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The white Alsatian kept his head low as he walked down the cobbled street.

A misty rain was falling and pools of light from the iron street lamps and neon shop signs reflected in the puddles on the ground.

The faint strains of A Kind of Magic by Queen drifted from a car that drove by, its tires made a gentle swish sound against the wet road.

The Alsatian passed a poster hanging on a nearby wall. It had creased a little owing to the damp air, but the lettering was still clear; Primo Lorenz. Rock Europa Tour!

He pulled the collar of his coat up as he approached a grand looking art deco building set back from the road. The sound of classical music could be heard from inside and he vaguely recognised it as Bach's Air.

As the Alsatian watched, a cream coloured Mercedes taxi (one of many that drove around the city) pulled up by the entrance. The Alsatian paused, and then something close to a smile crept across his muzzle as the back door opened and a tall Doberman climbed out.

The Doberman was tall and dressed in a black padded jacket which hung unzipped over a grey suit. The Alsatian watched as he made his way up to the front entrance before following behind.

The sound of the music gently stroked the husky's ears, but he concentrated on following the Doberman. The tall canine paused to hand his jacket to a calico doorman before making his way to the bar.

The Alsatian handed his jacket over, revealing a form fitting white shirt, and casually followed, strolling at a confident yet unassuming pace.

Like the outside, the interior of the place was art deco with white marble walls and triangular lights on the ceiling. The bar itself was shaped like a crescent moon with red velvet stools positioned along at intervals.

"Hey, can I get a whisky sour, bitte?" the Doberman asked the bartender.

Even above the music, the wolfdog could hear the Doberman's southern US drawl butchering the German pronunciation.

The bar itself was busy (a perfect excuse to sit close), so the wolfdog casually sidled up next to the Doberman.

The marten bartender mixed the drink and handed it over. He kept his paw extended for the Doberman to hand over some cash, but as the wolfdog watched, the Doberman patted nervously at his pockets.

"Aperol spritz bitte," the Alsatian said in more tidy German. He noticed the Doberman turn his head slightly. "Trouble finding your wallet?"

"What's it to you?" the Doberman asked suspiciously. "I think I left it in my jacket pocket," he said sheepishly to the bartender who looked confused.

"Oh, I don't wish to intrude, I know that sinking feeling when you feel you've lost something," the Alsatian replied with a friendly smile. "He left his wallet in his jacket," he added in German to the bartender who nodded.

"What did you say to him?" the Doberman asked.

"I said I'll get our drinks," the Alsatian said, handing over some cash.

"Damn," the Doberman sighed, looking embarrassed and slightly suspicious. "Well thanks I guess."

"You're welcome."

The bartender mixed the wolfdog's drink and set it down.

"Danke," the wolfdog said.

He took a sip of the Aperol and positioned himself in a deliberately inviting manner. He noticed the Doberman eye him up again.

"That's a weird lookin' drink," the Doberman chuckled.

"Aperol?" the Alsatian replied. "It's my go-to drink."

"Okay, whisky is mine, although being in Germany I wanna try some local beer," the Doberman said, relaxing his posture slightly.

"Well, there are some I can recommend," the Alsatian replied.

"Oh?"

"Well, a good local one is Erdinger Kristall."

"I'll be sure to try that out," the Doberman chuckled.

"What brings you to West Germany?" the Alsatian asked innocently.

"Work," the Doberman grinned.

"Have you been living here for long?"

"Two months now."

"Ah, how are you finding it?" the Alsatian asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"It's kinda different," the Doberman shrugged. "So, what brings you to this part of town?"

"I come here every year to commemorate ending a tour and not having to sing again," the Alsatian grinned wryly. "First I come to this bar for a drink, and then I go for dinner at my favourite restaurant down the street."

"Woah!"

"Ja, my way of grieving not singing is to turn it into a celebration."

"That's an, um, interesting way to grieve," the Doberman said with a nervous laugh.

"Well, it's better than dressing in black," the Alsatian teased.

"I suppose," the Doberman shrugged. "I don't know if I'd do that if my wife left."

"You're married?"

"Yup," the Doberman nodded. "Three years now."

"Good for you," the Alsatian said, clinking his glass against the Doberman's. "What's your name?"

"Eric, and you are?"

"Primo."

"Hey, like that German GShep singer, ya know the one with white fur like yours?"

"The very one," Primo grinned.

"Woah, ya know I never thought I'd end up drinking with Primo Lorenz of all people when I got to Germany," Eric laughed. "That's like the only non-English speaking music I listen to."

"Well I'm quite charmed to hear that."

"Are you really him?" Eric asked.

Primo didn't say anything, but he allowed a charming and somewhat mischievous smile to answer the Doberman's question.

"Damn, wait until I tell everyone I'm having a drink with Primo Lorenz," Eric laughed.

The pair sipped their drinks in silence for a moment. Eric reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar.

"Here," Primo said, leaning over to light it. "It can be pretty lonely being in a foreign country by yourself."

"Oh for sure," the Doberman nodded, taking a drag from the cigar.

"Did your wife come with you?"

"Nah, back in Georgia. She's supposed to be joining me next month."

"A shame it's not sooner," Primo sighed.

"Yup," Eric agreed. "But it gives me time to explore this place before, ya know, I get nagged about everything when I get home from work, ya know hey Eric, stop leaving your clothes everywhere!"

"And have you found anything interesting through exploring?"

"Yeah," Eric nodded.

"Ah, well I'm glad to hear that. Would you like another drink?"

"Um, sure."

"What are you having?"

"Another whisky."

"Not an Aperol?" Primo grinned.

"Eh, I'll stick to what I'm familiar with, before I explore the local beer that is," Eric shrugged.

Primo signalled to the bartender and ordered two whiskies.

"I'll join you on the whisky," he said.

"Good choice," Eric replied, clinking his glass against Primo's before downing the liquid.

Primo could already see by the Doberman's eyes that the other canine was starting to get a little tipsy, no doubt the result of drinking on an empty stomach.

"Would you like to join me for dinner?" he offered.

"You serious?" Eric replied in an amused tone.

"Ja, I usually eat it alone, but some company would be nice," the Alsatian nodded.

"Oh, well, sure," Eric grinned, stabbing his cigar out in a glass ashtray.

Both canines finished their drinks at the same time and went to retrieve their jackets.

The sound of the classical music faded as they made their way out into the street.

"Allow me to lead the way," Andreas said as he extended his paw and hailed a passing Mercedes taxi.

Eric hesitated for a moment before following Andreas into the back of the Mercedes. Andreas spoke to the driver in German and they pulled off.

Eric was watching out of the window as they drove through the city streets and Primo fixed him a friendly smile.

The taxi drove away from the classical looking buildings and into a part of town where the neon was shining brighter and the buildings were plastered with graffiti.

"This is an interesting location for a restaurant," Eric quipped with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, I thought we'd take a small detour first to a place I sometimes visit. You'll like this place," Andreas replied.

The taxi came to a stop and Andreas paid the driver. He opened the door and gestured for Eric to follow.

"Where are we?" the Doberman asked.

"I'll show you," Primo replied as he led the Doberman towards a set of stairs that let downwards below the street level.

The sound of pounding music could be heard from below, which became recognisable as Donna Summer's I Feel Love the lower they descended.

Primo reached the doors at the bottom and pushed them open.

Flashing lights and loud music greeted them, but the sight that stood out the most was the half-naked male dancers of various species dressed in straps and matching leather trousers gyrating around.

Most of the lighting came from pink tubes on the concrete ceiling which cast out lurid and irregular shadows.

Primo noticed Eric's muzzle hanging open as a black Alsatian dancer ground up against a wolf, but the look in the Doberman's eyes was eager and hungry.

"Shall we," Primo said, gesturing with his paw. Eric nodded and they walked to a booth together. The Doberman sat down and Andreas perched next to him, his hind-paw was almost touching Eric's. "Would you like another drink?"

"Sure."

Primo stood up and turned his back to Eric as he took two bottles of beer from a tray being carried by a shirtless Rottweiler.

"Here," he said, setting the bottles down.

Eric grinned as he took a swig from his.

"How do we pay for these?" he asked innocently.

"Don't worry about that, well here's some local beer and I hope you enjoy it."

"Ya know, I never thought I'd spend my first time in Germany with a handsome guy like you."

"Oh, handsome am I?" Primo grinned.

A slack grin spread across Eric's muzzle and Primo chuckled to himself. He moved Eric's beer bottle out of the way and straddled himself across the Doberman's lap.

"Woah!" Eric exclaimed, looking both startled and aroused.

"You like that?" Primo grinned, purposely grinding himself against Eric.

"Yeah," Eric replied with another slack grin. "Are we allowed to do this?"

"What do you think?" Primo teased, gesturing to a leopard grinding up against a fox at a nearby table. "This place was made for this."

He shifted up further onto Eric's lap, pressing and grinding his crotch against the Doberman's. Eric's eyes had gone dull and unfocused, but the grin remained on his muzzle. Primo could tell the Doberman had gotten hard through the fabric of his trousers. He continued grinding and aggressively rubbing to stimulate Eric.

A faster song came on and Eric's grin faded.

"Dang, I don't like this as much," Eric sighed.

Primo cocked an ear and recognised it as It's A Sin by the Pet Shop Boys.

"My place is close by," he said, grinding harder against the Doberman. "Perhaps you'd like the ambience there better?"

A minute later they were stumbling out of the front door of the club, locked in an embrace and with their muzzles pressed together, tongues caressing.

They walked down the street, arms linked together as Primo steadied the taller Doberman.

"Oh man, I hope it's not far," Eric laughed as he bit down on Primo's neck fluff.

"It's very close, in fact it's just next door," Primo replied as he took Eric by the paw and led him up to an entrance in the side of a dark looking apartment building.

The two canines barely took stock of the inside of the building as they staggered up the stairs.

Primo gave the Doberman a kiss on his muzzle before pulling a set of keys out of his pocket.

Eric didn't need any encouragement. He pushed open the door as soon as it was unlocked and took Primo by the arm and led the Alsatian into the apartment.

There was no need to examine the inside of the apartment. Primo was already leading them to the bedroom.

They stumbled through the bedroom door and Eric pulled off his coat before reaching for his shirt. Primo grinned as he reached out to help the Doberman tug it off.

Eric grinned and pushed Primo down on the bed before removing his trousers.

Primo was already struggling out of his clothes.

"Why don't we make this more interesting?" he grinned, pressing his muzzle against Eric's and sliding his tongue into the Doberman's muzzle.

"How do ya mean?"

"Like this," Primo grinned as he reached to a drawer in the bedside table.

Eric's cropped ears stood up as Primo pulled out a set of handcuffs and snapped one end around the Doberman's wrist.

Eric responded with a drunken chuckle as Primo removed his underwear.

"I guess I ain't going anywhere," the Doberman grinned.

"Nein," Primo grinned as he took Eric's fully erect dick in his paw.

The Doberman squirmed as Primo closed his mouth around the tip. He moved his muzzle up and down.

"Fuck," Eric groaned. "Man, you're good at this."

"There's more to come," Primo grinned as he continued sucking. The Doberman squirmed against the restraints of the handcuffs. "Oh, can't you go anywhere?" Primo teased.

He licked the tip of the Doberman's dick, gently teasing it whilst kneading Eric's balls.

"You can go rougher than this," Eric huffed.

Primo responded with a grin as he reached for his discarded trousers. He pulled out a sachet of lube and a condom.

"It feels better without that," Eric said, trying to gesture at the condom only for the handcuff to restrain him.

"Don't want to die of ignorance, do we?" Primo replied. "But if you insist, trust me, it will feel good either way."

Eric's eyes had already rolled back and his tongue was hanging out of his muzzle.

Primo slicked the Doberman's cock up and eased himself down. Eric's tongue continued to hang out as Primo began riding. He clenched his hole around the Doberman and found his shaft to be thick, but not too much to handle.

Eric was clearly in heaven, or that was at least how he looked. The Doberman's eyes were closed and he sprawled himself over the covers as Primo continued to ride on him.

Primo closed his eyes and enjoyed himself for a moment, pushing all other thoughts from his mind as he appreciated being able to ride on an attractive guy.

The Doberman was letting out deep, masculine grunts and soon the room was heavy with the scent of sweat and sex.

Primo eased himself off Eric's dick as the Doberman squirted a hefty load of cum over his butt. Primo had edged himself close and was tempted to cum himself, but knew it was best not to.

The Doberman's cock quickly went flaccid and Primo noticed his eyes were fully closed.

Good. Now time to get to work.

A few minutes later Primo was leaving the apartment. He turned the collar of his coat up and hurried down the graffiti lined street.

In a sober state, Eric would have questioned why a world famous pop star was staying in a grimy quarter of the city, or even if Primo was who he said he was and if such a celebrity would pick up a stranger at a bar.

A black Audi was waiting on the corner and Primo climbed into the back.

The Dachshund behind the wheel didn't turn as Primo settled himself into the seat, and Primo wondered if the other canine could smell the scent of sex on him.

It didn't matter though. The assignment was done, mostly.

Eric had not noticed the white powdery substance that Primo had slipped into his beer at the club.

It was not designed to kill anyone, but make their reactions and senses sluggish.

"Primo" had been given clear orders of what to do once Eric had been incapacitated by his spiked drink.

Before he'd arrived at the bar, he already had all of Sergeant Eric Brunkart's dirty details on file; US army, married, two cubs, first time stationed in Germany with top level security clearance. Grew up on country music but has a thing for West German singer Primo Lorenz based on the number of cassette's in Eric's car and the fact he had a polaroid photo of the artist in his wallet (which had been pick pocketed a week go from another bar by a fellow agent). Although happily married his greatest weakness was men, especially younger guys, and anything kink related (handcuffs especially).

This was something the KGB had observed by watching Eric Brunkart going in and out of a gay kink club which was frequented by younger canines.

Primo reached into his pocket and gently eased out what he had been after; a security pass that enabled access to most US army installations in West Germany.

He smiled grimly to himself. He had done most of his mission, apart from the last detail.

Eliminate Eric Brunkart.

That part had been simple, take all of the money in Eric's wallet and make it look like the Doberman had been lured into a mugging.

Primo had a pistol and silencer ready in his coat, but as he had moved to relieve a wad of deutschmarks from Eric's wallet, he saw a photograph. He had been trained not to pay attention to such things, but curiosity got the better of him and he slid it out.

The photograph showed Eric smiling with his arms around a smiling female Doberman and two identical cubs, one of whom was sticking his tongue out at the camera while the other laughed.

Primo felt something that he had not experienced in years; compassion.

No, this is not something to feel on a mission.

He had glanced over at the Doberman sprawled over the bed with his soft dick flopped over his stomach. Eric was sleeping soundly with his tongue hanging out, not unlike his son in the photograph.

Anyone else would find the sight of a naked, drunken Doberman basking in the afterglow of sex amusing, but Primo felt another wave of compassion again.

His paw had hovered over the pistol, a compact but powerful PSM, but he let out an audible sigh as he slid it back into the holster and buttoned his coat up.

Primo gritted his fangs as he thought back to his hesitation. The driver glanced up as if he could sense something was wrong. Primo knew he could technically incapacitate the driver and defect while he was on Western soil. His KGB handlers would be less than pleased once they discovered he had left Eric alive.

The Audi continued driving until it stopped outside a smarter and modern looking apartment building.

Primo knew what his orders entailed next; get clean and then await extraction.

He climbed out of the car without saying a word to the driver. The keys to this apartment were already in his pocket.

The apartment was on the second floor and Primo walked in, quickly sniffed about the place to ensure it was clean and not bugged, before stripping naked.

The bathroom was near the front door and Primo walked in before reaching up to his ears.

The prosthetics came away easily in his paws and his ears no longer had the tall shape of an Alsatian's, but the more triangular appearance of a wolf.

Primo briefly surveyed his new appearance in the mirror before climbing into the shower.

He turned the dial up to the point where the water was almost scalding. Primo didn't mind, he had been trained to survive under torture, including ice and scorching.

Gradually, the white dye in his fur began to wash out and soon he was his natural greyish colour.

Primo was no longer Primo.

The canine who now stood in the shower was a light grey wolfdog.