VERSE SEVEN: TEMPTATION

"Bloody Hell!" The door had slammed behind Natasha, catching Damon off-guard. He'd whirled around to face her, a towel around his shoulders and his paws fumbling to finish doing up his tattered pants... Shirtless, again, though in hindsight he didn't have a shirt to wear, again.

Natasha swallowed hard and forced herself to tear her gaze from Damon's physique - she could make out the toned muscles on his abdomen from across the room even through the dark shadows of his fur - and set her tray on the dresser.

"I've brought you some lunch mon- Damon," she corrected herself before the end of her sentence, then turned to face him with a smile. Her eyes might have wandered when she did. For his part, Damon was unaware of this, lost in his bewilderment.

"Do you never knock?" He asked, and by the way his ears were pinned back against his head Natasha could tell he was blushing.

"I've knocked before - when we first met," she pointed out. Damon didn't seem to know how to respond to that and busied himself fastening his pants.

"I...I don't have a damned shirt. I mean, unless I had one on me when you brought me in this morning?" When he couldn't worry his pants any longer the fox wrapped the towel he had around his shoulders and tried his best to cover up with it. Natasha found his shyness a little endearing and nibbled her bottom lip as Damon tried to hide his pierced nipple.

"Non - I'm afraid zere were only a few scraps of fabric left of it. Monsieur Vulpecula..." 'Tasha knit her brow and frowned a little. "He was not happy about that..."

"Can't blame him," Damon grumbled. His ears pricked up a little as his attention shifted to the tray Natasha had placed on the dresser. "Well, in the meantime...that...that smells really good, luv," the fox admitted, grimacing when his stomach gurgled once again.

Natasha giggled and bade Damon sit, whirling to heft the tray again. The skunkette danced nimbly over to the small table near the window, nudging her history book to the side in order to set the tray back down. She hummed; bracelets, necklace and earrings jingling while she swiftly set the table and Damon took a seat across from her.

"It's nothing fancy," Natasha thought aloud, splitting the garden salad into separate servings in two small bowls. "Just something from our lunch menu...but I made sure to select the biggest cut of steak I could find for you - the better to break your fast, oui?" 'Tasha could see the hunger in the fox's widened eyes as she lifted the cover to unveil two picturesque medium-rare steaks, tastefully seasoned and accompanied by minimal garnishes. She skunk-girl slid her plate out from beneath Damon's and took the smaller of the two cuts of meat for herself.

"It smells amazing," Damon gurgled, slurring a little from salivation. Natasha couldn't keep from smiling at him.

"I'll make sure to give ze chef your regards then, oui? But do taste it, at least," she encouraged. Not that he needed it. Damon was already scrambling for knife and fork, digging into the steak so hurriedly it was a wonder he hadn't set upon it with his bare hands. Natasha didn't mind, however, and continued setting the table while her dining partner tucked in.

She popped the cork on the small bottle of wine she'd brought along and poured them each a glass, then made sure the basket of baguettes was easily accessible in the middle of the table before finally taking her seat. The she-skunk took some time to brush her tail, smoothing it out a little after sweeping it aside to make her seat more comfortable. She set about dressing her salad then, smiling across the table at the fox, who had already wolfed down more than half of his steak.

"Careful, Damon...you can have my steak if you're still hungry after yours," she offered, smirking around a sip of her wine.

"Mmf, you sure?" he mumbled around a mouthful, and Natasha didn't mind at all in light of his hunger.

"Oui; I don't need a very big lunch, today," she assured him while starting in on her salad. Damon nodded and resumed his attack, seemingly too intent on the complete destruction of his meal to make conversation.

---

They ate in silence - or relative silence, given Damon's rapacious hunger - for a while. Natasha didn't do well with quiet. She fidgeted and played with her tail between sips of wine and working at her salad, and she worried her lips with her teeth and toyed with her bracelets and bangles. Eventually Damon's assault lost some momentum after he'd worked through both steaks and most of the bread basket, so when he moved in on his salad more sedately 'Tasha ventured to break the silence.

"So...Damon," she mused, and he looked up almost as if he'd forgotten she was there, a piece of shredded lettuce dangling from his lip. Natasha smirked and continued: "What do you plan to do with yourself, then? You are on ze lamb, yes? Why come to France? To Paris?" The skunk-girl sat back with her wine, savouring the warmth it left in her belly.

Damon seemed perplexed and it took him a little while to respond. He chewed contemplatively on a mouthful of almonds and mixed vegetation.

"I'm not certain, really," he said at last. "I came here mostly to run...to get out of the UK. I just...didn't want anyone coming after me." He paused to wash down his meal with a mouthful of wine, then shifted and sat back in his own seat with a sigh. 'Tasha caught a glimpse of his pectoral piercing again but was too busy listening to him to pay it much attention.

"...It's not as though my chances of staying free are much better, here," Damon admitted glumly. "Really, if I'm not in Britain, or the UK, where could I be? France is going to be one of the first places they look...bollocks."

Natasha chewed her lip a little harder as this brought her to her next question, and she wondered why her stomach felt so...tight when she asked it. Why?

"...You are going to leave Paris, then? Leave France?" she nearly gasped the words and felt a hot flush creep up her neck. It was embarrassing how anxious asking that made her feel.

"I'll have to," Damon replied, steely-eyed as he stared at Natasha across the table. Her ears wilted, but it was his words rather than his delivery that was the cause. 'Tasha felt her belly twisting into an anxious knot as he continued: "Sooner, rather than later. But I'm sick of running."

"Perhaps you don't need to?" Natasha ventured hopefully. "I could...I could help you hide, for a while," she offered hopefully, but she felt her ears disappeared into her hair completely when Damon shook his head. Why not?

"I'm sick of hiding, too," Damon growled. I need to go back to Britain and find out what's really going on. I need to get to the bottom of everything that's happened... I need to find the person responsible for Miranda's death."

The hurt that had been obvious when Damon bared his soul to her earlier was all but gone. In its place this new, resolute Damon emanated an aura of grim determination and...something else... No.

Natasha knew she didn't want Damon to leave. They'd only just met and he seemed such a nice and interesting fellow. More than that, however, she wasn't certain she liked this other side of his that was rising to the surface. She didn't like the notion she had that if he were to go back it might breach with a furious violence.

"And then what will you do?" the skunk-girl wondered, surprised by how hushed the words were as she breathed them.

"Part of me would like to say I'm not sure," Damon said after a moment's hesitation. "But another part of me knows for certain. I'll kill him. Or her. Them. Whoever it is, whoever it was, however many of them there are. I'll make them pay..." There was a smouldering darkness in his eyes while he spoke. Monsieur Vulpecula was right, of course, you stupid girl.

Natasha felt her heart sink and she fidgeted with one of her bracelets. She was struck by the sudden realization that perhaps she didn't know Damon quite as well as she thought. But he has a good heart...I can feel it. I know it. She'd seen it, after all, hadn't she?

"But...you do not look like a killer to me, Damon," the skunk-girl ventured, swallowing nervously as she met the fox's dour gaze. Surely this vengeful streak was just a product of the terrible pain he'd been through. Her heart skipped a beat as that serious expression of his cracked for a moment, then gave way to a genuine smile.

"I don't, hm?" The fox wondered, "why do you say that?"

Natasha returned his smile and felt her ears lifting, swiveling forward hopefully. "A woman's intuition is never wrong, oui?" she offered. But then to assure him and perhaps herself, she added, "I can tell you're a trustworthy person, Mons- er, Damon." Thankfully he didn't pay any heed to her lapse in familiarity.

"And how can you tell that, luv?" Damon wondered.

Natasha wrinkled her brow and squirmed in her seat. "I just...can," she whined softly, frustrated by her own lack of articulation. "It's just...it's just a feeling, monsieur," she lapsed again, but she was struggling to find the right words to express her feelings and irritated by her inability to do so. "You know how feelings are, oui?" She perked her ears and looked to Damon optimistically. He chuckled, smiling still, and that much warmed Natasha's heart at least.

"I suppose," he said noncommittally and then downed the rest of his wine. "Though I'll admit, right now the strongest feeling I've got is that I could really go for a smoke..."

Natasha sat up quickly and beamed, more than happy to help. She'd come prepared, after all... "Well, monsieur," she cooed, lifting the cover from the small dessert plate that had thus-far gone ignored. There on the plate lay an unopened package of cigarettes that she'd relieved from Michael, the cook, in her foray into the kitchen. I suppose I should have remembered to tell him about that... Oh well.

Damon let out a happy bark of surprise, eyes wide and ears standing up alertly. He leaned forward to snatch them up, tearing into the packaging while Natasha continued: "I know it is not your usual brand, but it was all I could find on-hand..." She'd hoped he wouldn't mind and was thankful that did not seem to be the case, given his enthusiasm.

"Honestly, luv, I couldn't care less..." he worked the top of the carton open and sniffed at the contents with that keen nose of his, closing his eyes appreciatively. "God, 'Tasha, I could kiss you for this," Damon chuckled, and then he did exactly that.

It wasn't a romantic kiss.

He simply leaned across the table and took Natasha's face in his paws pressing his lips to hers in a quick, friendly peck. Nevertheless, the mephit felt her heart skip again when their lips came into contact, a brief jolt of electricity running up her spine.

Without even thinking about it Natasha reached up to grasp the back of Damon's head, burying her slender fingers in the silky hair behind his soft ears. Damon jumped with a bit of a start and hesitated, and Natasha gripped him tighter, keeping him from falling back into his seat. Her eyes had closed of their own accord, so she focussed on holding the kiss, even if the fox didn't return it in his surprise. Eventually his slower recline back into his seat pulled them apart.

Damon sat back down with an expression of mild bewilderment. Their eyes met again, and Natasha felt a rush of heat through her face and involuntarily hid her burning ears in her hair.

"Damon, I...j-je suis désolé..." she squeaked, ashamed, and reached for her tail to hide her face in the soft, dark fur. What is wrong with you, you stupid girl?!

Damon spoke after a lengthy silence, and Natasha's ears fluttered indecisively between standing up to hear him clearly and lying flat against the back of her head.

"N-no, Natasha, it's alright. Er, I mean...it...I just... I don't know. It's not that you're not attractive, of course..."

Natasha couldn't see his face, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him in her embarrassment, either. She shook her head, hiding in the comfort of her voluminous tail. "I know, Monsieur Damon, I'm so sorry..." the reply was surely muffled, so Natasha was hardly surprised when Damon brushed her tail out of the way carefully. She let it fall aside.

"No, not at all, 'Tasha." His fingers reached under her chin, lifting it gingerly to meet her gaze, though the skunk-girl did so with more than a little trepidation. "I just...aw, Hell..."

With that, the fox grasped her face again and left his seat and Natasha closed her eyes as he pressed his lips to hers firmly. This time when she returned the kiss, he reciprocated in kind, tilting his head to the side to mouth at her hungrily. Her fingers tangled in his hair again, but then Damon broke away so abruptly that Natasha squeaked in surprise.

"N-no. I should...we shouldn't... I'm sorry, 'Tasha, it's been so long and... Fuck. That...that's no excuse..." He was leaning over the table, paws gripping the edge of it, hovering indecisively. Natasha could see the unease on his face and splayed her ears guiltily.

"I...should go," she offered.

"Yeah, you should," he agreed.

'Tasha bit her lip and moved to stand, and in so doing their eyes met again. By the time she'd made it to her feet Damon's fingers were tangled in her hair and hers in his as they pressed their muzzles together in a warm but eager kiss. She shivered excitedly, feeling his tongue pass over her lips. She'd almost forgotten about that piercing... Before she could explore it further, however, the tongue retreated and the kiss was broken.

"'Tasha, I..." his eyes were still closed, but Natasha could see his internal struggle played out in the conflicting expressions on his face. She touched her nose to his and brushed her thumb-pads over his cheeks reassuringly.

"Mon- Damon," she corrected herself. His eyes snapped open. "I won't mistake this for anything more than what it is," she assured him. Right? Whether she believed it or not, Damon seemed to, and his face relaxed, a thin smile spreading across his muzzle.

"Neither will I, 'Tasha," he replied.

Her heart fluttered at that and she grabbed the sides of his neck, pulling him back into another kiss. I'm a stupid girl. Her tongue flickered across his lips, and when they parted it delved past them, seeking out that piercing of his. I'm a stupid girl, but I don't care. This feels...

Natasha squeaked, the kiss and her train of thought broken simultaneously. One of Damon's paws had found its way to her chest and it grasped there, groping at her through the thin fabric of her shirt. She seldom wore anything underneath, so her nipple responded immediately to the sensation, prodding at the fox's palm-pad.

He seemed interested in this but instead of pursuing it further Damon wrapped his arms around Natasha and spun her about, lifting her clear off her feet. She squealed, experiencing a momentary bout of vertigo which gave way to nervous giggling as she then found herself on her back, having been all but tossed into the bed. The sheets were still unkempt from Damon's restless sleep and for a brief moment it occurred to the maid that she really ought to rotate them for fresh linens...

Further thoughts of housekeeping were swiftly banished from the skunkette's mind, however, as her vulpine companion leaped upon her with another firm kiss. She returned the gesture heatedly and blinked as he swiftly pulled away. Damon's pointed muzzle was at her neck, then, and Natasha tilted her head back accommodatingly, gasping softly as he nibbled at her vulnerable throat.

His paws were exploring her body again, sliding beneath her shirt. She arched her back and cooed at the sensation of fox-claws running through her fur. He grasped at her breasts more carefully this time, squeezing lightly while circling his thumbs around her nipples, tracing where her downy-soft fur thinned out over her areolas. Natasha tried to lift her shirt for him but Damon beat her to it, bunching it up hurriedly under her chin.

The mephit gasped, trembling a little. She wasn't bashful when it came to intimacy - she was a good French girl, after all - but as the fox slipped suddenly lower his tongue began to flicker over the nipple neglected by his paw. 'Tasha drank in the attention, writhing slowly in pleasure and pausing to properly dispose of her shirt. She lost a bracelet or bangle whilst tossing it to one side of the bed but couldn't bring herself to care.

Damon's descent continued, and Natasha's paws found their way behind his ears again, grasping there as his tongue teased her navel and she sucked in her belly with a giggle. One of the fox's paws had found its way to her backside and Natasha lifted her hips as his fingers hooked inside the waistband of her skirt and gave a firm tug. The button holding the clasp for the tail-hole snapped easily enough and Damon was able to pull the flowing garment away, discarding it without a second look.

She'd half-expected a comment on her lack of underwear, but when Natasha propped herself up on her elbows to gaze down at her partner he was much too focussed on his goal to make conversation. He pawed momentarily at her great, bushy tail before Natasha flicked it aside to get it out of the way as much as she could. His eyes were screwed shut, brow furrowed in concentration as he nudged her thighs farther apart - though they needed little persuading - and the she-skunk wondered briefly if Damon's quiet concentration stemmed from she shyness she'd seen him display earlier...

The Parisian girl didn't have long to dwell on the thought. Damon's pointed nose had nudged the mound between 'Tasha's legs and she gasped audibly as it touched against the sensitive little nub hidden over the entrance to more intimate parts of her anatomy...

The gasp seemed a favourable response given the fox's reaction. He made a low, pleasant murmuring sound as he pressed his muzzle there again and nuzzled between the skunk-girl's thighs, sending little jolts of pleasure through Natasha's body. She gasped each time there was a particularly favourable nudge, and her fingers were lost again in Damon's silky hair as he grasped her thighs and pressed his snout right up against her, inhaling deeply.

Natasha tried to say something, but all she could manage was another squeak as Damon's tongue snaked out across her nether regions. It did so again, and this time that piercing of his made contact with the she-skunk's clitoris, which had emerged as a result of the fox's prior attentions. He continued to repeat that action and others like it, and all Natasha found herself able to do was groan helplessly, rolling her hips involuntarily toward that pointed muzzle and nimble, pierced tongue.

Damon hardly seemed to mind the rhythmic movements of her hips. In fact, he began to pull at her backside, kneading his fingers over her rear and the outside of her thighs, his claws leaving trails in Natasha's fur. She skunkette moaned softly and threw her slender legs 'round Damon's back, drawing the fox's well-toned body nearer, her toes curled as he continued to attend to her sex so diligently.

Again, Natasha tried to speak. This time she managed a breathy "Damon!" before his tongue made her forget whatever she might have wanted to say. Her mouth hung open and the Paris girl tossed back her head with a throaty groan as that agile fox-tongue pressed its way between slick folds, delving into the narrow passage therein. She wasn't sure whether he meant to do whatever he was doing with that piercing of his while he worked, but... God!

She was barely able to register a shift in position, but at some point Natasha's weight was put into her shoulders against the mattress. Damon had climbed into a kneeling position before her, and with the elevation that brought he had lifted her hips up into the air. His strong arms were hooked around her legs, which were in turn draped over her shoulders, and Natasha groaned uncontrollable as she watched from her low vantage point.

Damon's muzzle was pressed right up against her, his nose wrinkled as he nuzzled insistently and sent forth his tongue with deep, probing thrusts. It flicked and twisted and curled inside her and 'Tasha felt the fox's oral adornment tease spots she'd never have thought it could reach.

Her tail thrashed mindlessly against her partner's exposed midriff and across a telling bulge in the front of his pants. The mere knowledge that what he_was doing to _her was doing that to him drove the skunk-girl into further fits of passion and she clutched at her own face, palms covering her eyes as she tossed her head back. Natasha gave an impassioned - if inarticulate - voice to the fire Damon was stoking hotter and hotter in her loins.

"Ah! Hah! H-hmmh...mmh!"

Completely in the fox's thrall, her body bucked and squirmed against that muzzle, that tongue, those paws... You're a stupid girl, 'Tasha, and you shouldn't be doing this with a...a man...you hardly...know...taking...advan...tage...of...him... The internal self-chastising was giving way to shameless indulgence. Natasha was losing the ability to string together coherent thoughts, never mind spoken words.

She was lost. And she didn't give a damn.

I smell like a girl.

Avinglad frowned. To his acute sense of lupine smell the complimentary shampoo he'd found in the cramped bathroom was cloying and noxious. Still, he'd suffered it rather than walk out onto the street to find where he'd managed to park his van, reeking of sewer the whole way there and back. He still needed to do something about his teeth, but at least the otter had had some mouthwash for him to borrow. Smelling flowers and tasting mint, the big wolf followed his erstwhile companion down the creaky stairs to the tavern's common area.

He didn't trust the otter.

Then again, he didn't trust many people at all and he had good reason not to. At any rate the otter - Kaw, he reminded himself - remained for the time being more help than hindrance. At least if it came to blows Avinglad felt confident he knew how that would end.

Avinglad's scruffy partner led the way to a circular table with a couple of high chairs situated between the far end of the bar and an empty booth. It was secluded without being tucked away in a corner and gave full view of the room. Well, full view to whomever sat facing the door. The wolf's nose wrinkled in mild irritation as Kaw swiftly nabbed that position.

He's smarter than he looks, at least.

"So," the otter began, drumming his paws on the table as Avinglad took his seat. He hardly had to bend his knees, where Kaw's feet dangled some centimetres from the floor. "Here we are - bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the crack of...four. Well, your tail's bushier than mine. You must've slept better."

Avinglad grunted. His evening hadn't been entirely restful given the uncomfortable chair and the injuries he'd sustained. He wouldn't have felt right asking the otter for use of his bed, though, and had been too tired to care besides.

He took the opportunity to glance over his shoulders and size up the large space. It was more crowded than he'd have expected, given the time of day. Avinglad didn't much care for the locale or its clientele - the sooner they could get this 'meeting' with the management over, the better. He had more important things to be doing.

"How's the face?" Kaw wondered, and Avinglad looked back at him. The otter shrugged, brushing a curl of hair from in front of his glasses. "I forgot to ask, before. It...looks like it hurts."

Avinglad touched the stitches absentmindedly, feeling them out. He'd had to administer them himself since Kaw had looked about to faint. "I've had worse," he concluded. It would have been preferable to cover the injury up a little, but Avinglad didn't much fancy the notion of having to worry about adhesives and the fur on his face. At least the injury to his arm was hidden by his overcoat and hadn't required anything sticky to bandage. The coat itself did have a few puncture marks to show for its encounter with Damon's jaws, but the thick, tough fabric hadn't had any blood soak through. Just as well, given its pale cream colouring.

Kaw looked ready to say something else, but both of them were caught off-guard by the stranger who sidled up to their table.

"Messieurs," he said, his voice soft but stern.

At least, Avinglad had thought it a 'he,' at first. On closer inspection, he wasn't so sure.

The border collie was small for a man, slimmer even than the otter and shorter, too; probably around 170cm. He dressed masculine enough in a dapper (if dated) dress shirt and vest. The fedora was a little much. That aside, the stranger's features were androgynous, leaning feminine, and when Avinglad noted the dog's earrings he wondered if this fellow was naturally so soft-spoken. Is he wearing eye-liner, too? That was more distracting even than the newcomer's blue and brown heterochromia.

The stranger placed his paws on the table - delicate paws with slender fingers. Avinglad noted the nails were painted and curled his lip in distaste.

"Monsieur," Kawauso greeted the newcomer amicably.

"Mademoiselle," the collie corrected. Kaw nodded and took it in stride.

"Mademoiselle." He must not have noticed the stranger's...queerness, given how oblivious to it he seemed. Perhaps not so observant, Avinglad thought, and forced himself to give the border collie a curt nod in acknowledgement.

The collie...fellow...nodded once and clasped his paws together, fingers interlocked. Avinglad shifted his arm away from those painted nails.

"Bon après-midi - je me dit que vous parlez français, oui?" The dog wondered, and Kaw shot an uncertain glance between him and Avinglad.

"Je le fais, oui, mais mon partenaire... You don't speak any, right? French?" The second part of the otter's response was a question directed at Avinglad.

"No," the wolf grunted.

The border collie rolled his eyes and Avinglad felt compelled to do the same but managed to keep the impulse in check. He was rapidly losing his patience, however, with this effeminate Frenchman and his attitude.

"Very well, messieurs," the dog began again in a thick French accent. "May I get eizzer of you somesing to eat or drink? On ze house, as zey say. Wine?"

"Beer," Kaw replied immediately, adding, "and something hearty to eat, s'il vous plait. You serve fish an' chips?" The collie nodded in response, then looked to Avinglad.

"Beer's fine. An' a shepherd's pie or whatever you've got that's closest to," he deigned to respond. He was hungry, after all.

Another nod, and the collie lifted a paw to snap those slender fingers. A serving girl who had been lingering by the bar made her way over and stood there long enough to receive their order. The French was all Greek to Avinglad, who looked at Kaw across the table while the transaction took place. The otter shrugged, mouthed something like 'free food' and gave two thumbs up. Avinglad couldn't keep from rolling his eyes, that time.

But what's the damn catch with this poofter? He wondered.

The serving girl was dismissed soon enough and their newest companion at the table pulled over a chair to take a seat. Avinglad shifted uncomfortably and tried to generate a bit more distance between himself and the canine. In so doing he managed to catch a glimpse of a strap beneath the collie's vest and he noted the tell-tale outline that accompanied it. Fucker's packing heat.

"So," the dog began "you may be wondering why I am here."

"If it's about the room, it's my bad I didn't mention having a guest," Kaw offered. "But you can tell your boss there," and he nodded toward the bar, which was being tended by a fox who was doing his best to seem like he wasn't trying to keep an eye on the three of them. Avinglad knew better. That must have been the Mr. Vulpecula about whom he'd heard. "You can tell your boss," Kaw continued, "that I'm sorry, and I don't want any trouble, but I've already paid him up front and I know it wasn't some regular rate."

"It's not about ze room," the collie responded dismissively, and the otter blinked.

"Oh, right," Kaw said. "What, then?"

The collie looked at the otter long and hard for a moment. Kaw glanced to and fro uncertainly, ears twitching. When the dog turned his unamused gaze on Avinglad the wolf bared his teeth a little but otherwise remained silent.

"Well, if you have not seen ze news, you would not know zat zere was a razzer high-profile terrorist attack, right here in Paris. Just last night." He said. Kawauso wilted a little in surprise and Avinglad moved in to keep attention from the otter with a gruff response.

"Aye, and?" the wolf wondered. The collie turned to look at him sternly, but Avinglad held his eyes and they regarded one another with their own cold, calculating gazes.

"Ze famous Cathedral at Notre-Dame, a symbol of our lovely city; she was attacked and damaged. A number of people were killed. A tragedy," the dog insisted. Avinglad huffed.

"Ah'm sure...lad. But what's it to do with us? Alter our tourist plans?"

"Non, messieures," the collie shook his head. Those stupid earrings jingled. "But you see, it is suspicious when foreigners are arriving in town and bad sings are beginning to happen, oui? It creates a climate not well-suited to business and gives sings an air of uncertainty... And we do not deal well with uncertainty."

"No one does," Avinglad frowned. "That's all life is, though: one uncertainty after another."

"Perhaps," the stranger admitted tersely, "but we like to...mitigate zis uncertainty however we can. So we seek information..." he trailed off as the server arrived with a couple tall pints of some amber ale or other.

Avinglad shunned his, preferring to await the arrival of his food rather than drink on an empty stomach. Kaw didn't seem to have any such compunction, though he did utter a "wait" before quaffing his beer. Both canids gave the otter the benefit of doing that much for a few seconds.

"Wait," Kawauso repeated, sighing as he set down a glass that was about a third less full. "I agreed to my room with the understanding there would be 'no questions'."

The border collie shrugged. "Perhaps," he conceded, "but your...unexpected guest made no such arrangements." He looked back to Avinglad with a smug smirk.

Avinglad's brow creased in a tiny scowl. Never mind that he hadn't liked the dog from the start: he certainly wasn't about to indulge any details about the incident at Notre-Dame.

"Aye," he agreed, "but I cannae help ye there, lad. Ah've only just arrived I town on business, so I wouldn't know more about it then you." This time it was the collie's turn to frown a little while Avinglad smiled thinly.

"And what sort of business would zat be, monsieur? To incur such...danger?" He raised a brow and nodded in indication to the gouges scored across Avinglad's face.

He'd nearly forgotten about those. The wolf frowned again, but before he could think to reply it was Kawauso who stepped in.

"Oh, that," the otter brushed the collie's observation off and took another long drink from his beer. "Fight club. Got 'im pretty good last night. But he'll get me back for it, eh?" He smiled idiotically while the collie shot him and incredulous look, and Avinglad stared across the table at Kaw, unamused.

"Monsieur," the collie began, and Kaw interjected.

"Look, mademoiselle: you want information. I can respect that. It's a good currency for anybody. But part of the reason I let your boss con me into the rate I'm paying for my room, apart from being dead tired when he did, is that I was promised I'd be given a certain...discretionary courtesy, shall we say? Let's start over. You can call me Kaw." He extended a friendly webbed paw. The collie stared at it for a moment before shaking hesitantly.

"Klisoura," he said. Truthful, if freakish, Avinglad judged. He could tell a lot about an individual - or at least their integrity - by how they introduced themselves. People behaved differently if they were putting up a front in that defining moment.

Kawauso nodded and squeezed Klisoura's paw firmly. "Klisoura? Pleasure. Klis - may I call you Klis? Me and my partner here, Avi," Avinglad bristled but bit his tongue, "we're in town on business, and truthfully it's really none of yours. That said..." the otter paused, then, to drain the last of his pint. "I appreciate the need to stay well-informed. And in light of how - mostly - accommodating this establishment has been to me since I've arrived, I'm willing to help however I can. Bearing that in mind...we don't have anything useful or interesting to say about whatever mess has kicked the local hornets' nest. As foreigners I'm sure you can appreciate we aren't particularly interested in getting involved, either. But we'll keep our ears to the ground, just in case, yeah? We'll let you know."

It took the border collie a few moments to digest everything Kaw had said. His ears twitched intermittently and he drummed a few fingers on the tabletop, gaze flitting from otter to wolf and back. At length he sighed and pushed away from the table.

"Très bien" the canine relented. "Your food is here, messieurs. I will leave you to it. Keep in mind zat information may be exchanged for Euros, oui?"

Kaw waggled his empty glass as Klisoura retreated. "I'd settle for more beer - could we get a pitcher?"

Avinglad muttered his quiet thanks to the server as she set their meals on the table and dispensed with the otter's empty pint. Klisoura waved dismissively on his way back toward the bar.

"Oui, oui, zat will not be on ze house. Bon appetit, messieurs."

By the time the collie had departed Avinglad was already attacking the individually-sized meat pie that had been set before him. More of a quiche than a shepherd's pie... He'd wanted to make some comment or other to the otter, at least for the casual use of a nickname to which he had no right, but it had been impossible keep from wolfing down his meal. He was starving!

"Easy there, big boy," Kaw chuckled, tucking into his basket of fish and chips. "Damn, this is good...thought the food would never get here."

After demolishing half of his pie Avinglad paused to speak.

"That was reckless, lad," he stated, washing some of the pie down with his beer. "You're too glib for your own good. He could probably tell you weren't bein' straight with him."

"Her," the otter corrected, and he rolled his shoulders with a shrug. Hardly, Avi thought. Kaw continued: "but so what? Got 'er to let us be, for now...and we got a free meal out of it." Kawauso contentedly dived back into his meal while Avinglad returned to his own a bit more thoughtfully.

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but ah wouldn't brush him off so easily, lad. The management here seems to have...connections, at least. We don't have to feed them the whole truth, but a little could go a long way...especially if they could help us with Damon's whereabouts."

"I thought you didn't care for liars," the otter observed, nibbling on a chip. Avinglad grunted.

"It's no lie to omit parts of the truth, lad...or something like that, aye?"

"...Aye," Kaw agreed, grinning as he did to a piece of battered fish what otters were known to do.

"So if we think we can glean some useful information from them, it behooves us to do so, laddie. That's all," the wolf concluded. The mustelid muttered something agreeable and they both went back to their meals in quiet.

Well, relative quiet.

Avinglad furrowed his brow disapprovingly as he surveyed their noisome surroundings again whilst downing his beer. He didn't like this tavern or its patrons - or its staff, for that matter - one bit. The sooner they could find Damon and be away from this den of debauchery, the better. His keen canine ears could even hear the tell-tail thumping and muffled moans of unbridled lust somewhere upstairs - at this time of day, even.

Avinglad forced himself to stifle a growl. He would dearly have wished for the ability to wipe a sinful place like this from the face of the Earth, but he'd have to settle with visiting justice on Damon, instead.

Provided they could find him.

"Wherever he's gotten to," the wolf muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the rest of his meal.

Damon felt guilty. Or rather, he had.

It hadn't been because things were happening so fast; Natasha seemed all too willing for that. Rather, it was how soon everything was, in light of... No, that wasn't it, either.

Damon missed Miranda. Of course he did - he still loved her. His heart still ached, gaping and wounded as it was by her absence. But she was gone, and she had been for some time, and Damon had been so lonely, and Natasha...

I should _feel guilty, though._And that was the crux of the matter. What Damon had felt was a guilt rooted in the knowledge that he should have been more reticent about his actions than he had proven to be.

That had faded, though.

When he'd gone down on the Parisian mephit and touched her, tasted her, smelled her... With every kiss, every flit of his tongue, every stroke of his paws, that hesitation had dissolved. Where at first Damon's fingers had been trembling, by the time he climbed atop Natasha to look down into those brilliant green eyes, his claw-tips were tracing smooth, fluid patterns through the fur on her side.

Natasha looked up at him, panting, trembling still from the aftershocks of what had appeared to be a particularly enjoyable climax. She seemed about to say something, but instead her paws grasped at Damon's head, her fingers tangled in his long, silvery hair, and she kissed him passionately. Hungrily.

He obliged.

Damon's tongue speared past the young lady's lips to explore beyond, and her own tongue rose to greet it. She groaned; perhaps at the stud her tongue seemed intent on teasing, perhaps at the taste of herself on his lips. Whatever the cause, it made Damon groan, too.

He had pressed closer to her, and in so doing the bulge in his pants had become intolerably tight and restrictive. Even before they broke the kiss, Natasha's paws managed to find their way to it. Her slender fingers were deft and skillful and she worked the top open rather quickly. Damon hadn't planned for anything quite like this, and so of course his boxers presented yet another obstacle. But Natasha was determined.

The kiss ended and Damon propped himself up a little, looking down as the she-skunk's paws went to work. They grasped at the waistband of his clothing and inched them down while Damon shimmied his hips to assist her. His member swung free as the trousers were nudged down over his ass, and Damon gasped when it came into contact with the downy-soft fur of Natasha's thighs.

Natasha gasped, too. Her eyes widened a little, fixated on what she had helped unleash while she assisted Damon in kicking free of his pants. He wasn't particularly well-endowed, but then Damon had no way of knowing how many fox-cocks the young skunk had seen. It was striking, however; the glistening bare flesh that was exposed when his sheath was in full retreat was bright red and stood out in sharp contrast to the inky blackness of Damon's fur. The gleaming silver barbell ring that pierced the head of his tapered shaft was certainly eye-catching, as well. At that moment it glistened, giving further credence to Damon's excitement.

Not that Natasha needed any encouragement. She cradled his manhood in one gentle but eager paw, stroking it carefully, guiding it to the slick heat between her legs. Damon remembered at that moment that he didn't have any rubbers handy, but Natasha gripped his shoulder tight with her free paw and, when he looked up and their eyes met again he saw that that would not be an issue.

Damnit, that made him harder.

He growled and pressed into another hungry kiss with Natasha, and one of his own paws gripped the band keeping her hair in that neat ponytail, undoing it. Her tongue danced with his again and he bit it gently, eliciting a gasp from her.

That gasp sounded again, sharper, as Damon rolled his hips in an eager movement that carried the end of him into Natasha. She grasped at him, and he at her, and he arched his back to bring his hips in between her thighs, driving deeper into the wet heat of her body. The kiss was broken again, and Natasha's head was tossed back as another push drove Damon near to the hilt.

"Damon!" she groaned breathlessly, and he hesitated, looking down on her through fluttering eyelids.

"Nnnh...'T-Tasha?"

Her eyes flickered and she looked up at him while her claws trailed through the fur of his back. Damon shivered.

"Don't stop, Damon," she pleaded. He flashed a tiny grin.

"Of course not, Natasha." He dived down on top of her then, kissing and sucking hungrily at one side of her neck. She tilted her head to expose more of it readily to him.

His arms tangled around her slender frame, and soon enough Damon's hips began to piston between her legs with smooth, steady strokes. He groaned each time the snug warmth of her body encased him, every push eliciting a similar sound from the young skunk's throat. Damon panted and nipped softly at Natasha, and in turn she threw one of her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Oh God, what that did to him.

He swung his hips in faster, and his knees spread, digging in behind Natasha's thighs to tilt her waist back. She wrapped her other leg around him and Damon drove in against her harder, driving tiny, squeaky breaths from her lungs.

The fox growled in reply, and Natasha only egged him on by running her paws down his back to grab at his ass, tugging urgently. He needed no such encouragement but, happy to receive it, the male vulpine readily ploughed the willing she-skunk.

The lewd sounds of their rutting were drowned out by Natasha's high, whimpering moans and the bed-frame thumping against the wall. To add to the din, Damon snarled louder still and muffled the noise only by latching on to the side of Natasha's neck with a rough love-bite.

She groaned and tangled a few fingers in the hair behind Damon's ears, but the way her hips bucked and rolled to meet his continued thrusts told him the bite was not unwelcome. This was just as well, since with every wanton, submissive whimper, Natasha was stoking hotter and hotter a deep, burning desire in Damon's chest...and something else, too.

The Briton growled and raked his claws down 'Tasha's back, scoring a few light marks just beneath the fur. She groaned and clung tighter to him, and Damon turned his head aside from her neck to pant heatedly against her shoulder. He had to, for fear of biting hard enough to break the skin on her neck.

He wanted...more, somehow.

Something inside him reveled in the intoxicating indulgence that came with the power he was wielding over her, and her willingness to yield to it. There were flashes of something else, too; darker impulses that Damon fought back with a growl.

To keep from heeding them he redoubled his efforts, pounding his hips harder between Natasha's legs, inching her back along the mattress while he took her. She gasped and clutched more desperately at him still, her own claws digging into his back, threatening almost to break his skin.

"Damon!" She cried, and he felt her body tremble around his as the skunk-girl crested another wave of pleasure. Between that and the flurry of motion that was his hips driving against her it was no wonder that Damon felt his knot begin to swell.

That canid bulb at the base of his shaft grew thicker with alarming swiftness until it began to provide considerable resistance to his ability to fully enter her. Damon growled like a feral beast and swiveled his hips, grinding the knot hard against Natasha's entrance. Her limbs gripped his body tighter in response and she voiced a breathless "yes!"

Which was fortunate; she wouldn't have been able to stop him if she'd tried at that point.

Another snarl, another savage cry, another few rough pumps...

Finally there was a rude wet 'pop', and Natasha squealed as Damon made the tie with his knot. Their bodies tethered thusly, he lasted only a few more intense moments of frenzied thrusting before he, too, finally reached his summit.

"'Tasha!" the fox groaned, tossing his head back in a wordless snarl, teeth clenched. He trembled all over, his entire body wracked by a series of spasms that robbed him of his breath. So he held over Natasha, shaking and gasping hungrily for breath in time with the pulses of wet heat he unloaded into the body of the mephit beneath him.

His ears were ringing by the time he came down from that peak, and Damon's golden eyes struggled for a moment to focus on the face of Natasha as he fell back down onto his elbows.

The French girl looked haggard. Her hair was a tangled mess, her body twitching and trembling while she struggled to bring her laboured breathing to heel, and her eyes were similarly having difficulty attempting to focus on Damon's. She smiled up at Damon and drew his body down against hers, embracing him warmly, panting against the inside of one of his pointed ears.

"Damon...mon dieu," she remarked, and he felt that great, bushy tail of hers sweep over the small of his back, almost like a blanket.

As the heady sensation of orgasm began to subside, doubt gnawed at the edges of Damon's mind.

But the guilt was gone.