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Tate cursed himself for not possessing the gift of foresight, as he had neglected to keep an umbrella in his car. The rain had hit as soon as he had arrived at the pier, pounding his windshield with deafening force, his range of vision reduced to little more than a few feet in front of him. He reached around and searched his backseat blindly, finding the yellowed protective shades he used at the shooting range. Even if he got soaked at least he would be able to see somewhat. He sucked down the bitter dregs of an overly sweetened coffee before shoving open the door and stepping out into the downpour.

The shadowy figure of his partner stood a few feet from his parked car, a glowing cherry floating ghostlike in front of his muzzle, rising smoke barely visible. Lance apparently knew something Tate had not, as the hood of a raincoat was pulled over his head, the grizzled equine staring back at the otter as he approached.

"'Bout time you got here. I was starting to worry." Lance had a gravelly, monotonous voice that failed to convey any kind of emotion or urgency. Sarcasm, though, seemed to translate beautifully.

"Had to chase down a dragon who promised eternal youth. The hell is so important?" Tate fixed the eyewear over his muzzle, wiping excess precipitation.

"Like I said, never seen nothin' like it in my life. Not in my whole fuckin' life." The horse almost never swore, and despite its trivial symbolism, it still set Tate's nerves on edge. "Loading crew of the Ave Maria found it a couple hours ago. Pulled into port yesterday afternoon, had to double back tonight after some errors were logged on the manifest."

"...So...what is it?" Tate had long ago come to the conclusion that Lance intentionally acted the jaded, burnt-out cop, always preaching about the immoral nature of everyone around him and all the twisted things he had seen in his career--which only made this current tight-lipped behavior all the more unnerving.

Lance just took another long drag on his cigarette. Tate could see his hands shaking.

Eventually the ash fell, burning the horses's fingers. He wiped it away and gestured over his shoulder. "Like I said, its in the warehouse. I ain't going back in that damned place."

Tate couldn't imagine what had gotten the senior detective so upset. After all those years in the business, he had to have seen more than a few unforgettable things--and if he had called a coroner before he'd called his own partner, Tate wasn't so sure he wanted to see what was in the warehouse.

"Why don't I just...wait for the coroner to get here and...uh, take a look at the photos he snaps?" Tate wiped his shades again, more to appear nonchalant than to clear away water.

Lance spat and shook his head. "Won't matter neither way." He said nothing else, rubbing the cigarette filter under his thumb.

Tate took a few breaths to sooth his nerves, looking past the diamond-wire fence at the partially illuminated building. A single lamp hung above its entryway door, which had been left ajar. Whatever was in there, he told himself, he knew it couldn't hurt him, and if it couldn't hurt him it shouldn't be an object of fear. His stomach twisted a bit, but pawing his holstered pistol boosted his confidence immensely, and he nodded to himself resolutely. Tightening his jacket, he pulled his heavy flashlight from his belt and walked forward, past the open fence and towards the doorway.

"You'll know it when you see it," Lance called after him, just as Tate reached the door. He clicked the light on, raised the fogged yellow shades, and stepped inside.

A good thing for it too, he surmised, as the only light in the expansive structure shone from his paw. Water ran off him in rivulets onto the concrete, and he ruffled his hair and facefur to dry faster. A single step in had him bumping into a metal guardrail--the flashlight's beam was painfully narrow and he didn't much feel like searching in the dark for a staircase. Tate hefted himself up onto the railing and turned around, lowering himself down and dropping into the blackness. It was a shorter drop than he expected, as raising the light revealed himself to be face level with the concrete slab he had just stood on. Shivering slightly, he slowly turned himself back to face the darkness, the sound of the rain outside unable to penetrate the yawning black.

Several quick turns left and right, and Tate gathered he was standing outside a maze of large metal shipping containers. He tightened his grip on the cold metal, his own breathing almost painful to listen to. Wiping his nose of moisture, the otter treaded carefully between the closest row of crates, deciding dutifully that whatever was worth seeing must be close by, inferring as much from Lance's statement. His footsteps echoed around him, a trail of water dripping from his tail as he went. The beam of light bounced off of seemingly endless containers, each of them closed off and padlocked. It was only a few yards in, however, when he saw it--a crate like all the others, but ominous in its presence merely for the fact that it was unlocked and open wide.

Tate halted before it, keeping the light low, half-expecting some kind of monster to leap out at him were he to raise it too high. He sniffed, toying at his holster again, before approaching the waiting container, bringing the light up to peer inside.

The sight that greeted him surprised and scared him more than any spectre or monster could--in that it the contents of the container looked completely harmless and uninteresting, completely catching him off guard. Stacks of smaller wooden crates, lining the insides, stamped with the name of whatever company and country they had originated from. Tate blinked, scanning over the crates thoroughly, expecting something horrifying but seeing only wood paneling. His interests were soon enough piqued though, as one crate off to the side, near the lip of the container, had fallen from its perch, the warped wooden lid on the floor before it. He padded forward until he stood parallel to the crate, shining the light down into it.

At first glance, it looked like a simple shipment of wrapped fish, the glare off the shrinkwrapped plastic obscuring what appeared to be only reddish scales. Tate frowned, the direct beam from his flashlight obviously preventing him from seeing beyond initial appearances, and he laid it to the side, the diverted glow washing over the plastic. It was only then that he knew exactly what ghastly apparition rested here, and he snatched the light back up, stumbling backwards in a moment of sharp nauseating terror, replaced soon after with a dull, throbbing unease that tickled at his spine, urging him to return back to his partner, back to the populated world. Tate took several panicked breaths, turning away from the container, breaking into a full run all the way back to the elevated concrete walkway. He pulled himself up hastily, climbing the rail like a ladder and throwing himself over.

It took a few minutes for his breating to calm and his pulse to slow, his stomach churning and head aching from overstimulated nerves. Tate shivered violently, fearing he would vomit, and regretting that he didn't. He pushed the door open fully and stepped back into the driving rain, almost forgetting to drop the eyewear back down. There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, he lamented as headlights glided into view beyond the fence. At least he wouldn't be needing any more coffee to keep himself awake for the work ahead.

Lightning flickered in the clouds above, sprinkles dashing Henry's face, causing him to blink. He felt lightheaded, weak, all the strength in his body having been sapped by the thief, seemingly fueling the shepherd as he carried the otter all the way into the hotel and up the stairs. Thief had taken the liberty of leaving Henry in the car as he went inside to pay, so as to be able to carry him directly up to the room without interruption. The romance was not lost on the young male, despite his weakened state and shoddy thought process. Each stair climbed quickened the rate of his beating heart, his mouth confusingly dry and salivating at the same time, an uncomfortable pressure stretching at his jeans. Thief said nothing the whole trip, but Henry could almost hear him grinning, his tail wagging.

Finally, when it seemed he would die from embarassment at having been carried such a distance like a sleepy pup, he heard an electronic whirring and lock change, the hallway ceiling above him shifting to a wallpapered room. The entire journey from the club he had refused to lay eyes on his captor, until this moment, when he was laid gently upon the bedspread and Thief climbed atop him, fixing his gaze on Henry, trapping him in those pools of glistening amber. The tuft of black hair hung low, brushing over Henry's forehead, tickling it.

"I don't think I can wait much longer, boy...better give me my answer, quick..."

It was the first time Henry had truly heard Thief speak, his words lost in the music at the club earlier. The sound tightened his chest and pants alike, hushed, lightly accented, and oozing with amorous intent. He held his breath, confused, unsure of what to say. To his despair he waited to long, and he opened his mouth to speak and breathe simultaneously.

"Guhhh...!"

The canine smiled devilishly, raising himself up on all fours above Henry, tail twirling behind him.

"Certainly never expected a name like that...what an interesting family you must hail from..."

Henry flattened his ears, struggling to speak, but managing only a whisper. "I don't remember you asking that..."

Thief cocked his head to the side. "At the club, my offer. I said all you had to do was give me your name and I would take care of the rest."

Henry was sure his reddened cheeks were visible beneath his fur. "I...it's Henry...Jarvis..."

Thief kept smiling that smile, and Henry knew his heart would give out any second. "Very nice to meet you, love...I wager my first guess was right on the money, then?"

The otter swallowed hard, working to figure out what the shepherd was talking about. "Your guess...that I'm, uh...it's my..."

"That it's your...first...time?" Thief chuckled. "By the way you're dressed, I don't suppose you were advertising yourself too much...though I suppose it's a good thing you found me when you did before someone of unsavory character stole you away from me forever..."

Henry wanted to look away, pretend to be uncomfortable, knowing every second he spent staring up at the larger male he gave away another piece of himself, revealing more of who he was.

"I'm thinking to myself...you came out to him a few weeks--no, days ago, and he did what any good friend would do by taking you 'shopping...'" Thief lowered himself, drawing his paw up to Henry's collar, hooking a claw under to unfasten the top button of his shirt. The distance between their bodies was shrinking too fast for him to comprehend, and he had to ask:

"How do you know all this?" He mentally chided himself, unable to keep the childish wonder from his voice.

"Same way I know..." Thief's other arm had slipped from view, and Henry couldn't help but squeak as he felt the heavy paw cupping his rump, over his back pocket. "...where you're hiding this..." The shepherd pulled away, raising the condom up between their muzzles. "Your friend told me."

Henry groaned, feeling incredibly stupid upon hearing this, as it was so painfully obvious. Thief chuckled yet again, and worked on prying open each button in turn, until the otter's chestfur was exposed. "No, I don't claim to have any kind of magical powers over virgins...though apparently, that's not the case with you." The dog dipped his muzzle, nosing over the creamy bellyfur before pulling back the fabric to drag his rough, wet tongue over a nipple. Henry gasped, claws digging into the beadspread, heart trilling gleefully in his ribcage.

"In fact, I'm willing to bet that money your friend gave me that not only will you do every little thing..." Thief pulled open the rest of the shirt, pushing the sleeves down Henry's arms towards his wrists and tugging it out from under them to toss it away. "...that I tell you to do, but when everything is said and done..." Now he was playing with the otter's waistband, testing the elastic, the integrity of the zipper that stood as his last line of defense against external forces. "...You'll beg me for more, won't you, Henry..?"

Their eye contact still had not been severed, and there was only one conceivable course of action he could take--he raised his head those last few inches until their noses touched, and he parted his lips, tongue seeking the welcoming confines of Theif's maw. His eyes finally closed, and he felt a rumble in the dog's chest, a paw delicately but firmly keeping Henry's head in place. The tables were turned, his tongue overcome with the heated embrace of Thief's much longer, dextrous canine tool. Their lips unlocked for the briefest of seconds to allow the dog better control over the kiss, forcing his muzzle tightly shut over Henry's, that sweet, overpowering taste of inescapable passion dripping down the otter's throat.

Somewhere close by, or maybe far away, or within his head, a piano was playing, a steady prologue, a rising introitus. Henry was only half aware of himself now, of the way his body responded to Thief's insistent touch, feeling his mind giving itself over, all his defenses reduced to ash and rubble and leaving all that he was and what he could be at the mercy of this creature. There was no action he could take now that would benefit himself in anyway, and he wrapped his arms around to clasp his paws over Thief's waist, the rest of his small, weak form going limp beneath the canine.

"You're ready."

The shepherd even spoke for him now, and Henry could only nod, eyes mercifully closed, that smug face imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He opened them, just once, to burn that image in permanently, and was greeted not with smugness, but tenderness, an almost pained expression of willful desire. Something akin to regret, a requiem for that approaching moment, that neither would ever experience again. This was the face, sorrowed, joyful, blissful, that Henry wanted to stay with him forever.

The violins, cellos, playing at his heartstrings, they brought the requiem into its crescendo, and he closed his eyes, innocence bound and tied now, awaiting its fate. Thief had already unbuttoned his jeans, the zipper creeping down, the denim fabric pulling away from Henry's furred legs. His blunted pillar stretched at his undergarment, crying silently to be released, to be handled. The shepherd removed those briefs from their stronghold, tossing them away, the quivering otter-shaft drooling its intent. A paw tightened around his girth, and Henry's entire body quaked, legs dragging themselves up to fold open, presenting everything he had to offer to this devlish thief.

He opened his eyes, and saw Thief had already discarded his own shirt as well. Toned, rippling muscles greeted his eyes, sexy and fearsome beyond belief, the deceptively thin dog having undergone physical training of some sort far surpassing anything that could be bought with anything as cheap as a gym membership. His broad chest heaved, and his chiseled arms planted themselves on either side of Henry. The dark fabric of his slacks was strained and distended, yet he made no attempts to free himself. It was obvious what he wanted, and Henry could only hasten to oblige.

The otter's paws deftly unclipped the button securing the band, and pulled down at the zipper, an equally tented pair of boxers pushing their way out, the shape of his canine length visible to Henry's wanting eye. He opened his mouth to gasp as he slid down the boxers, and the final word of lustful objects presented itself for his judgement, Thief's throbbing member pulsing in harmony with Henry's. The dark patch of pubic fur, the cream-coffee sac drawn tight over twin orbs. Henry withdrew his paws, folding his legs up even wider, the silly little condom long forgotten. Thief dropped his hips, setting his sights, eyes focused in on his prize. Without a word, he looked back to his catch, that smile slowly overtaking his features again, and he advanced, taking what was rightfully his in a single fell swoop.

Henry felt a sharp, stomach-jarring stab inwards, and then it passed, replaced by something incredible, a serpentine euphoria that coiled up his spine and warped his perception. His eyes were wide open, but he saw very little of anything, colors blurring all around him. The face of the shepherd came into sharp contrast to this, his eyes frowning, but a moan of intense satisfaction escaping his lips. Suddenly, Henry found his voice again, and a noise unlike any he had ever made rose from within him. A hollow pleading, one that seemed to warm his insides, cast shivers over his flesh. It was the signal Thief needed, and the hound buried his claws into the sheets, rooting himself in place. The otter felt himself spreading, opening wide for the dog, back arching and pushing his belly up to collide with Thief's. His pulsating rod was cemented between their bodies, and his legs worked around the shepherd's waist like vines, rubbery arms rolling back and forth weakly over his sculpted chest.

The pumping began, slow at first, the slicked piston working back and forth within his depths, loosening his tensed muscles. It found its way deeper and deeper, until Henry squeaked, feeling almost as if he could swallow it. Thief's breathing became steep, laborious, until it devolved into guttaral grunts and growls. His hips brushed, then slapped against Henry's rump, the otter crying out to numb himself, lessen the sheer intensity at which this pleasure violated his sensibilities. It only served to make matters worse, his squeals of delight humiliating him, elevating the pleasure to ecstasy. Thief obviously felt the same way, as Henry's cries fueled his movements, thrusts growing vigorous and emphatic. The time for tender romances had past, and now primal mandate had taken over.

Henry had scarcely any time remaining--his forgotten member, sandwiched so tightly between them, had been grating against Thief's furred stomach, and now its own needs had become prevalent. Were he not in such a helpless state he would undoubtedly be servicing himself in a frenzy, but as it were, the dominant male above him was in control of everything he did, and his actions dictated Henry do nothing but keep himself open, allow himself to be used completely. Thief bucked his hips rapidly, eyes lidded, panting, control lost completely.

An ominous pressure was building under Henry's tail, and a previously clouded understanding of canine anatomy became crystal clear to him. A warning sign flashed behind his eyes, and he pawed desperately at the tuft of dark chestfur above him.

"Wait, wait, your--I can't--"

"I know, I know...!" Thief breathed impatiently, his paw leaving the sheets to plant itself under Henry's tail. It gripped the swollen knot, keeping it at bay, preventing him from harming the inexperienced young otter.

Henry's attention was drawn back to his own crotch, and to the urgency built up within him came to a head--his head, in fact, as he clenched down in alarm, fearing an embarassing release mid-coitus. His efforts failed, and he drew himself up as close as he could to Thief's torso, spurting into his soft, downy fur, a tiny, raspy squeak accompanying the throes of his first orgasm.

The thief had won. He whined in strained satisfaction before his own climax smashed into him, the canine howling in victory, a gush of blistering heat welling up within Henry, filling his bowels. Thunder crashed outside the hotel room window, and the two lovers were sated. Thief lowered himself, blanketing the otter with his body heat, whining in his throat. Henry's legs slipped ffrom their perch, and he lay limp, eyelids growing tired and heavy impossibly fast. His innocence had been robbed from him, the thief taking away who he had been piece by piece. Henry knew he could never be happy until he had taken absolutely everything there was to him, and owned him completely. As he fell into slumber quicker than he ever had before in his life, he was vaguely aware of a wet tongue caressing his muzzle, begging in vain for a final kiss.