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Washington Fellburg was a nobody wolf who, unfortunately, found himself both at the wrong place and the wrong time, and had done something incredibly stupid. Had it been anywhere else he probably would have gotten off easy with nothing but a sour experience to sharpen his character. Unfortunately for him, this was Sairobi, and a mistake of coincidence was about to cost him his life.

Or so he believed right up until the moment when Marlo had walked through those doors. He was ready for anything -- he was ready for the two hyenas to come and finish him off. Marlo's small stature and somewhat friendly demeanour helped keep his mind at ease.

He was painfully aware of the Imani Family badge that'd been pinned on the fox's shirt.

Bar Classico was where Marlo had found the wolf hiding out. It was a small lounge stuffed in with a dozen others, but one of the few that'd lasted the test of time. It was quiet enough at least; besides the bartender there was nobody else in sight.

"I swear to you," Washington continued as he cradled a glass of whiskey in between his hands. His claws nervously clicked away, mimicking the sound of ice cubes shuffling against one another; "I wasn't going to the police with it. I'm not a fucking rat!"

"Calm down," Marlo commanded as he turned to look at the bar's entrance on his left, double-checking to make sure it was locked tight, "and lower your fucking voice."

"S-Sorry," Washington whimpered, his large head sinking lower and lower until he was practically resting it against the counter, "but you believe me, right? I wouldn't... I mean, you live here! Shit like that gets you killed, man."

"So instead you steal from a hyena..." His voice said it all -- it'd been a stupid move.

A move that Washington had been regretting for hours. He lifted his head, raised his right hand along with the glass of whiskey it held, carelessly swishing it around the air as he pleaded his case.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that she was associated with the fucking Imani family."

"Tone," Marlo warned, and Washington once again quietly apologized. "You do know that this whole place is family territory, right? Besides, involved or not, that hyena's gunning for you." Marlo allowed that to sink in for a moment. "You're lucky it's me they sent."

"Man, I don't get involved with this shit."

"You're involved now, man."

"I know! I... I know." Had they not been sitting beside one another, Washington's tail would have dipped between his legs.

Marlo couldn't help but stare, inadvertently burning Washington's features to memory. The wolf's bright grey fur was accentuated by highlights of an almost neon red which, annoyingly enough, made him stand out a little too much. The sleeves of his grey hoodie had been shredded around the elbows, revealing tufts of rough and bristling fur almost needle-like in nature. His narrow shoulders made him look smaller than he actually was.

He looked like the type of person who'd try to keep his head down and stay out of people's way. Granted, Marlo had only just met the man, but...

Stirring up this much shit seemed out-of-character for Washington. At least he seemed to play the part in that regard.

"Slow down," Marlo commented as he watched Washington pound out the rest of the whiskey with a couple of nervous gulps. "I need you sober and I'm not cleaning up after you."

"Right... sorry." Washington pushed the glass away -- he seemed disgusted with himself now.

The question remained: why did Washington do all this? He glanced down between his arms at the small envelope which the wolf, to his credit, had given up without so much as a fight. Its seal was broken and the envelope wasn't addressed to anybody. Marlo placed a hand on the envelope as if to protect it and turned his attention back on Washington, who'd been staring at him in silence and with a trembling lip.

"I-I thought it was money," Washington began to explain. "A couple hundred, maybe? I just saw it sitting and I swiped it. Easy paycheck, right?"

"...Right." Marlo's curiosity got the better of him. He carefully turned the envelope and pried it open with the tips of his claws enough so he could have a peek inside. Money was not what he saw.

"Then this fucking... mountain of a woman comes screaming down the hall with fucking death in her eyes and I just -- I bolted out of there, man. Lost her down an alley and then..."

"... and then here we are," Marlo finished in a low voice as he closed the envelope and forced himself to look away. "That's not money in there, Fellburg."

"I. Fucking. Know."

Documents, pictures, and a flash drive... The kind of stuff that he did not need to see. Washington, obviously, had.

It was either exasperation or anxiety that made Marlo want to drink. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, dramatically scrunching up his face in visible frustration as he tried to think of... "God, what am I going to do with you?"

"Wait, wait! You... She's going to kill me, man."

"I know that," Marlo painfully replied.

"You got what you wanted. I gave you the envelope. Everything is exactly as when I took it I promise. Not a thing out of place. Just... let me go, man."

Marlo snarled, loudly, and almost reached for Washington's throat -- he raised his hand and set it down hard on the wolf's shoulder, holding him in place as Washington visibly flinched. This almost felt like abuse.

"I can't just let you go," Marlo began to explain, his tone of voice rising. From behind the counter the bartender glanced up and gave the two of them a look that said, not here. Marlo let go of Washington with a quick and aggressive pat of his shoulder and repeated, "I can't just let you go."

"Please," Washington pleaded. "I'll do anything you want! Anything!"

"Shut up!" Marlo screamed, tension bubbling over in his throat like an overflowing cup of wine. "Shut up and let me think."

Handing Fellburg over to Yara was the easy thing to do. Captain Kitsuragi would have acted in a heartbeat. His voice rang in his head now -- Do as you're told and stop fucking around; a lesson beaten into him more times than he could count.

But it bothered Marlo just enough to think, this is not the right thing to do.

It frustrated him.

***

Marlo walked out of the bathhouse one thousand dollars richer. Five hundred for a job well done and another five for 'taking out the trash', as Yara had so eloquently put it. She seemed to have gotten over the fact that he disobeyed her direct request to turn Washington Fellburg in, content instead with the knowledge that Marlo had handled him just like Yara would have.

He didn't know what she'd done with those documents in the end. It wasn't his job to know. Her brother, Caine, had been the one to take them into a back room and was the one that came back with the money. Yara never left her place at the pool, and frankly had no more words for him after all was said and done.

"Get some rest, little one," Caine had said to him, his voice low and somewhat dubious of the fox. "We'll see you here tomorrow morning."

He'd nodded, turned, and made his escape from the bathhouse as quick as he could, but not before first taking one last glance at the two hyenas.

Caine, captain of his new family, knelt by his sister and whispered something in her ear. There was a look of concern etched across his face. Then he glanced up at Marlo, ears twitching, his snout scrunching up alongside a dangerous growl -- Marlo's cue to leave.

He wasn't trusted and stood out like a sore thumb. What was Imani thinking?

By the time Marlo had made it onto the last train out of Sairobi, he'd somehow managed to push the burning question from his thoughts. He had twenty minutes to kill; he needed to clear his head.

The train ran high above the streets, weaving between the tall buildings of downtown before dipping into the underground. Marlo played around on his phone, momentarily flicking through some old text messages before glancing back out the window once the train had resurfaced over the streets. He watched as the flood of mesmerizing lights from passing buildings slowly began to grow dimmer and farther apart, a sign that he'd made it out of the never-ending nightlife of downtown and into the quiet atmosphere of suburbia. The train slowed down accordingly, as if the conductor were scared of waking up those with a more regular life.

As if to welcome him to the last leg of the trip, Marlo's phone vibrated and beeped with a notification. He glanced down at the message and smiled.

1:07 AM: [It's past midnight.

Where are you???]

Marlo waited a moment to reply, waiting to see if any more messages were going to come through. His signal wasn't great -- he replied as quick as it allowed.

1:09 AM: [Sorry, I got held back. Work stuff.]

1:11 AM [Should I even bother asking?]

1:12 AM [Just a lot of nonsense. It's been a long day.]

1:17 AM [Well, are you on your way back at least?]

1:20 AM [About to get off at my stop.]

1:20 AM [Good. I'll see you soon.]

Soon was just a fifteen minute walk from the train station through a quiet neighbourhood sparsely populated by squat houses and a couple of small apartment buildings. The narrow roads reminded him of those from the district of Sairobi, only lacking in the drowned out thrum of club music, the crowds of drunks, and the gaudy neon signs. It was dark, quiet, and for once Marlo truly felt alone out here.

He wasn't being followed; he wasn't being watched. For the first time since this morning, Marlo allowed himself to let his guard down.

He allowed himself to breathe.

Marlo's apartment was up on the second floor of a blue building that was pressed against a small locally-owned convenience store. His front door, like the others, was illuminated by a small lamp that hung just above the entrance, periodically flickering on-and-off as a couple of moths flitted around it. There was a sheet of paper tacked on to the front of his door - a reminder that rent was due at the end of the week. He ripped off the paper, nodded, and began fumbling around his pockets for a key.

The door to his apartment opened just as he'd found his keys and at its threshold stood a figure just about a few inches taller than he was. He smiled at her, shoved the keys back into his pocket, and greeted her with a simple, warm, and tired, "Hey, Rox."

Roxanne stepped out of the shadows of his apartment, her appearance more visible to Marlo now that she stood below the flickering light alongside him. His smile faltered when he caught a good look at her face - a wolf, just like Fellburg.

No, nothing like him. She was different.

Her fur was all black, the same colour as the shadows of his apartment, contrasting starkly against deep violet eyes which stared down at him with a curious squint. Long arms were impatiently crossed under her breasts. Her face seemed to be permanently twisted up into a dirty scowl - Marlo only stopped himself from apologising when he took note of her large tail's slow wag from side to side.

Her face softened as he locked his eyes with her, now more closely resembling concern rather than frustration. He smiled at her again and then leaned into her touch as she gently caressed the length of his narrow muzzle with the back of her hand.

What happened?

Roxanne considered asking him but knew that all she'd get was deflection and white lies. Nothing that she wanted to deal with now, and nothing that Marlo looked ready or willing to talk about. She instead continued to caress the side of his face, ran her fingers back up the length of his muzzle, and lightly scratched just above his nose. His long tail swished, those triangular ears twitched with both agitation and satisfaction, and he hummed.

She made sure he knew, when he opened his eyes, that she was well aware of the wound. She could see it - she could smell it. The scent of blood and sweat lingered on his fur and seeped into his clothes.

But it wasn't her place to ask.

"Long day, huh?"

Marlo nodded. She didn't even know the half of it, but he could see in her eyes that she had an inkling. He wouldn't even know where to begin.

"Come on, then. I'm sure you want to take your shoes off." Roxanne released her grasp of him, once again crossing her arms, then turned and disappeared back into Marlo's apartment. He followed as well, locking the door behind him, then took off his shoes and flipped on the lights.

He was instantly greeted by the smell of curry, the only thing which Roxanne had ever cooked for the last two years that he'd known her. It was familiar, comforting, and reopened the deep-set hunger that for now had been lingering near the back of his mind. The kitchen directly to his left was a mess of dirty pans, plates, and spices which hadn't found their place back in one of the cabinets.

Directly ahead of him was the small living room, no more than a few feet wide. A long grey couch rested right by the refrigerator - Roxanne was now sitting in the middle of it, her back to him. She rather intensely stared at a television hanging from the wall.

"Help yourself!" she called out. "I made enough for the two of us."

Marlo glanced at the kitchen, muttered a small thanks, and in short order was sitting right next to Roxanne, a bowl of vegetable curry cradled in his hands.

"What's the news?" he asked her.

"About as much as you'd expect."

In other words, nothing. Another slow and quiet day. How long had she been waiting on him? Marlo recalled the texts he'd flipped through while on the train back to his apartment and remembered having received nothing from Roxanne all day.

"Hey, I'm sorry I took so long to get back."

"It's okay, Marlo." She sounded honest. Her eyes never left the television -- she didn't seem particularly interested in what was playing with that glazed-over expression on her face. "You were doing your thing, yeah?"

"Yeah," he replied, "I was."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Besides being convinced that he'd been abandoned by one family and sold into another?

Marlo shrugged his shoulders and busied himself with a spoonful of curry. His silence spoke volumes for Roxanne.

But still... she couldn't help but prod a little deeper, just to see... "You know, it's probably nothing you haven't told me about before. Isn't it?"

And again, she knew it wasn't her place to ask. Marlo lived his life and made his choices; so did she.

"No, you're right. We've talked about stuff like this before. It's just..." He sighed. "I'm tired, Rox, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Hah... okay. Yeah, sure." She turned to face him. "Want me to go? It's late. I can let you rest."

"Rox..."

"I'll just leave."

He grabbed on to her wrist before she even moved a muscle, a surprisingly tight grip that had his small claws digging into her skin. Roxanne's breath caught itself in her chest for a moment, then she smiled and looked back down at him.

"Or I can stay."

"Just a little longer," Marlo said. "I'm glad you're here."

"You're just happy I cooked you something again."

"That too." He smirked, ate another spoonful, then reached out to the coffee table in front of him and set the bowl down. "Thanks, Rox."

"Anytime, 'Mo. Hey, seriously... at least tell me what happened." Her hand was back on his face -- she was no longer distracted by the television but rather had her sole focus on him. "That looks bad."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he found himself explaining for the second time today. "I got into a fight, that's all."

"You say that like it's normal..." Her finger carefully grazed his wound. It no longer hurt; the wound had scabbed over.

"In my line of work...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Still, not like you to get attacked like this, Marlo. You're usually..." Roxanne cut herself off as another thought crossed her mind. "And the bastard that did this to you?"

Fellburg -- Long gone by this point.

"Worse off than me."

"Hah! Good, that's what I wanted to hear." Her tail wagged a little harder up against the cushions of the couch. Something about that made her happy; Marlo could stand up for himself. "God, Sairobi's getting worse by the day, isn't it?"

Marlo actually found himself thinking about it for a second, and the reality was... "It's the same way it's always been."

"Oh?"

"It's all sex shops and clubs and restaurants. So it was in the eighties, and the nineties, and the last decade and a half. None of that's changed."

"And the faces in charge?"

Ten years ago he wouldn't have been where he is now. The faces had changed.

"I guess that is different," Marlo finally admitted, "but it's all the same game, you know?"

"Right."

"A-Anyway, the point is, it's not any more dangerous today than it was yesterday, or a year ago, or ten years ago. Just, you know, some days I get a little dirtier than others."

"Hey, I know that," Roxanne stated, "and I know that you can handle yourself too. Just can't help but worry a little bit, can I?"

She couldn't help herself and he couldn't stop her from doing so either. Something Marlo had come to terms with a long time ago, and so had Roxanne. But as much as he wished that she'd stop worrying, a part of him appreciated the thought.

How many others worried over him like that?

"Thank you for caring," Marlo whispered, his hand coming to a rest on her thigh. She looked down at it for a second then set her own hand over his, almost enveloping it with her own touch. His fingers burned through her fur, against her skin. It felt good.

Roxanne placed a light touch on the tip of his wet nose and commented in a soft and low voice, "You do look tired, Marlo. I'll let you get some rest."

"Rox-"

"Hey, before you say anything, I know you can't share a lot about what you do. You told me more than you had to -- I appreciate that. Not trying to escape you here or anything, just looking out for you, 'Mo. Really, you're exhausted. I'll go home. We'll catch up in the morning, okay?"

"Roxanne."

"Yeah?"

Marlo glanced around his apartment; his hand squeezed down on her thighs.

"It's really late," he began. The way she looked at him -- she knew what he wanted. Was making him say it out loud. It was the smirk playing across her lips which gave her away; "and, I mean... you don't have to, you know?"

"Don't have to... what?" Roxanne turned, her wolffish legs crossed under her large body, her smirk turning into a devious little grin which Marlo, for as much as he could try, couldn't look away from. Her hand slowly guided his own a little further into the valley between her thighs, where it was warm and comfortable. "Marlo?"

It was distracting -- he'd completely lost his train of thought. Marlo could only think about where his hand was, how close he was to... It's not the first time, it wouldn't be the last, but Roxanne always made it feel so... new.

As if they hadn't played this song and dance a dozen times.

He finally said, "You don't have to go tonight."

"Then I won't go." Her voice was lower, husky. A breath of air accentuated every last word. Her hand guided him further in, thick legs closing around his own hand, burning his skin. The softness of her fur made him want to dive into it, to be embraced by its warmth until he fell asleep in her arms. "What are you thinking, Marlo?"

"How glad I am that you're here."

"Oh, really? Again, because I cooked for you?"

"No, not that, just --" He felt something hard throb against the palm of his hand and as she guided him further up, right up to her groin. "Jesus, Rox... already?"

Roxanne laughed under her breath as she let go of his hand -- he didn't need her to guide him any longer -- and brought her touch back up to his face. She could almost feel the beating of his heart through his skin; if she focused a little bit she could definitely hear it, so in tune she felt like she was with Marlo.

She throbbed when he squeezed over the bulge of her shorts; he squeezed when she throbbed. It was endless, delightful yet frustrating. She cupped the side of face with her hand and gently rubbed it with her thumb until he'd closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"You're so easy, you know that?"

Marlo gave her bulge another squeeze, then he pressed the palm of his hand down so he could better feel the flesh of her shaft against his own palm. With a knowing look he said, "And you're calling me easy?" To which Roxanne again laughed as she leaned in toward him, her body slowly starting to fall over his own like a shroud, until the tips of their noses pressed against one another and their eyes were locked into each other's gaze.

Nobody else. Nothing else. Just the two of them. Eternity in the grasp of their hands.

"A little pout here," she began to tease, "a small sigh there, and suddenly you're all wrapped up in my fingers."

"All wrapped up," Marlo repeated back at her as he started to stroke that bulge on her shorts, eliciting a happy little gasp from Roxanne that gave him all the encouragement he needed to keep going. "So maybe I'm easy -- what does that make you?"

"An opportunist." Her reply was genuine and frightfully quick. She capped it off with a kiss placed at the end of his snout, then leaned back and opened her legs a little to give her member some more room to breathe. "I've got you where I want you."

"So you planned this all out?" He stared her in the eyes as he began stroking a little harder, deeper against her bulge, squeezing it between the palm of his hand and her thighs. The friction between the fabric of her jeans and her own bare skin had her eyes momentarily flutter in bliss.

"Mmm... Mhm."

"Nah, you were winging it."

"Ah... Sure, whatever. Just..." she grabbed his hand and forced it tight against her straining bulge, "... don't stop."

"Never."

Her hips hitched upward when he began stroking her again. Marlo could feel just a little bit more to work with, as if she hadn't become truly erect right up to this moment. A light dog-like panting escaped her lips -- music to his ears. Marlo grinned.

His eyes were wide. Teeth nibbled on the inside of his cheek. A sly little tongue darted between his lips. That expression plastered across his face was the kind of look which Roxanne would have normally laughed at. Normally. Right now she couldn't help the way it made her feel.

Like a fire was burning up her lungs.

She fell back on the couch, her legs spread wide open, both exposing her arousal to him while also signalling a wordless invitation. His hand left the one place it belonged at right now -- just above her shaft, nowhere fucking else -- and she watched as he began to undo the buttons of that loud ass shirt.

Each little pop revealed more of his chest, more of that wonderful fur, and his perfect body. He wasn't a bodybuilder or a skinny little rat. Marlo was just...

Marlo.

Her left hand slipped underneath her own shirt to grab at one of her breasts as the other took hold of the place Marlo had abandoned. Stroking her own cock over her shorts while also teasing at one of her small nipples caused a hard and paralysing shiver to run down the length of her body. Toes curled on end, her tail shooting out straight between her legs. Roxanne stifled a moan and squeezed down on her breast as Marlo finally crawled to where he belonged, right between her legs.

"Easy there," she said between breaths. "Take it slow, 'Mo."

"Right..." Marlo glanced up at her, that same wide-eyed expression still plastered on his face, then looked down between her legs to -- He grabbed her hand, the one that'd been stroking her shaft in his stead, and moved it out of the way. It immediately found a perch on top of his head, right between his ears. Her claws scratched at all the little sensitive spots she'd come to learn, then strong fingers tugged him down... lower... until the tip of his nose was pressed against the base of her shaft.

In that space right between her cock and her balls had there been no clothes. At this point it was almost a travesty.

Marlo closed his eyes and breathed. That powerful musk was overwhelming, mind-altering, alluring. It was the raw unbridled scent of sweat and arousal mingling with a sort of pent-up sexual tension that hadn't seen release in days. A little acrid, a little salty, a little sweet.

He took another breath, paused to enjoy the way she was scratching right at the base of his right ear, and then licked. Marlo didn't taste anything beside the denim shorts, didn't feel much other than the vague outline of her shaft, but Roxanne felt it.

Oh, she felt it. Her hips shot up in a moment as rogue fingers pinched and pulled hard on her own nipple until it ached with a dull, throbbing desire to be licked and sucked on. Her body moved on its own, all sense of control and reason long gone. Her hands weren't hers. Her legs, which now wrapped around Marlo's backside to keep him in place, dictated their own actions.

And her dick? "Fuck, Marlo. Just take the shorts off already!"

He gave her another lick and felt her bulge thicken under his tongue.

"Please..."

And another lick, the last one -- the hand on his head took a tight grip of his fur and pulled, hard, until he was all but smothered against her groin while she grinded up against his face and breathlessly exclaimed:

"Marlo!"

Marlo eased back; her legs squeezed around him, denying him the chance of getting away. He wouldn't have dreamed of it.

"You're cute when you beg," Marlo began to tease as he slowly started to undo the straining clasp of her shorts. The anticipation excited him -- excited her. He could feel her eyes eating him up as her hand grabbed and scratched and grabbed again at any patch of fur it found on his head. "There we go..."

The button popped free, a zipper came loose, and with one gentle tug her cock was finally free of that tight, warm confine he'd been torturing it under. Just the scent of it alone... a wave of her musk attacked his sinuses, somewhat reminding him of the bathhouse he'd been in just a few hours ago.

But better. It was real. It was good. It was his.

And just like every other time before, he could not help but stare for a few short moments, taking in her sex, burning it to memory. A girthy, turgid shaft thickened under his watchful gaze, for a second falling victim to gravity before it throbbed, hard, and surged back up in full erection till it slapped lightly against her stomach.

Thin veins ran down the length of a circumcised shaft, texture to an otherwise smooth length. Marlo didn't wait for an invitation -- his tongue darted from between his lips and found its place right on top of one of those veins, right where the base of her cock met her soft groin.

Marlo began working his way up, not with one long smooth motion but rather a series of small licks that teased, and edged, and shoved Roxanne deeper into the pits of wanton lust as she struggled to keep herself from outright shoving the tip of her cock up against his lips. But Marlo could feel how badly she wanted it: the moans and slight gasps of air, her ceaseless twitching, the way with which she held onto his head with an iron grip...

He gently cradled her balls in the cup of his left hand as his tongue found itself licking just under her swollen head. Precum leaked liberally by now -- he followed the taste of it, exploring every part of her cock to satisfy a deepening craving for that salty mixture of hers, and then headed straight for the source.

"Yes..." Roxanne's voice fell lower yet as she felt his hot breath right up against the very tip of her dick. His eyes glanced up at her for a second, so devious and excited, and then disappeared as his mouth slowly began to envelope her full length in one swift and practiced motion.

His tongue lapped away at her swelling cumvein as he shoved his nose deep into her fur. Her cock rested comfortably inside his mouth, just barely teasing into his throat. He savoured her taste for a moment, bobbed his head a little bit to push her just a little further in, and then slowly released her cock from the depths of his maw with a satisfied sigh.

"Is that good?" He asked as he began to gently stroke her, the saliva that now covered her shaft causing his hand to glide up and down in slow and meaningful strokes.

"You fucking -- you know it is," Roxanne moaned as his fingers stopped just below the bell of her cock. "Can you... Marlo-"

"Hmm?"

"I want to feel your tongue again."

He smiled up at her, turned his head back down, and gave her cock a gentle squeeze at the same time he did her balls. Precum bubbled over, a little thicker, a little warmer, sliding down the ridge of her cockhead and smearing into his moving fingers.

Then he dove back down and swallowed her whole once more, gulping hard as he momentarily struggled to accommodate this sudden intrusion into his throat. A light gag escaped his lips and the edges of his eyes started to burn, but he held his breath and held himself in place as he held his tongue hard against the turgid length of her throbbing member.

"A little higher," Roxanne idly commanded, and to her delight Marlo did as he was told. He rose until only her head was squeezed tight between puckered lips. "And... down." That hand that'd been holding on to the back of his head guided him down, then held him in place as her hips fucked up against his face, shoving yet another inch of her dick into his throat. "Now, show me how badly you wanted this."

She let go of his head and grinned as she watched him start to bob up and down with slow and deep strokes, his tongue hot and heavy against the skin of her cock. Marlo capped off every time that she popped free from the confines of his warm mouth with a quick flick of his tongue against her urethra, then swallowed her whole once more.

Marlo didn't stop for the next few minutes. Didn't stop to think. Didn't stop to breathe. Roxanne was his world -- he worshipped her and her cock as if his life depended on it.

And she could feel it, just like how she could feel her lust start to bubble over. A pressure in the pit of her stomach and a heat somewhere in her core which rose in waves every single time that Marlo's tongue found perch on the sensitive nerves of her cockhead.

Roxanne didn't say anything -- she didn't need to say anything. Marlo felt her climax coming long before it met his tongue with the way her legs clamped down around his body, and how her cock began to twitch and throb in uncontrolled spasms within his mouth. Her balls, which he'd been cradling and stroking, twitched and tensed within his grasp.

He felt her climax come through the thrum of her body and the life in her voice. Marlo pressed his tongue flat against the underside of her head, opened his mouth wide, and waited for only a second as the pressure built, then exploded.

Hot, heavy, thick. The first few streaks of her cum landed across the flat surface of his tongue; an instant explosion of a warm and distinct flavour that Marlo couldn't get enough of. He himself moaned at the taste of it and shivered as she continued to spray streak after streak of her thick cum down his throat, along the inside of his cheek, and finally up and across his face, between his eyes, and all over his nose.

Roxanne finally opened her eyes. She stared up at the low ceiling, little pinpricks of darkness dancing across her vision. She could feel her body begging for rest, her breathing laboured and her eyes now growing heavy, but instead she turned her attention down on Marlo who remained perched between her legs.

"Hah," she began in a half-hearted laugh, "you look good like that, Marlo."

He couldn't help but grin at her words and then said, "I'll go get cleaned up."

"No, you stay." She tugged on him with her legs. Marlo took the hint and slowly clambered up and over her body. "You give me a sec and I'll return the favour, yeah?"

"Nah," Marlo whispered as he found himself between her long arms. Roxanne pulled him in close to her larger body. He sank into her. "Not for not wanting. I-" he yawned loudly, "-just a little tired."

"I know you are, 'Mo."

***

Marlo looked the bartender and owner of Bar Classico dead in the eyes as a slip of two-hundred dollars fell from between his fingers and onto the counter between the two of them. The owner, a fox just like himself, although a little taller and a little skinner, nodded in understanding. He grabbed the money, stuffed it into the pocket of his coat, and turned the other way.

Washington Fellburg watched in silence and, in a moment of uncertainty, stood from his seat when Marlo once more turned his attention back on him.

"What are you going to do?"

"I told you, I have a plan. You want to live, don't you?"

"O-Of course."

"Then shut up, get behind me, and do as I fucking say."

Marlo stood, stretched his arms high over his head until his spine popped, then looked back at the bartender and gently tapped his own nose with the tip of his claw -- He'd be back shortly. The envelope he'd left exactly where it'd been sitting before he and Washington made their exit out the back door of the lounge.

Out into Sairobi's muggy heat. The bar's back door exited into a small street devoid of life. Marlo knew that for these next couple of minutes they'd have the alley all to themselves. A quick visit to each of the neighbouring bars had guaranteed it.

Just a few minutes -- all he needed was a few minutes.

"What... what are you doing?" Washington asked as Marlo began to have a look around.

The fox was examining the walls which encased them on either end. Old posters and calling cards had been plastered all over their surfaces, advertisements on top of advertisements, waterlogged and shredded. A single one caught his eye for a moment -- an old cigar shop that he'd never even heard of. Long gone now.

"Just... thinking," Marlo lied as he studied the electrical wires that ran up along the sides of the alley. He checked every corner and every hiding place that he could think of, but nothing obvious stood out to him. No cameras, and nobody within earshot that was listening to them.

It'll have to do.

"How good's your punch, Fellburg?"

"I... what?"

"Your punch, how good is it?" Marlo looked him over again -- Washington stood a little taller but was no less the nervous wreck that he'd been inside the lounge. He was on the skinner side, but he was tall and he was still a wolf. Marlo almost didn't have to ask his earlier question; there'd undoubtedly be power behind each punch. "It better be fucking good."

"Wait, wait. I'm not going to-"

"Yes you are." Marlo turned his head and tapped his jaw a couple of times. "Right here."

"You're out of your mind, I gave you the -"

"Listen to me, Fellburg, before you waste any more of my fucking time." Marlo swallowed hard -- a lump was starting to form in his throat. He struggled to keep his eyes on the wolf. This act was... tough. "Option A: you give me your best punch, make this shit look like a struggle, then skip town and never show your fucking face here again. Option B: I hand you over to the family, to the hyena, and do nothing as she has her way with you. You want that, Fellburg?"

"I... No."

"Then fucking punch me!"

Marlo was serious -- it dawned on Washington that he didn't have a choice. The Imani Family lapel pin glimmered under the shimmering yellow light. This felt wrong, but... He steadied himself with a deep and quivering breath, same as Marlo.

"But why are you doing this?"

Because this sorry idiot didn't need to die.

Marlo dug deeper into his persona and solidified the mask. No weakness, as Kitsuragi had said. Never show uncertainty, as Imani had told him time after time.

And if he handed Fellburg over to the hyena, he knew that the wolf would never be seen again.

"No more questions, Fellburg."

"Okay -- I'm sorry."

Marlo turned his head a little but he kept his eyes locked on Washington's. The wolf hesitated -- that unwavering determination made Marlo seem almost larger-than-life to him. And doing this... That Imani Family badge did not belong on his chest. He was better than the rest of them.

It was the last thought that crossed Washington Fellburg's mind before he struck Marlo with a single clean hook that left the fox reeling where he stood, the impact of which rattled Marlo as his vision momentarily blurred. His feet threatened to give out under him but -- no, not like this.

He held on tight to the nearest wall for support as he reached with his other hand to feel where Washington's fist made contact with his skin. It was a good punch, but not quite enough.

"H-Hey. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Marlo pushed himself off the wall and again stood with the same look of determination as last time. "Again."

To Washington's credit, something about this was wrong. He was starting to see the sense of it, but it still didn't feel right. To beat on a man without so much as a fight back...

Marlo spat on the ground -- his saliva was clear, if a little thick after that first punch -- and screamed: "Do it!"

The second blow landed right where the first had hit, and that's the one Marlo had been looking for. Knuckles against his upper lip. A clean strike which very nearly knocked him to the ground -- had it not been for Washington suddenly grabbing on to Marlo's shirt, he'd have eaten pavement.

"Easy there. God, I'm sorry." Washington helped steady the fox and nervously studied where he'd punched. "Jesus, you're bleeding."

Marlo opened his eyes -- two Fellburgs stared at him, four eyes full of agitated concern. He blinked and swallowed hard before taking a breath that forced his lungs to open up again. He couldn't help but smile up at the wolf.

"Good job, Fellburg."

Then grabbed on tight to Washington's wrist and yanked his hand off his shirt. He tasted the blood now; a busted upper lip was more than enough for him.

"Does... does it hurt?"

"Of course it fucking hurts you stupid --" Marlo sighed, took one careful step back and away from Washington, and slowly began trying to ignore the pain. It hurt. "It's fine."

"Right... well, what now?"

"You get the hell out of here," Marlo began with an obvious roll of his eyes, "and don't come back to Sairobi. Ever. You got that?"

"Y-Yeah. I get it. I... you didn't have to do this."

"You're right, I didn't. Don't make me regret this."

The owner of Bar Classico was in no rush to have that thug back inside, but he made no effort to keep him out when the fox meandered in through the back door. He couldn't help but notice that he looked a little worse for wear, but at the same time exuded an extravagant air of satisfied accomplishment.

It didn't take a genius to know what'd happened -- a secret that he now had to take to his own grave. The Imani thug sat back down at the bar and gave him a deep, long, and thoughtful stare that the owner couldn't look away from.

And with that, they had a solid understanding of one another. The owner nodded, grabbed a glass, and poured out the best bottle of whiskey he could scrounge up, topping it off with the one and only comment he'd make: "On the house."

Marlo nodded, raised his glass in thanks, and began to nurse the pain with careful sips as the owner made his way out back with the hope that they'd never have to meet again.

***

"Hey. Wake up."

Marlo's ears twitched, registering a sound, but he didn't so much as stir.

The voice grew impatient. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and then --

"WAKE UP!"

Marlo bolted upright with a gasp and a scream, his ears ringing loudly as blinding sunlight glared into his eyes. It was far too much, far too quickly, and he immediately turned over on his side and shoved his face where the backrest of the couch met the seat cushion. He groaned, curled into himself a little bit, and shrugged off the hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck you, Rox!"

"Huh, well... Don't know who 'Rox' is."

That voice... Marlo bolted upright with a gasp and was met face first with a grinning hyena who took a squat right by the couch. He was too close for comfort and Marlo could do nothing about it.

That massive nose twitched, nostrils flaring wide, then Caine's face muzzle twisted up in mock disgust as a gutteral laugh started forming in his chest, resembling the slow beating of drums. "You fucking reek, fox."

"Captain!" Marlo straightened out -- he was painfully aware of his own scent -- and inched back against the couch as Caine leaned in a little closer. It dawned on him now that he didn't know Caine's last name, and Yara's as well.

"Well, hey, I like the sound of that!" Caine commented with a laugh. "Barely been in the family for a full day and already calling me captain? You might just start growing on me. Ah... but," The grin that had so terrifyingly greeted Marlo suddenly fell flat, and the oddly cheerful tone of voice with which Caine had spoken to him grew low and dangerous, "you almost made me forget why I came here."

"I..." Marlo glanced around with his eyes -- he was in his own apartment, with Roxanne nowhere to be seen. Of course she was gone; she'd have raised the alarms the moment somebody had tried to break in. And how had Caine even found him? "... don't know why you're here."

"Mmm," Caine smacked his lips. Saliva spattered loudly, a few droplets spraying across Marlo's cheek; "Yara sent me. The matriarch wants to see you."

"But, I was already going to head that way, Captain."

"Hah!" Cheerful again. "Okay, yeah, I'll never get tired of being called that. Oh, but..." It was as if Caine had to remind himself that he needed to be serious. That laughing and being all chummy wasn't the endgame here; "she needs to see you now, Butcher."

Butcher?

His furrowed brow and wide eyes said it all. Caine shook his head and, with a heavy sigh, reached into the pocket of a bright blue coat that he'd been wearing to pull out a phone a little too small for his large hands.

Caine's breath stank of... curry? And strong liquor. As his new captain clumsily scrolled through his phone, Marlo turned back to look over at his kitchen and saw that it'd been ransacked. The food that'd been left out overnight was gone. He hoped his captain had an iron stomach.

"This was you, wasn't it?" Caine turned his phone around and wordlessly placed it on Marlo's lap.

It was an article, a breaking story by some local paper. It's headline read: MURDER ON THE STREETS OF SAIROBI.

Being painfully aware of Caine's unblinking stare, Marlo slowly scrolled down enough for the first linked image to show on screen and...

Few times in his life had he felt such a feeling before -- the feeling of being so suddenly cornered and trapped; the feeling of his blood running cold and draining from his face. Dread.

Washington Fellburg's body was slumped over a mountain of trash. He was unmistakable; the red highlights on his grey fur had been burned to memory. There was a cold and empty look in his eyes.

...He was dead.

"I..."

"They found him a few hours after you reported to us. I gotta hand it to you," Caine reached out and took his phone back from Marlo's limp grasp, "that was... not what I expected out of you. Imani said she'd send us her best but she didn't say you were a-"

Last night, late at night, he'd watched Fellburg go. Despite everything, he was happy. He was thankful. He'd said his goodbyes and disappeared. And Marlo had felt... good.

"-- Anyway, Yara wants to see you. Sent me here to fetch you."

"R-Right... Of course. I..."

_Fellburg had been alive. _

"Hey." Caine's low voice made some attempt at trying to be comforting -- he'd clearly had little practice on the matter. "I had my reservations about you, still do, but you're clearly more than I took you for. You get your hands dirty like this? Hell, you're good in my book. Now I don't know how the Imani boys handle shit like this, but you're in our family now."

Marlo raised his eyes to meet with Caine's. He was smiling again.

"Yara just wants a chat. It'll be fine. We take care of our own, Butcher."

Butcher.