Jonathan Fox
There was once an inn called The Silver Tooth, and it stood deep in the golden fields of Plover Downs. The animals who still remember it have very little to say about it except that it was a place of very poor reputation. It wasn't an uncomfortable place to stay; to the contrary, it was quite jolly and hospitable, and the strength of the ale they brewed was unmatched for miles around. Nor was it a place for creatures of questionable morals or disposition; weary travelers in search of a night's lodging could rest easily within its walls without running afoul of thieves or cutthroats. However, it was known throughout the country -- for that was how far its reputation spread -- as a place where males could satisfy their lusts with other males. Many assumed that it was a brothel, although clearly it wasn't; affairs were settled strictly between the inn's guests, and very rarely involved the exchange of coin. Still, because of these unsavory practices, many travelers would avoid The Silver Tooth, sometimes traveling many miles out of their way or pressing on without rest.
But for those who stayed -- or indeed, those who sought it out -- The Silver Tooth was a place of humble hedonism. Every night, a great fire would be lit in the fireplace, warming the entire inn and filling it with the smell of burning oak. The dining hall would come alive with song and dance to rouse even the dullest of spirits. There was always plenty of good food and ale for round after round as the night waned away. Lonely bachelors would meet each other and retire to their chambers in pairs, warm and content, to make love until long after midnight as the inn slept. Morning would come with hot breakfast, and the revelers would be on their way, some never to meet again, carrying only the fond memories of a holiday spent with a friendly stranger.
It was on just such a cheerful night that Jonathan Fox stopped to rest his weary legs at The Silver Tooth. A great deal of dust covered him, for he had been walking many, many miles that day, and so he spent a long moment at the door, slapping it from his clothes, his dark russet-orange fur, and his great, proud, bushy tail. When he was as clean as he was going to get, he slipped through the dining hall, between tables of animals engaged in song and stories and card games. Being such a plain creature, he went largely unnoticed as he reached the bar. Once there, he sat himself down, set his knapsack on the floor, and ordered a good, substantial dinner for himself.
When he was good and full, his eyes began to wander about the room in search of company for the evening; it had been some time since he'd last visited the Silver Tooth, and he was positively aching for a good romp. More than a few handsome candidates passed by his stool, but alas, none would reciprocate his modest advances, being already engaged or else simply not fancying him. At last, Jonathan realized there would simply be no helping it tonight, and as he was dead tired from his travels already, he called for the bartender so that he could pay for his food and drink and retire to his room.
"Thanks just the same," the bartender, an old otter, told him. "But the gentleman over there has said that he'll be paying your bill tonight."
Surprised, Jonathan looked to the other side of the room. His benefactor was resting in an armchair facing the fire, and he was such a sight that Jonathan could scarcely believe he'd missed him before. For one thing, he was a dragon, with dark green scales and a great crown of short horns along the back of his head. A dragon was always a peculiar creature to meet, being naturally disinclined to engage in common society, and in fact most animals believed them to be entirely mythical. For another thing, he was dressed in fine clothes, by all accounts a well-to-do gentleman. It was unheard of to see a member of the gentry at The Silver Tooth, as they were understandably resentful toward its common lodgings and mean reputation. Perhaps that was why Jonathan's eye had glanced over him, discarding him as some figment of the imagination. Perhaps that was also why there seemed to be a halo around him which kept all other animals at bay. Not, it seemed, that he minded his solitude as he sat back in his chair, with his bare feet propped up on a stool where he could toast the soles over the fire. Two great wings were folded neatly against his back, and his long, barbed tail hung over one arm of the chair, swaying distractedly to the music that was sung all around. Presently, he turned one yellow, reptilian eye to Jonathan as though he knew he was being watched. The hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth for just a moment, and then he turned toward the fire again, watching pensively as the blaze crackled.
Jonathan was rather awed by this attention from such an unexpected admirer. "What do you suppose he wants from me then?" he asked the barkeep, stunned.
"Why, only the usual thing, I would imagine," the otter grinned, and then he took his leave, for one table was beginning to loudly request another round of drink.
Much encouraged and bristling with curiosity, Jonathan gathered up his knapsack and set off toward the fireplace to introduce himself properly to this stranger. The dragon's eyes flitted just a bit as he began to move, followed by the entire head as he drew nearer. The look in those yellow eyes was intent and intrigued as they took a long, slow tour of Jonathan from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. They felt and even tasted him with their gaze, lingering fondly as they crept through his bushy cheekruffs, traipsed across his chest and stomach, and caressed the edges of his hips. Jonathan could feel his ears blushing bright red from the attention, though he didn't mind it a bit; the dragon seemed to like what he was seeing, and it helped him to feel a bit bolder.
"Good evening to you, your Lordship," Jonathan said, having had a bit of practice in the proper way to address gentlemen.
"And a good evening to you as well," the dragon said with a gracious nod. "But please, there's no need for formality; it hardly befits a place such as this. Come, sit and warm yourself with me by the fire and let's talk."
Jonathan did so, seating himself comfortably on an armchair that stood next to the dragon's. He had no footrest, but he was so antsy that he couldn't have kept still on one anyway.
"So what is your name then?" the dragon asked when he was as settled as he was likely to get.
"Jonathan Fox, sir," Jonathan said. "Of the Dover Foxes. A fine family if I say so myself, long respected. And what may I call you, sir?"
"Fnarog," the dragon said, enunciating his name with an accent which, Jonathan conjectured, must be unique to a dragon's tongue, for he had never heard another animal speak quite the same way before. "And what are you by trade, Jonathan?"
"Oh, anything you like, sir," he remarked earnestly. "I've spent a year in the shipyards and another year as a sailor, six months as a fisherman out at sea, seven months serving a carpenter, four months serving a blacksmith, and nine months serving a tailor. I've been at times a cook, chimney sweep, bootblack, barber, and bartender. And of course, I was brought up to farm, so I've learned it well enough that I could if I chose, but I've sought my fortune elsewhere."
"Rightly so," the dragon agreed. "And it sounds as though you are a good laborer. But how are you employed presently?"
"Well, I'm afraid you've found me between adventures at the moment, sir," Jonathan explained. "You see, I've just quit a job at a gentleman's stables; the wages were fair and the work was to my liking, but I've found an itch lately to be on the go again, and so here I am, taking some time from my travels to pay a call on The Silver Tooth. I always try to stop in whenever I can find the excuse."
"As do I," Fnarog agreed with a soft smile, and now Jonathan could see that he had many sharp, silver teeth in his mouth. "I'm just returning home from business of my own and thought it would do me some good to step in and socialize. One never knows who he might meet here."
"Indeed, one never does," Jonathan beamed, finding his tail suddenly unable to keep still. "I was much surprised and grateful that a stranger should want to pay for my supper; it really is unusual to see such generosity among animals these days."
At this, Fnarog leaned forward a bit closer. "Well, I saw you sitting alone at the bar, and I thought that I should like to get to know you a little better. Of course, I make the offer with no obligation whatsoever; if it pleases you, you may be on your way and nothing shall be held against you for it."
Jonathan grinned a bit wider and found that his toes couldn't be kept still either. "And why should a gentleman such as yourself want to know a poor common fox who's brought himself in from a mad jaunt across the countryside?"
At this, the dragon grinned, and the firelight danced across his silver teeth. "Well, I must confess that I have a certain fondness for young, healthy todds such as yourself. It's been an age since I've had a fox to keep me company. It was my intent to invite you up to my room to share my bed with me and, barring any objections, to give you as thorough a ravishing as I am capable of." At this, he reached over and placed a paw on top of Jonathan's. The palm was thick and weathered, and each digit ended in a neatly hooked claw. It glided slowly over the back of Jonathan's paw, gently tickling the short hairs with its caress. "Again, holding no obligation to you whatsoever."
Jonathan's ears pricked up. "Well, obligation or no, I can hardly object to an offer like that," he said, beaming wide.
"Well then," Fnarog said approvingly, "Come with me to my room and let's consider the matter settled."
He rose to his feet entirely without haste, and Jonathan lingered behind for just a moment to admire the gentle sway of his tail as he walked and to imagine the mass of his buttocks rocking from side to side with each step he took. /Such good fortune!/ he thought to himself. /Here is an animal who will treat me well./ With a light spring in his step, he gathered up his knapsack and padded off after the dragon. As there was no disguising their purpose, the two animals caught more than a few knowing smirks and an occasional toast in their honor from those they passed on the way to the stairs.
It was twelve steps up, then down the hall and sixth door on the left to reach Fnarog's room. Jonathan was admitted without ceremony and invited to make himself comfortable on the bed. The accomodations were rather rough and plain, but for Jonathan, there couldn't have been a more welcome sight. Seeming to forget his weariness, he left his knapsack on the floor, draped his cloak on top of it, and lightly hopped up into the middle of the bed. He stretched out on his back for a moment, rather glad to finally be off his feet for the day.
Fnarog had already begun to disrobe, and Jonathan watched the proceedings in silent anticipation. The dragon removed one garment at a time, folded it with practiced grace, and neatly set it aside. His every movement was carefully paced and dignified, even as he reached his very innermost articles and a rather plump bulge presented itself in the front of his pants. Clearly he was no creature of leisure; Jonathan could see that his muscles were toned and well-defined. It was hypnotic to watch his scales flow across them as they tightened and stretched, twisting this way and that as the dragon worked. Finally, the last scrap of clothing slid down to Fnarog's ankles and he stepped out of them, letting his swollen penis hang proudly in plain view. And what a marvelous beast he was to Jonathan! Even stripped of his fine clothes -- indeed, possibly because of it -- he seemed strong and lordly. His every feature was sharp, stark, and reptillian. Though his hide belied much age and weathering, he held a firey virility in his stature and demeanor. Jonathan's face flushed up in the grand realization that he would be taken by this magnificent animal, and he suddenly found himself at a loss, fumbling for his own shirt before he was suddenly stopped.
"Now now," Fnarog said with a raised paw and a voice both commanding and offering. "Allow me."
He sank to the floor with a soft click of claws against wood and stalked a great circle around the bed, growling low in his throat. He seemed just as much at home on four feet as he was on two, moving with an intent, animal grace. /This is what it must be like to be a hunted animal,/ Jonathan thought, his pulse racing as he stared back into those slitted eyes. A part of him was suddenly quite nervous, and yet he was held transfixed, eagerly awaiting the dragon's intentions, whatever they were.
Content with his quarry, Fnarog lept up onto Jonathan's stomach, pinning him squarely in place. He seated himself on Jonathan's thighs with a soft purr. Jonathan found that he couldn't budge if he wanted to; the dragon was a surprisingly massive animal, and they sank deep into the bedding together. The claws gripped him and peeled him like a fruit, discarding one after the other his shirt, trousers, and undergarments until he lay soft and bare beneath the looming dragon, his fur fluffed up high.
And when he was completely naked and vulnerable, Fnarog began to taste him. It began with the long, forked tongue that snaked from the dragon's lips, probing through the bushes of fur to savor the tender flesh beneath. Then came the teeth, raking against his sensitive skin and giving him a pinch here and there to assess his tenderness. The nibbles began on his chest and steadily advanced along his neck. Poor Jonathan shuddered at the first bite, then began to whimper as they became quicker and more intense. /What have I gotten myself into?/ he wondered. /I think he intends to eat me up!/
But he gave no resistance to what felt so right, so natural, not even as the dragon's wings unfurled, not even as four claws bound him fast to the bed. Had he been put under some sort of spell? These warnings should have sent him into a panic, given him the strength to fight off this aggressor or the wits to scream for help. Instead, he submitted to them utterly, gave himself over to the mercy of this ravenous beast that held him fast against the bed. His blood grew hot, but what should have been fear became desire. His loins grew warm and expectant, cozying shyly up against the massive reptillian groin that held it pinned. And he knew at that moment that the dragon had well and truly captured him for his own.
And so, when Fnarog's jaws crept up the underside of Jonathan's chin and suddenly seized his entire muzzle -- engulfing it completely between his scaley lips -- Jonathan's reply was neither terror nor anger. He merely moaned once and swept his legs to either side.
And then he was penetrated. Deep and hard and without remorse.
Fnarog bucked eagerly, hungrily, growling deep in his gut. His eyes shone down on Jonathan's, never breaking their gaze with his. Jonathan panted from the corners of his mouth, eyes glazed over. He had been the object of many a wandering male's lust before -- and indeed, he'd ravished his fair share of handsome fellows -- but never, never had it felt like this. His hands reached up to seize the dragon's buttocks, yearning to feel the grinding of his great muscles. The lips withdrew from his muzzle, and he missed them deeply, suddenly aching to be within their embrace, just to be a closer part of this animal.
And then, an earsplitting roar shook the windows. Jonathan's teeth chattered as he felt the orgasm flow through his body kinetically. Every muscle in Fnarog's body tensed and vibrated, focused on a singular intention. Jonathan wept as he felt it, the sensation of heat penetrating him deep inside as the dragon pumped his last few strokes.
Soon enough, the roar subsided into a low growl. The fire in Fnarog's eyes dwindled and vanished. Slowly, hesitantly, the dragon began to move again. It was all that he could do to dislodge himself from Jonathan's undertail and slump to the side of the bed, defeated at last by the force of his own exertion.
"Could you be a good lad and open a window?" the dragon murmured. "I think we could do with some fresh air in here."
Jonathan put his nose to the air. A thick musk hung in the air, smelling strongly of reptile and brimstone, mingling with his own vulpine stink into an oppressive, pungeant reek. He smiled in cozy self-satisfaction; there was also a healthy whiff of his own fresh seed, spent across his belly in the grips of passion. It was a grand and powerful odor, and its message was clear to any animal who should smell it: a dragon and a fox made love here. But after all, it wouldn't do to choke on it all night.
Still a bit dazzled, Jonathan found his footing, stumbled to the window, and opened it. The night had turned black, with nothing to drive back the darkness but one lone lantern at the front of the inn, dutifully protecting them with its dim ball of light. Jonathan had been feeling the changes in the weather coming for several days now -- the smells of dying summer carried on the wind, the call for all animals to settle in once again and find shelter for the coming winter. Poor Jonathan could never bring himself to heed its call. The autumn months always drove him mad with restlessness. His spirit rebelled against the soothing call, urging him to find that open road one more time before it was covered with snow, to make a start of things before it was too late. And now, as he sat before the window, he could smell the growing chill in the air. It went straight from his nose to the marrows of his bones and froze them. The wind was beginning to show its reproachful side, scolding him for his mad adventures, for not finding his winter lodgings in due course as all the other animals surely had by now. He knew it was right; every year he was becoming worse. The day was fast approaching when he'd find himself with nothing, cursing himself for leaving his places of comfortable employment on a fool's whim.
As the room became, by degrees, cooler and fresher, Jonathan shuffled back toward the bed. The dragon blinked at him thoughtfully, as though he'd been watching the entire time. With a sigh, Jonathan returned to his place in bed. He wasn't settled very long before he felt four claws reach for him and wrap around his body, pulling him up against the dozing dragon. Tenderly, the dragon began to lick him behind the ears, stroking gently with lash after lash of tongue. Jonathan closed his eyes with a soft "mrrm" of gratitude. He'd never known such a comfort; the dragon's embrace made him feel more safety and security than he had ever before. But he had only a moment to appreciate it before he fell soundly asleep.
***
It was late in the morning when Jonathan awoke. A warm, agreeable glow still lingered in his muscles, and it was made all the better by a slow, gentle scratching on his rear. The points of the unseen claws raked through the fur and across his flesh, lingering especially around the root of his tail. He gave a little whimper of appreciation, beaming from cheekruff to cheekruff, before he even opened his eyes.
"And good morning, Jonathan," Fnarog murmured. "Will you be coming to breakfast, or are you content to sleep your day away?"
Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. Fnarog was sitting by his side, casually palming his rump. He had gotten dressed already, much to Jonathan's disappointment; he /had/ been rather hoping for another embrace before they had to be off again.
Jonathan rolled over and sat up with a tongue-curling yawn. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, curling his tail into his lap and straightening out the hairs. "I didn't realize it had become this late. And..." He grinned sheepishly. "... Well, last night was a bit more than I had expected."
"I do hope I did you no injury," Fnarog said. "I sometimes forget myself in the middle of things."
Jonathan reached down, assessing the integrity of his tail hole with one fingertip. "Well, it was nothing I couldn't handle," he said proudly.
Fnarog smiled gently. "Well, I really must be off shortly. I've been away from home for long enough as it is, and I suspect I'll be wanted before too long."
Jonathan nodded sadly. It was the trouble with this place. It was always so wonderful and exciting to meet a kind stranger for forbidden fun and games. But when morning came, where would it leave you? The Silver Tooth's magic dissolved in the broad sunlight, leaving you on your own again as the miles grew between you and your lover. It was simply the way of the world that such things would never last. Many had tried to devote their lives to the Silver Tooth and its endless revelry, but Jonathan had been wise enough not to succumb to its siren song. After every joy, there must come an equal sorrow, so it was best not to linger at such places for too long.
"However," Fnarog said, "If you would be good enough to gather your things and get dressed, I should like to talk with you over breakfast before I am on my way."
Jonathan's ears perked. He was a sly fox, all right, and he could tell when something was up. Though the dragon demonstrated casual composure, there was a twinkle of eagerness about him that Jonathan couldn't quite place. His curiosity piqued, Jonathan clambered into his clothes and followed Fnarog down to the dining hall.
There was no disguising the dragon's high spirits as they sat down to breakfast. He ate his sausages and eggs with great relish, making no secret of the longing glances he gave the fox across from him. Jonathan, for his own part, blushed modestly at all the attention and concentrated on his buttered toast. He had never been an especially vain fox, but he did /so/ like to be enjoyed.
At length, the dragon set down his coffee and looked Jonathan intently in the eyes. "Now then, Jonathan. Am I correct in believing that you are entirely without obligations? No family to return to, no employer awaiting your return?"
"None at all, sir," Jonathan said. "I'm my own fox at the moment."
"And where did you hope to find yourself at the end of your journey?" Fnarog asked.
"I don't rightly know, sir," Jonathan admitted. "At the moment, my compass is pointed for North Birchwood; it's not far off, and there's generally enough domestic work there to last me through the winter."
Fnarog nodded. "Well, I have a proposal for you," he said. "You see, my personal servant has recently left me, and I have yet to find a proper replacement. And I must admit..." Here, Jonathan felt three cool, scaley toes slip under the sole of his foot. The dragon spoke with a grin on his lips and a growl in his throat. "... I /have/ become rather fond of you." The toes began to gently rub against his sole, sending little excited tingles up his leg.
Jonathan's ears stood straight up and his eyes went as wide as saucers. "Are you offering me a job?" he asked, incredulous. "But I... I've never /been/ a personal servant before."
"It isn't difficult work," Fnarog assured him, "But it will keep you busy. I need someone who will wait on me and fetch things for me and do odd jobs around my home. And of course, to bed with me at night."
Try as he might, Jonathan couldn't keep his mouth from stretching into a wide grin at the prospect.
"I shall pay you well, of course," Fnarog said. "Room and board as well as a modest personal wage. And you may take your leave whenever you like, if you find that the desire to travel seizes you again."
"I should like that very much, sir," Jonathan said, his eyes shining. Here was his fortune made at last! Room and board and the company of such a beautiful, friendly animal -- all of it was too good to be true. Such a lucky thing that he should happen by the Silver Tooth just at the right time to meet this gentleman! Perhaps his mad inclinations to wander could be trusted after all.
Fnarog pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and neatly wiped his mouth. "Then let us consider the matter settled. Come along to the stable with me; we shall depart at once."