FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Lying there in the California-king-sized bed with its luscious pillows and sheets cushioning his body, Jack let out a long, solemn, satisfied sigh. The afterglow of the recent engagement hadn't worn off yet, even though several minutes of pure silence had already passed by, and Jack let out that sound as a means of crushing the quiet he hated so much. Licking his lips tenderly, he glanced his eyes over at the other man in bed for just a brief second. The two of them were now completely naked, having found their clothes to be nothing more than obstacles in what might have been seen as just blind but furious and passionate intercourse. Deciding he had had his healthy dose of quiet-time for the night, he breathed out softly, curiously and innocently, "Where did you get your scars?"

Felice, or Reinhart as he preferred to be called, was seemingly staring off at a empty space in the corner of the room. He was never one for words, so he remained silent as the young dhole laid comfortably in his afterglow. When Jack finally broke the silence and spoke up, the hairless Chinese Crested gave a delayed reaction before glancing in his direction, although his head didn't follow suit. He kept his stare for several seconds, as if examining the exotic canine, before his gaze returned to its previous spot. "Which ones..?" he asked in a deadpan.

The significantly younger canine, exhausted but still basking in the warmth of his most recent climax, furrowed his brow a tad and gently chewed his bottom lip for just a brief second. Turning his gaze, he replied to the larger dog, "Well... the ones on your face." Being on Felice's left side, it wasn't hard for the hairless hunk to see the five old scars that traced from the bottom of the dhole's eye socket to the top of his jaw line, two of them even reaching as far as the bridge of his muzzle. It was obvious at this close of a distance that Jack had to pay careful attention to shaving his facial fur close in those spots to prevent hairs from growing out of the scars and causing discomfort, and that the deep scar tissue rendered most of the muscles on his right cheek inert. Felice, likewise, carried what appeared to be four gnarled teeth marks on the bridge of his muzzle. Jack, a curious little Cuon, was quite pleased, having finally found someone similar to himself.

Appearing to snap out of his trance-like state, Felice adjusted his body to face Jack, expecting to have a barrage of questions thrown at him, "Right," he mused, recalling his experience of a brutal fight for dominance with a large black bear. The opposing fellow broke his muzzle with relative ease, and the scars of where his teeth raked across his skin with the slight bend along the bridge of his snout made it evident. As if thinking about an easy way to word himself, he hummed for several seconds before answering, "Hmm..." He breathed, "A fight to keep my rank.." Unlike the small dhole before him, he was proud of his scars as each, and every one of them told a story from different stages of his life up to this very moment.

Jack, slightly put off only by how short Felice's explanation was, resolved not to press any more. Instead, he gave yet another long, drawn-out sigh before throwing all the strength he had left into his aching muscles, lifting himself up from the bed. Glancing briefly over at his alarm clock, he saw it was already eight forty six in the morning. "Jesus," he breathed. His mind drifted back to much earlier that moment, remembering all the best parts-- mostly, how rough Felice was with him. He always loved when they got rough with him. Simply enough, brutality was all Jack knew, and was, regrettably, the only thing he was used to. Lurching forward out of the bed, his calloused pads tenderly met the warm, bare carpet, and the dhole shivered for just a second as the cold air brushed against his naked body, as some of the stains that spattered his back were still moist. "I could make some coffee, if you'd like," he whispered affectionately.

The smooth-skinned dog's tired, sunken in eyes remains glued onto the dhole as he forced himself out of bed. He didn't even bother to check on the time as it held no importance to him. He wasn't a part of this everyday civilization that relied on so many querulous things, and didn't need its guidance like the spoiled majority. Once Jack left the bed's warm comfort, the hairless canine followed suit. Before the exotic dog could even finish his sentence, Reinhart was already pulling his discarded pants up. "..'Ave work?" he asked, disregarding his question completely as he began gathering his scattered possessions, mainly clothing.

Jack, scoffing while he reached into his dresser's second drawer for a pair of jeans, slipped into them, and then into a shirt, and then went sifting through his top drawer for his Glock 29. Putting his conceal-carry holster between his pants and boxers, he shoved the handgun in next. "No," he exasperated, a mildly shocked that Felice had asked the question, given how early it was. "I was actually going to head down to the corner store for a pack of cigarettes." Taking a brief pause to breathe, he unfastened his black, studded choker in order to readjust it. "You can come if you want. Not sure if you can handle the sun though, you look a bit pale," he teased.

Reinhart took notice of the weapon, eyeing it carefully before turning his direct attention back to its possessor and accepts his offer with a simple nod of his head. Something appeared to attract the Cockney smooth-skin to the young male, although he couldn't quite put the finger on it. "..'Ow long 'ave you been with em..?" He suddenly asked, referring to the group in drag whom Jack was performing with the night before. He was a bit vague with his question but assumed the dhole would understand what he meant. At this point, he was already fishing around his pockets for his own pack of cigarettes as he followed close behind Jack, practically looming over him in an unnerving manner. His overall demeanour and body language was more than enough to show how unfamiliar Reinhart was towards typical socialization, and it was enough for him to place an unsettling aura around him with each interaction.

"Oh, the Cosmic? Maybe about a year and a half. I was honestly thinking about joining the Army," he muttered. "I may not look or act the part, but it's a shitload less degrading than that, and you get paid better. Not to mention," Jack told him, glancing around for his house key, "At least I won't be fucking useless anymore." The dhole, who required much more to be made uncomfortable given the almost 6 hard months he spent selling himself on the streets of the bayou city, almost didn't even notice how close Felice was to him until he abruptly turned around to find himself snout-to-chest with the explicitly larger canid. "You know, I never did get your name. I'm Jack, by the way. Jack Taylor." His eyes drifted up from the dog's chest, all the way up to Felice's own beautiful blues. Jack held that gaze for just a few brief seconds before blushing furiously and looking firmly to the side. "Excuse me, I think I left my key in the kitchen," he said calmly, reaching around the awkward 28 year old for the doorknob to his bedroom.

Felice raised an eyebrow at the mention of him joining the Army and mentally agreed that he didn't seem to fit the part. Just as Jack whipped around and immediately bumped into the Chinese Crested's chest, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket, to which he ignored at first. Stepping to the side, he allowed the dhole to exit, although he kept his eyes on him and followed shortly after. "Perhaps you would consider my job offer?" He approached Jack in a relatively calm manner and stared him down for several seconds before strolling past to examine his kitchen, eyeing the contents of the fridge and several of the cabinets. "You'd never 'ave to worry about money again.." He continued as if attempting to entice the young male with his words. "It's simple enough...and you'd be put to great use." He finished off, knowing full well that the lad's looks and charm would make him perfect baiting material, not that he would tell him that directly, but he seemed intelligent enough to figure that bit out himself later on.

Sifting through various drawers and looking all along the messy, disorganized countertops, the young canid finally seized his silvery house key and pocketed it. He was well prepared to leave his apartment, but decided there would be none of that without some sort of caffeine. He grabbed the press-pot off the bar and dumped it out in the sink, turning on the hot water to rinse the old grounds out of the metal sieve. The collared dhole then went rummaging through the cabinets for the bag of ground coffee. Upon finding it, he swiftly scooped five tablespoons into the bottom of the glass pot, and then went to fill the kettle. It was the last sentence that Felice had spit out that instantly dashed any consideration Jack might have had. Such a hint was way too obvious for him, and the dhole politely, but firmly told the other man, "No, thank you." He then went looking through the top right cabinet for his special cup, which displayed a galaxy's worth of stars and nebulae. "Besides," he said haughtily, "you still have yet to introduce yourself. Where I come from, that's considered rude and impolite, and down here we are all over politeness. Not to mention, you act is if I'm some common whore. I left those days behind for good, and I intend to keep it that way. Remember, you're in my home, not the other way around, and if you get too cocky, let me inform you that a 10 millimeter high-pressure hollow point round will turn your guts into wallpaper, so watch your tongue."

Reinhart's tail stiffened and curled over his back as he slowly strolled to Jack's side once again, before brushing his claws along his spine. "Seems you've misread my intentions," he simply states, now circling around the dhole. "I don't screw around with whores," he grimaced, showing something more than the stern look that seemed to be permanently etched to his features. "Besides, I'm not one for sharin'... think of it more as... an apprentice type of job." He reinstated in his usual quiet, yet serious tone, before leaning down to whisper in his ear, "I love the act, though. Don't think I won't make you scream later," he coldly sneered, before licking his lips like a rabid predator.

The youngster was all of a sudden significantly more curious as to what exactly the Crestie was referring to. What could it possibly be that he does that nets him so many scars, a good pay, and such a rough-and-gruff attitude? But then, his minuscule attention span proved its worthlessness yet again, because at that moment, Jack suddenly blurted, "Did you wanna go grab a bite to eat later? My other job starts at two, down by the local range. I noticed it's a bit past breakfast time, and I'm not only horrendously hungry, but I'm also extremely energetic." Looking up at the hairless dog for a mere second, Jack was suddenly puzzled, as if he had forgotten something important. "Oh! Right! Cigarettes!" he exclaimed, before eyeing the front door. "Did you want to go grab a pack real quick, maybe some breakfast tacos too... uh...?" He made an expression as though he was expecting something, which indeed he was. Jack still felt as though he was in the company of a complete stranger, and blinking a few times he finished, "...Your name was...?"

The hairless dog's tail drooped as he raised a brow in confusion, what with the sudden subject change, only proving to annoy the red-maned canine. He quietly allowed Jack to finish talking while his scowl deepened. Once he finished, Reinhart stepped in front of the door, blocking his exit. The look he gave the dhole was downright predatory, but he remained silent, knowing Jack didn't particularly enjoy that bit about him. The Crested kept his stance for several seconds before stepping aside and stares at the door as if silently daring the young male to leave. His glare soon returned before mouthing off the name "Reinhart" to him as he waits.

With his fine-tuned ears detecting what sounded like a deep, guttural, phantom growl rumbling in Reinhart's throat, Jack mulled over his current options. Thinking for just a brief second, he coyly poked his tongue out before grinning and saying, "You know, come to think of it... I think the cigarettes can wait." He got right up in the older male's face, leaning up on his toes, and kissed Reinhart right on the jawline. "What do you think?"

Reinhart kept a close, untrusting watch over Jack as he approached him. It was clear that the dhole was attempting to seduce him once more, but with the amount of aggression the hairless mutt continued to show, it was uncertain if he would succeed or not. He pulled his lips back, baring oversized, hand sharpened fangs at Jack, making his warning clear. His tail erects high once more as a sign of dominance. "Don't ignore my offer," Reinhart growled, although he made no quick movement to harm the young male, as he was certain he'd get his point across.

Sighing, Jack smirked, backing up just a few inches. "I'm not ignoring it," he told the red-haired dog. "I'm just considering it, is all. Can't just jump head-first into something if I don't know what I'm in for." He turned on his heels, reaching for some non-existent object he thought he had within his reach. "Nevermind," he muttered under his breath, swiveling back to face his partner. "Anyways. We leaving? Also, hope you aren't planning on staying again unless you're willing to wait for me to get home. After I get off of work I've gotta go to class down at the Krav Maga studio off of I-10, so I won't be home until about... nine, and I'll most likely be extremely exhausted." Jack was telling Felice this in hopes that the masculine male would at least infer that the dhole could hold his own. "Unless, of course, if you wanna give me a ride home so I don't have to take the bus," he mumbled, “that'd be fuckin' awesome…"

Felice continued to stare him down for a while longer before breaking eye contact and taking a seat at the table. Once again, Reinhart disregarded virtually everything Jack had just said as he began to speak on the previous subject. "I guess you can think of us as... mercenaries? Although the boss directly deals with trafficking, drug deals and black market sales. Whatever gets us money and a lot of it, we'll do it." He mutters before flipping open a rather old looking phone and begins texting, likely to his boss. He pauses for a brief moment before turning to Jack. "Tell me...'as anyone ever force themselves on ya..?" he suddenly asks.

It was as if he hadn't heard a single word in that sentence, nothing except for "trafficking." The word stuck in the deep recesses of his brain, and the dhole couldn't help but wonder, what kind of trafficking? Just drugs? Or were there other things involved, too? Weapons? Munitions, stolen valuables, vehicles? Even... people? Yet, in spite of his involuntary shiver, he did his best to clear all his skeptical curiosity from his mind. Jack eyed the obvious burner Felice was using, and determined, at this point, he was already so close to bottom, he might as well go all the way. Reinhart's out-of-the-blue, rather personal question had indeed caught him off guard, if only a tad, and Jack coldly and defensively said, "It's none of your business."

"Take that as a yes," the other mumbled beneath his breath before leaning back in the chair, spreading his legs. “I know how it feels," He replied, attempting to sympathise with Jack somehow. "It's why I join myself I suppose. Got ta know myself better and learn a lot from them." He sighed to himself, his eyes drifting to the wall. "Might as well give ya a better description. Lovely lookin' fellas such as yerself, and we have several, make for good lures. Give ya the information, and you'd entice the sick fucks to the proper location. Before they even think about laying a paw on ya, we jump 'em." He finished with a light nod, although he left the details out of what they would normally do with them afterwards. Judging by the tone of his voice and the way the corner of his lip pulled up into a smirk; it wasn't very pleasant.

Jack, still overpoweringly intrigued, put one hand on his hip, cocking his left brow. “Continue," he said in an interested manner. "I'm suddenly starting to like this a lot more." Hundreds of brilliant, brutal ideas were racing through his mind, and the dhole was dying to know just what happened. "I think I might actually be changing my mind about this whole thing," he smirked.

Glad to have finally caught the dhole's interest, Reinhart continued with the details. "It all depends on health, physical looks and temperament. In the end, they're are sold either way, whether dead or alive, as a whole or in pieces...don't matter, I s'pose," he calmly shrugged. "Mercenaries, murderers, drugs lords, heroes and savages. We claim all these titles and more. We're small now, but we'll grow to fit our fame in Europe properly, and this is your chance to join that process." Without another word he stood up and tossed the burner cell he had been using earlier to Jack before heading towards the door. "Only one number on there, call when you are ready. You 'ave till Friday." And from there he exits the apartment, leaving the dhole behind in his thoughts.

Jack, at that very moment, suddenly realized something. This was his chance. His dream, his passion, could finally be made into a reality. Panicking, he ran out after Reinhart, trying to catch him before the dog disappeared. "HEY!" he shouted, trying to catch his attention. "Just promise me one thing, and one thing only. If you do, it's a deal."

Reinhart pulled his hood up and kept his head downcast as if trying to prevent any unwanted attention towards himself. Noticing Jack was running up behind him, he paused but doesn't even bother turning to look at him. Instead, he waited to hear the young male out.

Jack, finding the Crestie completely silent, most likely listening intently, said, "I need you to promise me that I'll be able to fly." Realizing, after a second, how ridiculous that sounded, he elaborated: "Helicopters, I mean. It's been my lifelong dream, and if you guys can make that happen-- if you can get me in a bird, I'm yours."

The corner of his lips pulled up into a smirk upon hearing Jack's request to which he agreed by giving the dhole a thumbs up. "That can be arranged..if you can provide yerself worthy that is.." and with that the Crestie leaves, likely returning to the hotel where his boss awaited him.

Excitedly running back into his apartment to grab the burner he had set down on the table, Jack flipped it open, staring at the contact list, right at the one available number there. He kept his eyes trained on it for at least a good two minutes before closing it and tossing it back on the dining room table. He plopped down in his bean bag chair, sighing long and low and slow. He fished around in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes before remembering he was supposed to go down to the gas station to grab more. He stood up again, deciding he hadn't slept enough. The young dhole promptly went back into his room, flopping down on his enormous bed. There was a scent lingering, one definitely not his own. It was that Crestie's-- the other male left behind a sweet musky smell coupled with adrenaline and the sweat of hard-working man. It was definitely one he could inhale for days, if only it stayed. Right then and there, the exhausted dhole made up his mind to just make the call. First, he whipped out his own phone, making two separate calls-- one to his Krav Maga instructor and the other to his boss at the local firing range to inform him of his upcoming absence. Jack then promptly ran back into the living room to grab the burner and dial the one and only number on it. Yet, in the middle of this, he shook his head, shrinking back to his bedroom. At least five hours would pass as he lazed on his mattress.

Sore. That was a word that somewhat fit the dull pain that enveloped Jack's entire body as he lay on his unkempt bed.

Keeping in mind his favorite quote, the exotic young wild dog stood up, finally sick of just moping about all day as if his world had just ended. Come to think of it, his life was better than most; he had water, electricity, money to buy food, and every now and then, a little company to fill the terribly lonely voids. It was as if his entire life was a battle ground, being that it only had a few instant moments of brief, enormous excitement, coupled with long, boring periods of absolute oblivion. Yet to this dhole, who was nothing but another "street working" whore a year ago, it appeared as though the exciting moments were growing to become few and far between. What he thought could've been the most wild endeavor of his existence, starting a new life and a new story with the most brooding, interesting stranger he'd ever been so lucky to have seduced, was slowly beginning to go off the rails in his mind, and it hadn't even been two whole days since they had met. It was like the youngster had this knack for scaring people off. Determinedly, however, Jack went searching for any sign of anything Felice might've possibly left behind. Searching around his bedroom, he found one article of discarded clothing from their late-night romp on his birthday, and to his strange, alternating fortune, it turned out to be the thick, black denim jacket with various pins and buttons and a studded lapel that the Crestie had left behind, despite it being something that seemed so integral to Reinhart's personality. Sifting through the pockets, Jack found a folded up note on a piece of weathered notebook paper. He opened it, and found that it had written on it, in rather sloppy handwriting, "Felice, I've had my eye on this kid at the Comet, got 5 scars on his cheek, can't miss him. Fits the bill. Scope him out, prop. him. Call me if you bag him." The signature at the very bottom was no easier to read than the print, but Jack was able to make out "Reidrich." Or wait, was that "Heidrich"? The H was smudged to look like a letter R. Jack pocketed the note for himself after taking a whiff and detecting the plasticy-metal odor of a fridge magnet. The dhole chuckled to himself, thinking, this just might be his lucky day. He then decided to slip the jacket on over his tank top-- which, wearing the two together, makes him look like a speed slinger. Aiming to finally make something productive of himself that morning, Jack went back out into the livingroom to pick up the go-phone off of the table to finally make the call.

After exactly three rings from the phone, the occupants on the other side picks up. Although silent at first, it's wasn't long before a raspy breath could be heard. It clearly wasn't Reinhart however. "Hat er einverstanden..?" They spoke with a deep, harsh voice. Once they realize Felice wasn't on the other end, they paused. "Ahh..Englisch..ja?" he asks with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Thinking deep, very deep, back to when he used to take German in high school-- before he was forced to drop out-- Jack was instantly reminded by the voice of the person on the other line, of his teacher, "Herr Wrighte." Herr Wrighte was in no sense a kind man at all, and was yet another oppressive tiger, who, upon realizing the young dhole was indeed a dhole, began calling him "Teufel Hunden", meaning "devil dog," even forcing him to write the demeaning nickname on all of his papers, lest he receive a juicy zero. Jack later realized that it was because, in India, the natives would call feral dholes devil dogs, as they were capable of ravaging miles of jungle floors, making everything completely devoid of life. Digging deeply in the recesses of his mind, Jack sputtered out to the man on the other side of the line, "Ja... ich stimme zu. Was kommt als nächstes?"

Clearing his throat, he speaks again, "Let's just stick to Englisch, ja, kinder?" He chuckled, saying, "Pack light. Ve leave Nevada early Friday morning. Don't tell anyone about your vhereabouts." Surprisingly, the German male's English was close to perfect and he was able to cover his accent (save for the v's in place of w's) and with that, the user on the other line hung up.

This was it, Jack said to himself. His life was ending, and he was being given a better one.

Why in the world he singled out that one dog two nights ago, he knew not.