These City Lights
Author's note: Another story done for the wondrous Tlapa - partially for the character portraits he did me, but also partially for being pretty much the best person ever. I...mostly keep my gushing personal, so here it is. The characters of Marcella and Amand are his property; all others are mine. This takes place later in my general canon, though again, you don't really need to read anything else (except maybe Quite By Chance, to which this is a sequel) to make sense of it.
This is for you, dear Tlapa. Thank you, so much.
And, well, for anyone willing to enjoy it, of course. As always, critique is welcome.
A long, heavy, chesty sigh seeping out his muzzle, Dennison arched back in his seat and turned his head back toward the window.
Nobody spoke; the bus rumbled with heavy silence and the baritone growl of its engine. The dim streets of twilit London rolled by the window, all oily shadows and aggressively glaring lights. The white ferret crossed his paws in his lap, giving a quiet grunt of annoyance as he felt clammy form of the immensely stout human beside him shuffling about in his seat, breathing heavily.
Time passed, and the bus rumbled on; the dimness beyond the window grew thicker.
Then, abruptly, with a shriek and a thunderous grunt, the bus ground to a halt. Beyond the window, through the dimness, Dennison discerned the smeared Plexiglas of the bus shelter which marked his usual stop.
And yet, as he once again grew aware of the burning heaviness in his gut, and of the dull pain clamping down upon his brain, he found he was unable to will himself to his feet. His limbs ached, his eyes flickered and burned; and even has he felt the heavy, fleshy mass of human rise from beside him with a grunt and shuffle noisily down the aisle, even as he heard the doors hiss shut, even as he felt the bus lurch forward beneath him and begin groaning its way down the road once again, he could not even bring himself to look away from the window.
Heavy and despondent, he sat motionless, watching indifferently as the bus rolled past the narrow little side road that lead to his apartment. His ears had grown almost numb to the roar of the bus's engine, which had melted into a sort of groaning tinnitus; and, as the shadows and shapeless glares of the streets began to blend into each other, the ferret had very nearly forgotten where he was when a slender, downy paw came down upon his shoulder, its lengthy fingers sinking into his fur.
"This one's not taken, then?" a smooth, yet throatily accented purr said from above him.
Even then, it was another moment or so before Dennison could persuade himself to break his unseeing stare from the window and glance up; and though it showed little outwardly, he could feel his breath catch in his throat, and his teeth sink into his lip.
The figure that stood over him, wrapped in a broad, stout, dull-coloured overcoat still damp with London drizzle, was a young vixen - a strikingly young vixen, her fur grey, and white about her mouth, and red about her eyes, and with long chestnut locks tumbling down her neck...
Dennison drew his tongue over his lips, and returned her gaze; and for all his sudden bewilderment, his strange heaviness continued to weigh him down, and he could not bring himself to do anything but stare.
Smiling widely, the vixen unhesitantly slid into the now-empty seat beside him, which still bore a distinctly sunken dent. "Good to see you again too, dear," she purred, a suppressed titter ever so vaguely audible beneath her smooth tone.
Slack-jawed, Dennison stared mutely back at her. His head remained heavy, and he had neither any inkling of what he ought to say, nor any drive to think of it. Thus, after staring a moment, he simply turned his eyes back out the window. As it was, he hardly expected this - whatever it was - to last long.
"Must say, I didn't expect to run into you in a place that smelled so little like seaweed," she purred on in his ear. "So...Dennison, wasn't it? You've been alright?"
The ferret let out a long, stiff exhalation. "Good...good memory," he burbled wearily, half to himself.
"Eeeh, well," the vixen said, her growing smile audible in her voice, "there's a lot of...I mean, remembering a name's a powerful thing, isn't it? I mean, it's such a damn simple thing" A delicate, controlled giggle. "I mean...I stick my name at the top of every damn page of my site, and I still get guys calling me...'Maureen', or 'Millie', or...you know, dreadful stuff like that. Or...you know, sometimes shouting all these completely wrong names. I mean...I know there's a lot more interesting stuff on that site than my name...and, you know, I don't mind that it comes off as them thinking the only important thing about me is...I mean, I know my talents..." - another giggle, this one rougher, harsher, more forced - "...but still...it's just rude, you know? So...I try not to do the same to anyone else." Another titter - this one quieter, milder, almost deliberately restrained. "Besides, we...our last little..." - once again, those fluffy, spindly fingers squeezed down upon Dennison's shoulder - "...our last meeting was...pretty different, even for me, don't you think?"
Dennison's jaw stiffened, but he kept his gaze fixed upon the window; and impulsively, he flinched slightly as he felt her fingers tug gently at the badge sewn into the breast of his collared shirt.
"Security?" she said, a casual note of surprise rising briefly in her voice. "Given up the cop scene, then?"
He licked his lips again, stiffly. "It...it didn't work."
"...I see," she said after a moment; though her smile was still audible, her tone was far more measured. "Well...hey, there's so much stuff out there that's just not for everyone - 'specially the stuff that we just romanticise too much. Seen plenty of that in my line of work, goodness knows. You realise it before you're dead, you know, and...well, you give yourself a chance to be happy."
The bus ground to a halt beside another shadow-engulfed bus stop; down the aisle, the door hissed dramatically open.
Once again, a set of thin, furry fingers sank into Dennison's shoulder. "Three stops from here, dear," she said. "Don't make me drag you off. Scrawny little anthros like you can't do anything on a dark street except walk into things."
His head down, his gut more heavy and burning than ever, his eyes to his feet, his nose filled with the scent of musty, unaired corners and carpet-trapped filth, Dennison thudded his way, slowly, deliberately, semi-consciously, up the heavily carpeted stairway, at the top of which the vixen stood, still wrapped in her overcoat, smiling down patiently.
As he reached the top of the stairs, she playfully snatched at his upper arm and tugged him up. "I'm sure I've got plenty of sympathy to spare you, honey, but I'm not gonna dish it out just because you're mopey." she chirped; and with that, she hastened her way down a still, silent, dimly lit corridor equally thick with carpet. Dennison continued to shuffle after her unhurriedly, eyes still to the floor, paws in his pockets.
Hesitating beside a doorway some yards ahead of him, the vixen abruptly stopped; and pulling a key from inside her overcoat, she twisted it in the lock and pushed the door ajar. She glanced back down the hall at Dennison, still smiling patiently, but bouncing on her toes.
"You really that broken up about this, dear?" she said cheerily as Dennison reached her. "I've seen some seriously shattered men light right up at the idea of spending a night with me." And gently, she took Dennison's upper arm, and tugged him along as she made her way into the room. "You didn't put all your self-worth in a badge and an uniform, did you, honey? Because that's setting yourself up for some...some serious existential crises."
Dennison swallowed a snarl as he stumbled passively into the room after her, slumping against a wall as she strode in and flipped on the light. The interior was an unremarkable two-star affair - a wardrobe, a few chairs, a white-sheeted double bed, a narrow strip of brownish carpet beneath it, and walls papered in a dull navy which, in this low light, did a sufficient job of concealing the grime smeared across it. The curtains that hung on the far wall were of an almost-matching dull blue; and the scent of ancient cigarettes and floor polish hung thick in the air.
Glancing up, Dennison caught the vixen's gaze; she smirked over her shoulder at him as she shrugged off the overcoat and flung it onto a nearby chair. A familiar white blouse hung over her torso, accentuating her delicate, yet alluring curves as generously as ever; and the leather of her thigh-high boots, despite the dimness, glistened ever so slightly, clearly cared for well.
"Look familiar?" the vixen said, gesticulating toward the room as she turned back to him. "But, you know, I like the whole...rustic thing. Always made it much easier to transition, you know, back when there was a good chance I'd have to spend the next night sleeping in a doorway. Plus, you know..." - another titter - "...you always feel less guilty about leaving stains in a place like this."
Nodding, Dennison let another long, low exhalation leak out of his muzzle. "Got...got anything to drink?" he heard himself burble.
Leaning her head back slightly, the vixen flashed a particularly toothy grin as she let out another titter. "What, and give the louts here another excuse to pad out the bill? Please. Besides..." - she hesitated a moment, and Dennison thought he detected a brief flitter in her smile - "...besides...you don't seem like you need any more of that at the moment, honey."
Dennison's gaze jolted up; and in spite of himself, he felt his upper lip curl into a brief, impulsive snarl.
The vixen, however, held his gaze and her smile as she sauntered toward him, now and then giving her hips an exaggerated flail; and as she reached him, he gave another impulsive wince as she raised a paw and gave his whiskers a gentle tweak. "I'll get you some water, alright, honey?" she said; and gliding her way passed him, she slipped into the bathroom, the door falling delicately shut behind her.
Staring unseeingly outward, Dennison stood still and silent for a moment longer; then, with yet another sigh, he stumbled forward, and, barely consciously, made his way toward the bed. Kicking off his shoes, he sat down upon it, and with a groan, he lowered himself onto his back, the network of ancient springs beneath him groaning in protest as his head sank into the pillow. The burning in his gut had not receded, but it seemed to ease ever so slightly as he lay flat; and with his gaze to the dim ceiling, he suddenly became fully aware of his exhaustion. He let out an impulsive yawn; his eyes flitted and misted; and a formless heaviness began to press down upon his limbs and head...
A tight pinch sank down sharply upon the tip of Dennison's muzzle, and a violent jerk flailed its way through his body as consciousness rudely returned to him. His eyes jolting open, he saw, as the grogginess cleared, the familiar face of the grey vixen, grinning toothily as ever, hovered over him.
"Not just yet, honey," she chirped, as, with a chesty and thunderous groan, Dennison pushed himself into a seated position. "You owe me a_little_ more than that, don't you think." And seating herself on the bed beside the ferret, she slid one soft, fuzzy arm about his shoulders, and, with the other, pushed a glass of cold water into his paw. Dennison sipped it absently, carelessly looking the vixen up and down as he did so. She had removed her lengthy leather boots, and her thin white blouse seemed, by some bizarre means, to be not so much clinging to her as hovering a fraction of an inch above her furry contours...
The vixen's paw came up ever so gently beneath Dennison's chin; and, still smirking, she raised his gaze to meet hers again.
"Feel like talking about why you left, honey?" she said, half-whispering.
Dennison took another sip from the glass, and turned his eyes to the carpet. "Not really," he said stiffly.
The vixen nodded, her smile growing slightly mellower. A moment passed in silence.
Dennison took another sip. "You...been back in London long, then?"
The vixen playfully ran a finger through the fur of the ferret's cheek. "You're still not getting any client names, dear. Not unless this is one of those imbeciles who decides to film it and then gets hammered and sticks it on Facebook or something." Another titter. "You know I've had ones that really do that?"
Dennison sat silent, staring blankly into the dim ripples in the glass.
"Like I said, I really don't think much of London - you know, the Soviets did the whole concrete-and-rain look a lot better," the vixen went on, "but, well..." - her voice dropped again, and for the briefest moment, an airy wistfulness entered it - "...but I...I didn't have to leave my little lone wolf alone again...doing that once, you know, it was enough..."
Impulsively, Dennison glanced up at the vixen, eyebrows cocked.
The vixen smiled back. "I mentioned him to you, didn't I?" she said coolly. "My poor little lone wolf...all these months later, and I still can't get him to put that great curvy backside of his on my site." Another giggle - sharper, yet somehow tender at the same time. "Which is...really one of the main reasons I keep having to leave him behind when I go off to see the clients...I mean, not often, but...it's always _too_often, you know?"
Dennison took another sip from the glass, his eyes not shifting from the vixen. He said nothing.
"Mind you...I really thought I'd have him to myself these next few days," she murmured; her voice dropped, and for but a second, Dennison was almost sure he discerned a hint of malcontent in her tone. "But...well, as it turns out, he...he bumped into a friend from...back home...you know, the great melting pot of London, and all...and, well...he's off to see him for the night. Probably won't be back until tomorrow."
She twirled a lock of chestnut hair in her dark-furred fingers, tugging stiffly at it in a manner that seemed more strained than playful. "So...once again...you find me...well..."
Dennison took one last swig, draining the glass; and turning to the vixen, he felt a smile creep its way up his muzzle for the first time in what felt like weeks. "'...like an overwound toy car in an abandoned nursery?'" he offered.
The vixen stared blankly back at him a moment, then leaned her head back and let out a throaty chortle. "You saw that, did you?" she said. "Yeah, that...look, being wound up like that turns your brain to mush, okay? I'm...I usually handle poetry a fair bit better than that." She gave a smiling sigh. "I'm starting to rethink the Twitter account, honestly. I mean, I know it gets views, but I'm not sure I'm on the level of being able to fit anything...anything really poetic in to a hundred and forty characters..."
As he gently placed the empty glass on the floor, Dennison, his eyes still upon the vixen, managed his own chuckle. "Eh, I've...I've hella enjoyed it." he murmured unassumingly.
The vixen's smile grew slightly. "Really, now?" she said passively.
Dennison gave a smiling nod.
Sniggering merrily, the vixen clamped her slender arm tighter about his shoulders. "Can keep it up another week or two, at least, I guess." she said. "A little extra joy in the lives of men like you...can't say no to that."
Dennison smiled back a moment. "What's that, then? 'Men like me'?"
The vixen stared another moment, then tugged impishly at the ferret's ear. "Men who need any sort of joy they can get," she said flatly.
Dennison gave another nod. They sat still a moment, exchanging silent smiles. Ever so slowly, the vixen allowed her paw to wander upward and give another tug at the badge sewn into the ferret's shirtfront. "So...security." she said again. "Used to...used to fancy myself a bank robber or something when I was a kit - you know, now and then." Another, quieter titter.
Dennison smiled back, somewhat more rigidly. "Yes, well, that's nice...I'm, uh...I work at a clothing store, though, so, you know..."
The vixen paused a moment, then gave Dennison's shoulders another squeeze. "...and day you'll find yourself in the middle of a great big Christmas Sale tussle between a...a slutty she-wolf and a sexy human girl with a thing for cute skinny mustelids..." - another playful tug at his ear - "...and afterwards they'll pick out some lingerie and invite you to the change rooms to decide which of them looks better in it..." - a brief giggle - "...and it'll all be worth it."
Dennison swallowed stiffly, doing his best to fight back a laugh. "Aye...sure," he said through his smile.
Another moment passed. Then the vixen, clamping her arm tighter still about his shoulders, leaned in further. "You and your friends, you, uh...you didn't let slip to anyone about that little free ride I gave you, did you? Not even on some chatroom?"
Dennison grunted out a half-formed laugh. "And I'd tell 'em what?" he said. "That whole evening didn't end very flatteringly for me, if you'll remember."
The smiling vixen gave the ferret's ear yet another cheery pinch. "Oh, come on, you weren't that..."
"Don't." Dennison said; the word came out more sharply than he'd intended, and for a brief moment, he felt his smile flitter. "D...don't...anyway...but yeah, I don't exactly have a whole lot to brag about from that evening...can't speak for Collings, of course, but..."
"I can." she said, her smirk twitching to the side a moment. "I know the look of a man who won't dare do anything as long as you raise your voice about it loud enough - poor dear thing." She sniffled absently. "But, you know, you'll have to forgive my paranoia - it's a...very particular reputation I've got to uphold. Know what I mean? As far as my...general customer base is concerned, my lone wolf has to be the _only_one I give free rides too. Anyone else gets that sort of treatment, and, well, there goes my professional image, see? It's going to start looking like I just dish it out - like, you know, I'm going to just lift my tail for any lout if they take the trouble to track me down and ask nicely. Because I most certainly won't...I mean...unless they time it as well as you managed to."
Another giggle; and climbing to her feet, her blouse fluttering about her in some imperceptible breeze, she stood over Dennison, who looked up in wide-eyed silence.
Delicately she brought her paws down upon his shoulders; and sliding them tenderly down his torso, she began, ever so slowly, to unhook the buttons of his shirt, locking her gaze with his. "Just - I flatter myself, I know, but...try and remember how many men would absolutely kill to be where you are now, alright?" she chirped. "Makes me feel a little less guilty about betraying my professionalism and all."
Dennison gave a smiling nod; and he sat, passive and receptive, as the vixen slowly unbuttoned his collared shirt and tugged it off his shoulders. The fur of his torso, fluffy and white, jutted every which-way in uneven tufts.
Smiling, the vixen stepped back, and cast her eyes up and down the ferret's slender, fluffy midsection a moment; then, with an unceremonious flail, she pulled her blouse off over her head and tossed it aside. The clean white fur that coated the front of her body - far better kempt than Dennison's - bore, even in the room's dim light, a distinctive glisten that Dennison recognised at once. Smiling silently, motionless, his eyes ran across that white patch almost analytically - from the inside of her broad, white-grey thighs, over the furry white plane of her belly, lingering upon the fuzzy mounds of her breasts, hypnotically following the slow, rhythmic waving of her great, brushy tail behind her, tracing the well-defined form of her hips, fixating upon the glinting speck of her vixenhood...
"Lie yourself down, okay?" the vixen said, gesturing toward the pillow. "And I suspect you've outgrown that hair trigger..." - Dennison remained motionless, barely fighting back a snarl and a cringe - "...but still, don't you worry - I'll be gentle as I know how when I'm this wound up."
Dennison extended his paws out toward her, he gave his fingers an exaggerated flex. "'With paws like wet butterflies?'" he said through a smirk.
The vixen let out another unrestrained chortle. "Yeah...yeah, that Twitter account's got to go, I think." she said; and then, stepping forward, she pressed a gentle shove into the ferret's shoulder.
Obediently, Dennison shuffled backward upon the bed and laid himself down again, sighing contentedly as his head sank back into the pillow. A groaning of springs sounded beside him as the vixen clambered onto the bed after him; and carefully, she positioned herself in a kneeling position over him, her glistening vixenhood at eye-level.
Dennison smiled silently up at her. Delicately, she lowered her paws to his shoulders; and he gently grasped at her wrist as she slowly traced her way down his bare torso, running her fingers through the thick tufts of his fur, her paw pads warm against his flesh.
As she reached the bottom of his ribcage, however, she hesitated; and her smile flickered as her finger lingered on a small, thin patch of bare flesh, the fur seemingly singed away.
At once, Dennison's smile faded away, and he jerkily tugged the vixen's paw away. "D...don't...don't." he burbled.
The vixen stared down a moment, slightly bewildered; then, with a warm smile, she continued to trace her fingers down the ferret's torso, carefully keeping them clear of the small bald patch. And as her paws approached his waist, she slickly bent over double, and dug her nose into the soft fur of his belly, inhaling slightly. The ferret's smile returned, and he fought back a childish giggle as he felt the vixen slowly tracing her nose through his fur, gently tickling his flesh.
Gradually, the vixen's nose reached his waist; and as it unhesitatingly slid its way over the front of his trousers, he felt the pounding of his heart hasten rapidly, and the blood begin to surge to his groin.
With deft, practiced movements, the vixen's slender fingers slid toward his waist and unhooked the front button of his trousers. Dennison's blood surged faster, and his vision began to swim slightly. The vixen smiled up at him a moment, her demeanour now mild and warm; then, turning her eyes back down, she slowly began to unzip his fly...
A sharp, dizzying sensation of heat rushed through Dennison's nerves. For a brief moment, every muscle in his body seemed to spasm; and then a sensation of warm dampness erupted about his groin.
At once, Dennison's entire body fell limp. "Oh, no." he murmured under his breath.
Casting a confused glanced up at him, the vixen folded back the front of Dennison's trousers...
"Ah," she said flatly, as she pulled down his boxers and cast her eye over the broad, glistening patch of seed soaking the fur of his groin.
Arching his head back further into the pillow, Dennison folded his elbow over his face. "Goddamit." he heard himself groan in despair.
"Eh...don't worry about it," the vixen said with audible strain; Dennison glanced back down at her as, returning to her kneeling position, she absently rubbed at her bare, damp vixenhood. "It's...it's going to be an itchy night for me, from the looks of it, but...eh...I'm sure we can work something out." Still smiling, she glanced down at Dennison's sodden groin. "Want, eh...want me to give you a hand cleaning that up?"
Dennison stared dumbly up at her; and as the sensation returned to his limbs, he felt a burning flush in his cheeks. In the past few months, embarrassment was one of the many sensations he'd been utterly numb to; but at this moment, he felt like a flustered schoolgirl.
"N...no...no, I'll...I'll just wash up..." he mumbled thickly; and hastily fastening his trousers, he clambered off the bed and hastened his way toward the bathroom, head down, cheeks ablaze, avoiding the vixen's eyes.
Tossing the clammy towel back over the rack, Dennison closed the bathroom faucet and zipped up his trousers; the smell of his seed lingered heavily in the air, and the sensation of thick, warm sogginess around his groin had been replaced by cold, thin sogginess.
For a moment, Dennison stood still, all silent but for the buzz of the single dying lightbulb above his head, mutely returning the chilled, unblinking stare of his reflection in the mirror.
He'd not really _looked_at himself for a fair while now; and already he regretted it. He'd never been fussy about personal presentation, but now he looked truly awful; his fur was madly tousled and twisted, his eyed inflamed and sunken; and though it was difficult to tell through the dishevelment of his fur, he was almost sure his cheeks had grown hollower, his muzzle thinner.
A sharp rapping sounded on the bathroom door. "You alright in there, then?" The vixen's voice, loud and friendly, though with an audibly restless edge, sounded from the other side.
"Mmm...coming," Dennison replied, not breaking his gaze away from the mirror.
"Yeah, well...you keep me waiting too long, dear, and I might start doing things with the bedpost." she called brashly through the door. "Don't reduce me to that, alright?"
Footsteps sounded beyond the door. Dennison stood motionless, staring. His reflection stared back, its watery blue eyes smeared with muddy red, unblinking.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely registered raising his paw.
And without a single conscious thought passing through his mind, he slammed his fist against the mirror, directly in the centre of his reflection.
A dull thud - barely audible - sounded. Dennison stood motionless another moment, his fist pressed against the glass, feeling the chill of it through his fur. Then, slowly, he let it fall to his side.
A small crack - short and fine as a hair - ran through the glass, something damp and crimson dribbling out of it.
Aware, quite suddenly, of a sharp sting in his paw, Dennison lifted it again; and dispassionately, he stared down at the small cut in the side of his paw, rapidly soaking the snowy fur around it in crimson.
Beside him, the handle of the bathroom door rattled and twisted; and Dennison glanced up as the vixen pushed it open and strode brazenly in, still stark naked.
"Okay, look, if you don't get a move on..." she began, stopping abruptly as her eyes fell down to Dennison's paw. Her teeth sank into her lower lip. "Oh, dear," she said.
Dennison leaned silently against the bathroom wall, looking down expressionlessly as the vixen carefully wrapped the gauze about his paw.
She glanced up at him, her smirk slightly crooked. "Not to worry, honey," she said coolly, though Dennison was sure, for a moment, that he detected an uneasy twitch in the corner of her eye. "Lot of guys get pretty emotional after they, eh, finish. I mean, my policy's usually that I charge extra for cuddles, but...sometimes, you know, they're so damn broken up when they're done that I kind of have to let them cry themselves to sleep all over me..." A pause. Taking up the scissors by the sink, the vixen snipped the strip of gauze off the roll, and carefully placed a strip of adhesive tape across it. "And, you know, that's not even counting the times they decide to...react a bit more physically."
Tenderly, she turned his paw about in hers, examining the gauze carefully; then, finally, she released it, and cast another smile up at him.
Dennison stared down at her, mute, his expression vacant.
And quite suddenly, something broke inside him - something overwhelming arose from within his burning gut. His head reeled, his eyes and throat burned; and leaning forward, he let out first a gag, then a loud choke.
And then, unbidden and beyond his control, he felt a chain of ragged sobs claw their way out of his throat. He clamped his eyelids shut and leaned his head forward, his eyes and nose streaming, his face burning, his sobbing continuing, his head too wildly awhirl for him to even attempt to control himself.
The vixen stood in baffled silence a moment. "Oh...hey...hey, hey, hey," she said, her tone befuddled, but tender as she could manage. "Hey, now..." - reaching out a paw, she softly stroked at the ferret's cheek, over his ear, and down the side of his neck - "...is this about the...the finishing-early thing? Come on, for God's sake, I don't care about that - I've seen guys screw up making love in every damn way possible. I can survive another night a bit wound-up..."
A fresh series of hiccupping sobs erupted out of Dennison's chest. "N...no..." he gagged wetly. "It's...it's not...I mean...it's not that...I..." His words died in his throat amidst a sea of phlegmy gurgles; and unthinkingly, he lowered a paw to his torso, and fingered a spot just beneath his ribcage...
In silence, the vixen followed his paw's movements; then, glancing up at him, she gently folded her paw over his. "Look...whatever it is that happened...it won't always be this bad. Not if you don't let it. There've been times for me when...when I really thought the pain would never stop...and it doesn't, really...but it...eventually it's not the only thing in you, you know? The..."
From beyond the closed bathroom door, there suddenly sounded a loud thud, followed by a rapid succession of hammering footsteps. Dennison's sobs momentarily ceased, and the vixen's words died in her throat as she spun about with striking alertness, her fluffy ears erect, her immense brush of a tail swaying tensely back and forth behind her.
"Excuse me," she said stiffly, not looking at Dennison; and at once, she raced toward the bathroom door, grabbing the long, thin black nightstick Dennison had only just noticed lying by the sink. His wave of impulsive sobbing apparently momentarily cleared up, he watched mutely as the vixen hastened her way out of the bathroom - her rigid movements, he could not help but notice, emphasising the firm shapeliness of her well-sized thighs and curvaceous, downy buttocks - and closed the door behind her, a whirl of freshly confused emotions swimming about in his mind.
Twisting the faucet shut again, Dennison vigorously scrubbed the cold water in the fur of his cheeks, ensuring the tear stains were gone entirely. The embarrassment of his little outburst had already caught up with him, and his face burned with mortification; how he'd allowed his restraint to fall so, he had no idea.
Drying his cheeks and muzzle on the fur of his arm, the ferret glanced back toward the closed bathroom door in silent confusion. After the vixen had vanished through it, there'd been a further succession of thudding and footsteps, followed by the exchanging of muffled voices; and now, some vague noises, half-formed, muffled and dull, drifted through the doorway.
For another moment, he stared silently at the door; then, with one more glance toward the mirror, ensuring the dampness on his face was wiped away entirely, he turned; and stepping toward the door, he hesitantly pushed it ajar.
His fingers grew taut on the handle as he did so. In the room beyond, the vixen had assumed a profoundly familiar position: she stood facing the wall opposite the bed, her paws pressed firmly against it, her great tail-brush upright and erect, her back arched at a strikingly curved angle.
And behind her stood another figure, its unclothed body coated in dark grey fur, tall, firmly built, a tangle of thick black dreadlocks flowing from its scalp, its paws clamped firmly into the sides of the vixen's torso, its broad hips jolting as it ground its pelvis against her posterior.
His jaw slack, Dennison watched, transfixed, for nearly a minute. The towering figure, its dreadlocks bouncing about its shoulders, its tail flailing back and forth above its impressively curved and shapely buttocks, was letting out a relentless succession of primal grunts and growls; and the vixen, her head arched back, her eyes clamped shut, her jaw hanging wide, was positively howling with shameless ecstasy, her claws now beginning to dig into the wallpaper.
Then, quite suddenly, the towering grey figure - a wolf, judging by its sharply shaped ears and lengthy canid muzzle - turned its head about. Its gaze fell upon Dennison; and abruptly, a bizarrely high-pitched yelp emanating from its throat, it released its grip upon the vixen's torso and stumbled backward, its dark eyes bulging and fixed upon Dennison, its bare grey body rigid and tense, its dark red wolfhood erect and pulsing, its tip glistening with pre-ejaculate.
The vixen, her yelps of pleasure rudely disrupted, look about her in bewilderment; and following the wolf's eyes toward Dennison, she let out a guttural laugh.
She turned toward the wolf; and smiling fondly, she wrapped her arms about his sinewy shoulders, and murmured in his ear something in a foreign language Dennison couldn't place. The wolf nodded, but did not turn his wide-eyed stare away from Dennison. The wolf's expression, Dennison couldn't help but notice, was oddly meek and docile despite his intimidating build; and as the vixen unwrapped her embrace from about him, and the wolf, leaning down, snatched up some purple-coloured item of clothing from the floor and shyly held it over his exposed wolfhood, Dennison was almost sure that, beneath its fur, the creature's cheeks were burning with schoolgirlish timidity.
The vixen, meanwhile, an amused smile upon her muzzle, a series of glistening stains accumulated on the fur about her bare groin, turned toward Dennison. "Yeah...sorry about this," she said cheerily. "I really should've..." - she gestured toward the wide-eyed wolf - "...I wasn't expecting him back tonight, but...seems he and his friend...finished early, and...well, you know, I'm wound up as all hell, and this knotty bastard shows up out of nowhere..." - a guffaw - "...I just wasn't in the mood for restraint, you know?"
Dennison stared back at her. Still smiling, the vixen looked back at the wolf; and gesturing toward Dennison, she jabbered something else in that strange language. The wolf nodded, and, looking over at Dennison, shot him a bashful, befuddled smile. Dennison nodded mutely back.
"Eh...poor thing...I probably should've told him someone else was here." said the vixen, turning back to Dennison. "He's so...wonderfully shy."
A moment passed. Dennison stared, his paw still on the door handle. The wolf bounced uneasily on the balls of his feet, his anxious gaze flitting about, the bundle of purple clothing still clamped over his wolfhood. And the vixen stood between them, grinning contemplatively, her gaze drifting carefully between the two of them.
Then, slowly, she stepped toward Dennison; and smiling up at him, she extended a paw, and gently kneaded the front of his trousers. And at once, Dennison, snapping out of his baffled half-trance, became aware of the fresh wave of blood surging to his groin, and of the rapid swelling sensation accumulating there...
"Swear to God, there's just something about you that makes me break all my normal rules...goodness knows what..." - she glanced grinningly at the wolf, then back up at Dennison - "...but anyway...it seems like, if you've gotten better at anything...it's recovering. Think you could manage another round, honey?"
Dennison stared. He swallowed. His throat was arid. "I...I suppose." he gurgled feebly as a fresh whirl of emotions spun about within him.
"Good..." - with a deft flick of her thumb and forefinger, the vixen unhooked Dennison's front trouser button once again - "...because I'm going to scream if I don't get some proper filling-up tonight." And as she slid his fly down, she glanced back at the wolf, and spoke some more in that strange language. The wolf's look of wide-eyed bewilderment grew greater, and he let out some formless babbling.
The vixen turned about again, leaving Dennison still staring dumbly, his trousers hanging slack about his waist, and made her way toward the wolf. Embracing him about his shoulders again, she leaned forward and planted a long, lengthy kiss upon the tip of his muzzle. For a moment, the wolf's wide-eyed expression vanished, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the vixen, returning the kiss with a damp noisiness that made Dennison wince.
Eventually, their kiss broke apart, a glistening strand of saliva connecting their muzzle tips for a moment; then the vixen, with a jerk of hear head, nodded the wolf toward the bed. The wolf looked up, and his wide-eyed bewilderment at once returned as he glanced over at Dennison; but as the vixen gently pried the purple bundle away from his wolfhood and dropped it back on the floor, the wolf obediently turned toward the bed, made his way toward it, and lay down upon his back. His wolfhood still jutted rigidly upwards, glistening and throbbing; and Dennison could not help but notice how the wolf's generously curved posterior raised his hips up upon the mattress slightly...
The vixen strode toward the bed; and climbing onto it, she mounted the wolf's reclining body much as she had Dennison's, with one knee on either side of his hips, her vixenhood hovering just above his stiff, quivering wolfhood.
The vixen arched her head down, until her muzzle was hovering less than an inch from the wolf's; and with a greater warmth entering her gleeful smile, she murmured something else in that strange language. Slowly, the wolf's look of wide-eyed unease dissolved into a smile that was warmer still; and he gave a slow, easy nod.
Still smiling, the vixen glanced up at Dennison, who had still barely moved, and jerked her head toward the bed. "Really, really wound up here, dear," she said.
For another moment, Dennison stared. Then, once more with barely a conscious thought in his head, he nodded acquiescently; and grabbing the slack waist of his trousers, he pulled them down over his legs. A self-conscious flush swept over his naked body, and he hesitated another few seconds before slowly making his way over to the bed, the vixen fixing him with a smirking stare. The wolf, too, occasionally glanced over at him, no longer quite as wide-eyed, but still visibly confused and bashful.
Dennison reached the bed; and following the vixen's gestures, he carefully clambered onto the bed's end, kneeling just behind the vixen's lithely crouched form, his knees between the thick, solid, furry grey trunks of the wolf's spread legs.
The vixen smirked over her shoulder at him; and for a moment, the beat of his heart hastening, his flush growing warmer, Dennison traced his gaze down her thick, brushy tail and toward her downy and generous thighs, her rounded, solidly defined, grey-furred buttocks and her damply eager vixenhood, beneath which the wolf's firm red prick pulsed in anticipation, a stout round knot at its base, his fuzzy grey balls beneath it.
"Just remember: stay the hell out of the back door." the vixen chirped at Dennison with a grin; then, carefully, she lowered her posterior downward, and jerked it slightly about as she eased the wolf's thick red phallus into her vixenhood.
Slowly his shaft slid into her; and a yelp of ecstasy sounded from beneath her. Slowly, smoothly, but with an ever-so-gradually growing pace, the vixen slid up and down, up and down the wolf's throbbing red prick, always stopping just above the knot; and arching her head backward, she let out a long, low, controlled moan.
And for a moment, Dennison did nothing but stare, hypnotised, as he knelt behind her. The blood continued to race to his groin, his phallus aching slightly as it swelled. Then, as the vixen's moan died down, she smirked over her shoulder again.
"There's plenty of room in there," she said. "You going to leave me itchy again?"
And with nary a thought, Dennison shuffled slightly forward. Carefully, he folded his arms around the vixen's warm, downy torso, cupping his fingers about the spongy mounds of her breasts, and dug the tip of his muzzle into the soft texture of her chestnut hair.
And then, as her vixenhood slid delicately up the wolf's shaft, Dennison thrust his hips forward, and entered her. The damp warmth of her orifice consumed his member, and an almost equal blend of ecstasy and dull aching erupted about his groin, spreading rapidly through his nerves.
He pulled his hips back, and, grasping her torso tighter, felt her slide down the wolf's shaft; she slid up again, and with a grunt, he thrust forward, re-entering her. Their motions repeated, and steadily Dennison felt a rhythm develop in the motion of his hips. It all felt absurdly mechanical, yet it overwhelmed him with a whirlwind of sensations - the warmth of the vixen's body, the reeling in his head, the simultaneous pleasure and dull aching surging forth from his groin.
Then, quite suddenly, as he pulled his hips back, the vixen arched her head back and let out a piercingly impassioned moan, a violent spam shuddering through her torso as she did so; and glancing impulsively down, Dennison saw the wolf's thick round knot vanish amidst the vixen's damp folds. The wolf himself let out a resounding yelp, and he sank his paws into the grey fur of the vixen's hips. The vixen, her moan lingering, seemed to take a second or two longer than usual to slide back up the wolf's shaft; and as Dennison entered her once again, he was almost sure her vixenhood felt slicker, wider...
The rhythm continued, though slightly slower, the damp sounds of the wolf's knot sliding in and out of the vixen almost resonating across the room, peppered with the wolf's yelps, the vixen's unrestrained moans, and Dennison's own clumsy grunting.
Dennison dug his face further into the vixen's chestnut locks. Steadily, the rhythm picked up pace, then grew faster than before, the vixen's sliding up and down the wolf's shaft growing so rapid that Dennison very nearly couldn't keep up. Her moans grew louder, the wolf's yelps more piercing; and Dennison felt the aching pleasure about his groin grow hotter and fiercer.
And then, as the vixen curved her arms behind her and sunk her paws into the fur of Dennison's thighs, the wolf let out a shrill howl. Dennison felt a tremor shake through the wolf's heavy thighs beneath him; and as he pulled out of the vixen and glanced down, he saw the wolf's prick shudder, and watched as his pearly seed flowed forth, overflowing out from between the vixen's folds, soaking the fur of the wolf's balls, and spilling out over the blanket, its pungent scent filling the air.
The vixen, with a particularly satisfied moan, slid back up. Impulsively, Dennison jolted his hips and re-entered her; her vixenhood was slicker and damper than ever, and he felt a hot, clammy blend of her fluids and the wolf's seed spill over his balls and soak the fur around his groin.
The vixen, this time, did not slide back down; and clamping his grasp tighter about her, his face still dug into her hair, Dennison thrust his way in and out of her, once, twice, three times more; and then, the aching pleasure coming to a height, he leaned his head back, clamped his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and brought himself to a humble climax. He was drained as it was, and he produced little more than a thin stream of seed; and yet, as he sighed, loosed his grasp upon the vixen slightly, and allowed his face to fall wearily into the fur of her shoulder, an odd sensation of warm satisfaction overcame him...
The vixen, looking over her shoulder once again, cast him a familiarly sharp-eyed smile. Reaching her arm behind her, she gently stroked his soft scalp and fuzzy ears; and leaning backward slightly, she planted a delicate kiss on his nose, awakening, amidst his satisfied exhaustion, a brief, fresh burst of hot flushing in Dennison's cheeks. Then, arching over forward, the vixen rubbed her nose against the wolf's, and they exchanged another long, drawn, loudly damp kiss, Dennison slumping down awkwardly behind them, his breath coming in long, weary gasps.
Eventually, the vixen lifted her head again, glancing between Dennison and the wolf. Then she nimbly clambered off the bed, and turned to them with a smirk, milky-white seed still trickling from her vixenhood, patches of her fur shimmering damply.
"That'll tide me over a few hours, probably," she said. "Thank God that knotty bastard showed up, though - I was honestly on the verge of cramming pretty much anything that'd fit up there." She turned about, and strode toward the bathroom. "Gonna wash up a little...you guys can get some proper introductions done."
For a moment, Dennison simply stared dumbly at the vixen's wafting tail-brush and rounded grey posterior - and the sogginess of the fur beneath it - as she disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing behind her.
Then, with a long exhalation, he slumped down further at the foot of the bed. A moment passed; and as his exhaustion receded ever so slightly, he became increasingly aware of the other figure upon the bed beside him - and felt yet another flush rise to his cheeks as his self-consciousness grew.
It was another minute before he plucked up the courage to glance up. The wolf's naked form, grey and thickly built, still lay reclined upon the bed, his dreadlocks spilling over the pillow, his wolfhood as bloated and erect as ever (though no longer angrily throbbing), some small globules of seed still dribbling from its tip. He was twisting his paws together distractedly, his gaze, once again, flitting wildly about the room, settling; now and then, he met Dennison's gaze, and briefly shot him a shy, silent smile.
Eventually, as his awareness of the dull aches racking his body and clamping down upon his limbs intensified, Dennison found himself all but collapsing; and overwhelmed, he crawled forward toward the pillow, and lay himself down upon his back beside the wolf.
For a moment, his eyes lingered on the dim shadows across the ceiling; then slowly, impulsively, he turned his head back toward the wolf, meeting his gaze. The creature's dark eyes were gentle and coy, and he continued to cast Dennison a silent, sheepish smile.
A moment passed. Dennison stared back dumbly, his face blank, his body aching, his head gently spinning with half-formed sensations. Then, finally, he felt himself return the wolf's bashful smile.
The wolf hesitated another moment before extending a paw. "I'm, um...I'm Amand." he said. His voice was strange - guttural, yet somehow boyish and meek, and tinged with that same unnameable accent the vixen had.
Nodding, Dennison gave the wolf's paw a feeble, unassuming shake. "I'm...I'm Paul." he said back.
They lied in silence for another moment, smiling and nodding awkwardly. Then the window rattled, and a burst of frigid evening air flew across the room, sweeping icily over their naked bodies.
The wolf shivered slightly, and began tugging at the rim of the blanket beneath them. Dennison, in spite of himself did likewise; and pulling the heavy blankets back, they threw them over themselves.
"So...so..." the wolf said, as he pulled the blanket up about his bare chest and gestured toward the bathroom door. "So, you...you know her from the...the internet, yes?"
Dennison nodded. "I...well, I figured everyone did, more or less," he burbled.
The wolf's smile flittered for a second, and he drew his tongue across his lips. "W...well...I didn't. I...I had no idea who she was when we met."
Dennison felt his smile grow slightly less stiff. "But I think I can guess how she introduced herself," he said flatly.
The wolf stared blankly a moment, then gave another nodding smile. "Yes...well...I wasn't complaining..."
Behind him, Dennison heard the bathroom door open; and glancing over his shoulder, he watched as the vixen, now clad in her blouse once again, made her way around the bed toward the wolf. He smiled up at her; she leaned forward, and they exchanged yet another lengthy kiss, their muzzles open, their tongues flitting wildly about between their teeth. Once again, Dennison winced at the sight; and yet he couldn't bring himself to look away...
The kiss broke; and as the wolf gazed up adoringly at the vixen, she grinned over at Dennison; and extending her paw, she gave the top of his head another tender stroke. "You feeling better, then?" she asked quietly.
Dennison gave another, easier smile. "Dunno how long it'll last, but...yeah. Thanks," he said.
The vixen's grin faded into a warmer smile; and leaning carefully forward, she planted a gentle kiss on the ferret's ear. Then, stepping lightly over the wolf, she clambered onto the bed, writhing her way under the sheets between the two of them.
"Think you can get to work alright tomorrow from here?" she asked Dennison as, from beside her, the wolf folded his sinewy arms about her midsection and dug his muzzle into the fur of her neck.
Dennison stretched his arms wearily above his head. "I'm...maybe I'll care enough to work that out tomorrow," he said with a yawn.
The vixen smiled. "Don't think Amand's ever tried...having an extra bedwarmer," she said merrily. "Might be a good way to start warming him to the idea of...sharing me on camera."
She shuffled backwards, and dug herself into the wolf's embrace, his arms about her middle, her back against his torso. Then, extending a paw, she gently beckoned Dennison. The ferret, once again with barely a conscious thought, shuffled forward with a smile; he folded one arm about her downy shoulders, and, extending the other, let it come to rest lying across both her slender form and the thick, searingly warm, spiny-furred torso of the wolf.
Dennison dug his nose into the warm, silken fur in the centre of the vixen's collarbone, and let out a contented sigh.
Beyond the window sounded the deep, relentless, impersonal roaring of the city. For once, it was a sound that did not fill Dennison with crushing melancholy.