a dozen other intimate things that were beautiful in isolation, but exhilarating to collectively behold. And yet, for all the naughty things I witnessed, there were just as many folks not doing anything other than having a nice drink with no clothes on.

Seems Max did get what I was talking about...

The stallion led me through the crowd, and behind a wooden counter setup in a spare alcove. Sitting at the very back on a polished brass top was one dusty, very old coffee machine. Ancient enough that it looked like it was powered by the arcane, rather than power source this century.

"It's a bit of a challenge to get a decent barista to stick around here," Vex announced, inviting me to inspect my tools.

"I'm a professional fox," I quipped, making sure that my tone left the horse uncertain whether I meant about the coffee, or general foxing. "No wonder you can't keep baristas though - your coffee machine is broken. And I don't mean it needs fixing. You should have given it the dignity of retirement long before now." I went further, perhaps emboldened by the scene. "I might be able to work magic, but I won't do necromancy to summon you a passable espresso."

"Well," Vex shrugged, "I suppose I don't need a barista then." He nodded with a definitive sigh, and looked away without telling me the gig was off. I saw my chance to take the reins and make a move.

"Look. I know you're not one to 'disclose' much, but Max should have told you that I don't just work a machine. When it comes to coffee, I can do it all. The beans. The machines. The brewing. The works. Fortunately for you, I just need a decent place to sell, which judging by this empty spot, you have in ample supply."

"You're really desperate to work, aren't you?" Vex grinned. "Is that because you really believe in what we're doing here, or are you just in need of coin?" The horse asked, revealing that Max had indeed mentioned my plight.

"I'm not desperate to work just anywhere," I snapped, flicking my ears back. I might need the money, but I wasn't going to lower myself to grovelling for a job like every pathetic interview out there.

"Oh don't get huffy, Fen. I show off that busted machine to see if folks know something about coffee, or if they just wanted to get paid watching the studs fucking out there." The stallion shrugged, as if it was a fair enough point.

"I'm great at multitasking," I replied.

"I'm sure," Vex replied. "But you haven't quite satisfied my follow up question."

"Oh yeah?" I sighed. "Max should have told you I've never done interviews."

"That so?" Vex smirked and leaned back into the darker recess of the alcove. "It doesn't matter to me though. I'm looking for someone who gets what I'm trying to do here. And I mean, really gets it." He paused, pointing out to the rest of the cellar. "What do you really think the purpose of this place is?"

I didn't even bother to turn around and look. My fur bristled, and my ears perked with confidence. I felt as tall as the stallion in front of me. I knew the answer the second we stepped down into the cellar.

"A space for the unconventional to be free," I replied dryly. "Particularly from the oppressive system above us."

I enjoyed watching the surprise stretch across the stallion's face.

"Yeah," he paused, nodding breathlessly. "I mean, I was expecting you to just say alternative, but Max did warn me you're a wordy sort."

"Did he tell you a good way to shut me up?"

"Several," he muttered. "But, let's circle back to the coffee. I want someone who can work some artistry with their brew, just like the booze we make here. There's no prices - people just pay in as members, and it all gets put back into the place, and those who keep it running."

"Suits me fine. The stag and I just need a bit of security. That's hard when you're roaming place to place across Twin Cities trying to sell, nevermind afford rent."

"I hear you," Vex nodded. "I bet it's intense trying to make your cup of coffee stand out from all the other options for the morning crowd."

"You know, you're not meant to make interviews easy," I teased. "Fairly sure you're meant to ask me the questions, not give my answers."

The stallion smiled, playing with his mane again.

"It's not my thing," he shrugged. "But hey, you could always try making craft beer. People pay well for the artistry involved in that," Vex smiled, looking out at the lively cellar. "Most of them are well paid, but they appreciate what we do enough to patronise the arts."

"Playing about with yeast isn't exactly my thing," I sniffed. "I don't have the patience to wait however long it takes to brew a batch." I snapped my fingers. "Coffee's like that in comparison. And it's a wonderful pick me up too."

" Care to demonstrate? Not everyone who comes here is looking for just a pint." Vex smiled, still playing the nonchalant, and playing it well.

"Of course."

Vex bent down and pulled open a cupboard underneath the counter, revealing a sizable modern machine. It took the edge of my nerves at least, but struck me as odd that it wasn't installed on the counter instead.

"How come you keep that gem all hidden away then?"

"Apart from having no one who can work it and that sly little test?" Vex answered, as if that wasn't reason enough. I made a face and just about held back from making a snappy comment about how that'd change if I made it here. Still, it was a perfect height for me to work, and fortunately, Vex also said nothing about my short height.

As I inspected the tools I'd be working with, I paused, trying to weigh up if the cheeky stallion had been told by Max what I had in mind, and was just enjoying teasing it out of me. He played too good a game to be sure, but I guessed things were going well enough, so why not take a risk?

"Well... I may just happen to know how to make a latte a little more exciting, depending on your preference."

"Oh yeah?" Vex smirked. "You got some special technique, or secret ingredient?"

Smug horse definitely knew. He just wanted me to say it.

"Depends, if you're curious about cream you can have in your coffee."

"Shame we're all out of the regular stuff."

"I'll just have to get creative with what's on hand then," I replied.

Vex paused for a moment, fancying whether he wanted to keep the game going. But I knew he was keen to try - his giveaway was the subtle intake of breath as I spoke.

"And what would that be?" Vex asked, his eyes trailing down to the plump bulge growing below his belt. He left little for the imagination.

"For a stallion in skinny jeans, you certainly like to play it coy," I replied. Time to be the 'professional' fox. "Max should have told you my fun little way of using cum as cream for a coffee," I paused. "And if he didn't, he sold you short on my talents."

"He mentioned that, briefly," Vex nodded, trying to appear not so flustered. "I wasn't expecting a fox to call me short on the witty exchanges."

"I wasn't expecting a stallion to take so long to get his dick out," I retorted with a smile. "But I figured you'd want to discuss the practicalities of my proposal though."

"Well," Vex huffed, irritated at having to talk business, "how are you going to source your cream then?"

"By hand of course," I replied, hovering close to the stallion. "It needs to be freshly sourced for the best flavour."

"I think you might struggle then, even here." Vex raised an eyebrow and looked back out across the busy cellar. "On a good night, they can drink the bar dry."

"Oh, I'm not going for bulk, as much as some strapping stud might like to try" I grinned, shaking my head. "You ever been to one of those fancy espresso bars where they make your drink all bespoke from start to finish? There's real artistry in that."

"Right," Vex nodded. "And how are you going to keep up with demand? Say you get a rush on like it's 9am and you've got a long queue of thirsty commuters."

"Well, that's easy." I stood up on the tips of my paws and looked over the countertop. "How many of them do you think would like to donate? Just give me a chalkboard and I'll write up the tasting notes."

"Don't tell me, you split the cream into the espresso shots, and you call them... cumshots?" Vex nickered, enjoying his own joke.

"You're thinking too much like a stallion," I chided, not wishing to give him too much credit. "I'd call them Coffee-Shots, but yes, I bet there would be plenty here who'd be tempted to try a blend. Of course, I'd still offer the bespoke service, time permitting," I finished, knowing Logan would be sold on the idea. It'd definitely leave a mark, and be a step up from hanging a pride flag in a bourgeois suburb.

"I like your thinking, fox," Vex smiled. "But actually, you're not thinking enough like a stallion." He grinned, pointing down to a lively corner, where a bunch of horses had begun taking turns filling up a twinky stallion bent over one of the beer barrels. "When we get in the mood, we're in the mood, and I need to know if you're professional enough to handle that."

"Fine. How about you add in a fixture or two where guys like them can get their rocks off." I paused, picturing it like a director at a movie set, determined to find the perfect frame. "A glory hole, except big enough to show off their balls, cock, hole..."

"You really are a kinky fox."

"My mind does wander when I'm roasting beans. And I've been doing a lot of that lately," I shrugged. "Besides, you 'stallions' seem to need to put on a show. If they're really up for it, the 'house specials' can have tasting notes next to their stalls," I paused, clapping my paws together. "Perfect for stallions in the mood to handle the source."

I glanced down at Vex, pleased to see the bulge in his skinny jeans was considerable. His cock had somehow managed to break free of its confines and swell down the inside of his thigh. It was both impressive, given how even with clothes on I could see his flare swell and throb, and welcome feedback that I was indeed interviewing well.

"So, do I have you sold on my ideas?" I pushed, seeking to seal the deal. As fun playing fox with Vex was, I couldn't come away empty handed.

"Hmm," Vex rumbled, stroking his chin. It seemed a great effort for him to keep his hands away from his straining jeans. "You talk well enough Fen, I'll give you that... but, I think you need to give a practical demonstration. I'm not so sure cum really would work in my coffee," he grinned.

"Unless you're offering, we might be hard-pressed for volunteers."

"Oh," Vex snorted, "I wouldn't seek to test you without providing all the necessary equipment." The horse finished his sentence with the tell-tale pop of a button.

"How generous," I replied, answering Vex's advance. This close to me, it was hard to ignore that swollen bulge in his jeans, and impossible not to reach out with my paws and press firmly against that flared head...

"I might... have heard from Max too... about that tongue of yours," Vex shivered.

"Oh yeah?" I grinned, wagging my tail. "What have you heard?"

"It's not in the way you might ordinarily imagine a fox to..."

If Vex was wanting his butt licked, he was going to have to name it. I wasn't going to let him off with vague hints and guesswork.

"Sorry, but I'm no mind reader... if you're going to order something, you need to say it."

"Do you bring that cocky attitude with you when you're muzzle deep in ass?" Vex shot back with a dirty smile.

"It depends whether you want encouragement or not."

I was kinda half listening as Vex replied. I'm sure he was certain that his words spoke for him, but really, his body told me a lot of what I wanted to hear. It seemed a shame to tug down his jeans and not play with his captive stallionhood first, but I was still here to impress, and of course I relished the chance to drive him mad with my tongue.

His jeans at first refused to yield to my paws, but then once I figured out they were buttons and a zipper, they quickly came away. As the stretchy denim slid down his hips, I was excited to see that he wasn't wearing anything else down there. No pants, no jockstrap even, nothing. Just straight to business.

"Riding bareback I see?" I chuckled, enjoying how brazen the horse was.

"I couldn't exactly answer the door wearing nothing," he breathed, his hips swaying gently in the air, giving me time at least to take him in.

Vex's flare was a broad, deep red, that slowly tapered darker until it hit his thick - and I mean, thick - medial ring. Beyond that it was black, with some mottled spots where the lighter flesh came through. In my mind, I was already thinking about how it would feel to have him sink into me - muzzle or tail - but even in my reverie I was still acutely aware that I shouldn't stray off order. Besides, I was quite enjoying the prospect of milking a needy, subby stallion until I could squeeze some fresh cream from him...

Taking advantage of the size difference between us, I easily slid between Vex's legs, making sure to tease the underside of his shaft and balls with my ears.

"Are you ready for this?" I teased, flicking my tongue quickly across his taint. "I want you to be sure you're making a good investment."

Vex spread his legs wide and leaned his elbows against the bar. I could see the nonchalant smirk run across his face, complete with a barely perceptible raise of an eyebrow. Go on, fox. He said. Show my needy tailhole some love. He hiked his tail back with anymore fuss.

Stars, his ass was cute. He wasn't thick back there like some guys; neither well toned or smooth or curvy. He was kinda average, enough that I bet he'd never had someone else take an interest in his ass before like this, which meant the pleasure I'd bring for him would all be new. Everyone knew what to expect with equine guys, but their tails, they still kept those a loose secret.

Sure enough, Vex twitched in surprise when I spread his cheeks apart with my paws. His tailhole was cute, speckled a soft pink towards the centre of his donut. I wasted no further time in tasting him.

And oh, stars again, how he melted as soon as my muzzle met him! I could feel the tremor that rattled his body upon our contact, evaporating that cocky demeanour he'd previously presented. From the way his ring twitched and flexed, I could tell even without his increasingly short breaths that he was enjoying exploring nerves he'd never stimulated. Judging by his swollen flare as I swirled my tongue around him, he was already close.

I grabbed a metal jug and prepared for his inevitable climax, trying to figure out how long I should keep him on edge or not before gathering the necessary milk for his free sample. Pausing to push my tongue against the centre of his tail, I decided he'd forgive a longer wait if it meant a better result, and at least this way I could truly say it wouldn't just be for the end product, but the artistry of the preparation itself.

So when Vex felt my tongue slip inside his ass, I let myself swell with pride as I continued my work, getting ever so slightly drunk on his intimate taste. I curled my tongue about, teasing his twitching ring, I got that wonderful feeling of him pushing back against me. Slowly at first, but he never let up, even when my muzzle was firmly pressed against his tailhole. I wasn't complaining at all - if he wanted my muzzle inside him too, I'd more than happily do it. But putting my idle hands to use, I could tell from his twitching cock that I'd unlikely get such a pleasure from him.

Vex kept eagerly grinding his butt back against my muzzle, no longer caring to disguise his needful sighs as his relief crept down from his loins. Jug ready, I pushed his thick flare past the metal rim. Combined with the continued work of my tongue, it proved too much. He came first as a trickle - a couple of thin, erratic shots before his balls started pumping. I felt each powerful pump of cum as his tailhole clenched against my tongue, five, six, seven - eight times. I could feel the jug grow heavier and heavier in my hand - enough that I took my other paw from his cock and held it with both, doing my best to make sure not a single drop was muzzled.

I felt a bit lightheaded when the stallion finally relented and pulled his wet donut away from my muzzle, but as soon as I could breathe, I also felt that sombre note that follows the fading afterglow. I could tell from the slick tightness of my jeans that I'd spent my load too. I kept idly staring at Vex's twitching tailhole, wishing to push my muzzle back in and really pleasure him deep.

I peered up, conscious enough that Vex had come down enough to judge my performance. He was standing there, learning back against the wall, his thick dick reluctant to slip back into his sheath. He tapped a hoof. Once, twice, three times.

"Fuuuuck...." He mumbled, tail still raised and twitching. "I think I need that coffee for round two..."

The incentive kicked me into action, and as I dashed about behind Vex, the distraction faded as routine kicked in. First I sorted out the espresso shots. Double for extra kick, and a dash of vanilla for added sweetness. Next, steam, 'milk'. Infuse with air, but keep the heat low. I kept going, gently, keeping it all precise. A flat white was all about blending the foamed milk, and I was relying on the espresso to do the heavy lifting...

"Almost done?" Vex added, still tapping his hoof.

"Almost," I nodded. Hopefully the bitterness of the coffee would mask the rest. After all, he tasted warm, creamy, and sweet. I'd make a note to quiz him about his diet later, but for now, it was just a relief to only worry about balancing the flavours.

In sixty seconds or so, I handed the stallion his finished drink - a rather substantial flat white, given the 'cream'. In the future, I wouldn't be so generous, but I wanted to show off what I could really do.

Vex wrinkled his face and took a mouthful. He swallowed quickly, leaving me unsure if he was just keen to gulp it down so it didn't linger on his tastebuds.

"Not bad, fox," Vex grinned. "But next time, bring out the cum more."

"What?"

"You've proved to me that you can make great coffee, fox, but if you're going to make studs blowing their loads the thing, you probably shouldn't cover it up. After all, the kinky studs want to know they're drinking cum."

I laughed and took another sip, smacking my lips together.

"I suppose I should have thought of that, but hey, the main thing is just getting a steady supply. I'm going to need at least a dozen productive stallions if I'm going to be able to make it a regular thing, seven days a week.

"Well," Vex smiled, "you can count me as one, and leave the rest to me. We'll arrange some sessions so you can get some fresh samples for your notes..."

"Logan can pick up the final space for sure."

"Who's Logan?"

"He's... a very good friend."

"Uh huh," Vex nodded. "I've heard that tone when describing 'just a friend' before."

"It's complicated, on several levels."

"Then what will you tell him?"

"That well... the grind of work is kinda unavoidable. But the best thing bohemians like us can do, is something that we love."

"Fair enough," Vex nodded.

"So when do I start?" I asked eagerly.

"Now. Better get the chalkboard up and write up each blend's tasting notes" Vex grinned. "I didn't exactly do a great job of keeping quiet as you went to work back there."

I heard the tell-tale sound of several sets of hooves walking our way and smiled. Work may be an unavoidable grind, but well, they say you should do what you love.